‘When the Lords of Fyorlund decided that they must attack Oklar, just as we’ve decided we must attack his Master, they knew a little of Oklar’s power and they devised field tactics that they hoped might offer them some protection. The worth of those tactics will never be known because Oklar, as we know, was bound in some way, and not permitted the full use of his power.’
He paused, and his face became grim. ‘However, I am told that the power Oklar used against me was… ’-he made a dismissive gesture-‘a mere fraction of what he might have done. Put another way, no field tactic, however ingenious, could have saved the Lords from Oklar’s power had it been truly launched against them.
‘Now we propose to send a similar army of men against Oklar and his Master, and, in all probability, Creost and Dar Hastuin, for he too is probably abroad somewhere. How can any mortal army face such power?’
The hall became very still.
‘It cannot,’ he continued quietly. ‘Sumeral could destroy our vaunted armies with precious little effort. Yet He does not use that power to achieve His ends. Instead He moves silently and with cunning as He builds up a great mortal army of His own.’
He paused and watched the effect of his words on his audience.
‘Perhaps He fears Ethriss and the Guardians,’ he continued after a moment. ‘Perhaps not. Perhaps equally it is all some horrific lure, to draw our might to Him so that our destruction will be both easier and more complete.’ He paused again.
‘We don’t know,’ he went on. ‘We cannot know. But we can’t take such a risk.’
He became more casual. ‘This we’ve known since my return from Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘But it’s something we’ve not dwelt upon, having chosen instead to concentrate, quite rightly, on preparing ourselves to meet mortal enemies.
‘Now however, we’ve come to the sharpening of spears and swords, to the burnishing of armour, to the deciding of the orders of marching, and this knowledge must be faced squarely.’
His green eyes became intense as he looked at his motionless listeners.
‘Orthlund, and such allies as come to its side, will march directly against the enemy, and prosecute the war with all their skill up to and through the gates of Derras Ustramel, and to His very throne. You will be led by Loman and, if she is prepared, by Memsa Gulda. I will not be at your head. Andawyr and I, with others, will go another way-to levy the forces that must be levied if you are to be protected from the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel.’
The silence disintegrated.
‘No,’ cried several voices.
Gulda raised an eyebrow and Loman shifted uncom-fortably in his seat.
‘We mean no disrespect to Loman or to the Memsa, but… ’ was the gist of the protests. Hawklan raised his arms to silence them.
‘You forget too easily,’ he said coldly. ‘With the Memsa’s guidance, Loman’s skill and his sight into truth made an arrow that struck down Oklar-that would have killed him had I been more able. And you, you carvers become fighters, did I craft you into an army, or did they? Did my insight protect any of you from the Alphraan, or did theirs? No. I was elsewhere fighting the same war in another place.’
He held out his hand to prevent further debate and turned to Gulda. ‘Are you willing… ready… to do this now?’ he asked. ‘To move against Dan-Tor?’
Gulda, watching Hawklan intently, nodded, but did not speak.
‘Very well,’ Hawklan said, turning back to his still shocked audience. ‘Then that is how it must be. The army under Loman and the Memsa will assail Narsindal while I go another way.’
‘What do you intend to do?’ someone asked through the silence.
Hawklan hesitated. ‘That you must not know,’ he replied.
‘Must not?’ his questioner echoed. ‘Are we not to be trusted with your intention.’
Two needs vied within Hawklan for dominance: the commander’s need for obedience, and the healer’s faith in knowledge. But both would have to be met.
‘I trust you with the duty of destroying Sumeral’s army,’ he replied. ‘You in your turn must trust me with the duty of destroying Sumeral’s other power.’
‘But… ’
Hawklan raised his hand again. ‘The details of what I intend are as undefined now as are your tactics for dealing with some unknown army on some unknown terrain at some unknown time in the future. That much I can tell you. I can tell you also that with others more powerful than I, I shall be striking to the heart of Sumeral’s Old Power, just as you will be striking to the heart of his armed might. Between those two tellings, no one knows what I intend, not even Andawyr and the Memsa. Should the merest whisper of what lies there reach Him then it would be my downfall. And if my venture fails then we are all doomed, just as surely as we are if yours fails. Do you still wish to know my inten-tion?’
The man looked at him for some time then slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply.
This brief exchange seemed to have silenced most of the questions that had bubbled out when Hawklan had made his announcement, though he now found he was the focus of the entire hall’s silent attention; not least that of Andawyr and Gulda. He stood up and walked to one of the decorated panels that lined the hall. For a moment he studied its uncharacteristically simple patterning. Then he touched a raised lip that protruded from the sill.
Slowly the pattern dissolved to reveal a window scene carried to the hall by the Castle’s many mirror stones. It was a view over the Orthlundyn countryside as seen from just above the main wall, and the winter hues of the landscape were oddly heightened by a heavy grey sky. Both landscape and sky merged into a common greyness well before either reached the horizon.
There were several expressions of surprise, Hawk-lan’s included.
‘Well, for all the indications we’ve had of an early winter, it seems it’s going to snow sooner than we all imagined,’ he said. ‘And heavily, by the looks of it.’ He looked at Arinndier and Agreth. Riddin had been inaccessible for some time due to snow in the higher mountains, but now it seemed that Fyorlund too was likely to be cut off very soon. He pursed his lips and shook his head.
Isloman made reassuring noises. ‘I doubt anyone will start a campaign in this weather,’ he said. ‘Certainly the Morlider have no love for snow. We suffered badly when the winter came early during the war, but they suffered worse.’ He turned to Agreth. ‘If they’ve any choice about it, I think it’s unlikely they’ll attack until the winter’s showing signs of easing.’
‘Thank you, Isloman,’ Agreth said. ‘But I’m afraid I’ll just have to live with the uncertainty. I doubt Urthryn will allow any relaxation of the coastal watch so at least my people won’t be taken by surprise if the Morlider do come.’
Arinndier too seemed undismayed. ‘If the winter’s early here then almost certainly the northern mountains at home are well blocked already. Only the most desperate would try to bring an army through them, and of the many things we’ve seen from Oklar, desperation was not one. Besides’-he indicated Agreth-‘as in Riddin, our people will be watching, regardless of the snow.’
Hawklan turned round, a dark silhouette against the grey backdrop. ‘So, circumstances determine our plans for us,’ he said. ‘The northern reaches of Fyorlund snowbound and, presumably, Narsindal also; while to the east, the mountains that prevent us helping the Riddinvolk also protect us should any harm befall them. The winter comes like a benevolent besieger to confine us safe in our nests, pending a call to arms in the spring.’
‘Take care, Hawklan,’ Gulda said.
Hawklan nodded. ‘Indeed,’ he said thoughtfully, then, quietly, but very positively: ‘Loman, start general winter training immediately, and speed up the Helyadin’s-Dacu, will you help with that? And make sure the villages along our southern and western borders are on their toes-Yrain’s point was sound. I don’t think anything serious is going to happen in the next few weeks, but having determined our strategy, we must tell the people and have them prepare to mobilize at a moment’s notice. The sooner they get used to the idea, the better.’