He turned back to the wintry scene and went through the order of the levy agreed by the Orthlundyn.
The army was to consist first of those unmarried men and women who wished to serve in it. Those who were married but with no children were to be the first reserve, and those with children, the second. The remainder, the old, the young, and the infirm, were to form a militia for the defence of their homeland should all fail, and they were also to share the re-distribution of work that would occur due to this great upheaval. In this latter, as with the cavalry training, Agreth’s advice had been invaluable, the Riddinvolk being long used to the disruption of their ordinary lives caused by the demands of the Muster.
Hawklan smiled as he remembered Loman com-menting that the Riddinvolk were more concerned about the disruption to their Muster activities by the demands of home and hearth, than vice versa, but its brief light dwindled to nothing in the great blackness that surged up within him abruptly.
Ethriss, this is appalling, he thought. Even if they defeated Sumeral, what was to happen was an abomina-tion, an insanity, and its necessity offered little consolation. The face of the elder who had questioned him at the beginning hung in his memory. Sons and daughters were to be separated from their parents, husbands and wives from each other. What cherished loving bonds were to be torn asunder there? Even for the lucky ones it would be months of fretful worrying during which a portentous future would cloud all present doings. For others there would be the nursing of loved ones who had been smashed physically or mentally by what had been done to them or, in some ways worse, what they themselves had done. And finally there would be those for whom the parting embrace would be the last. So much delicate patient toil to be destroyed so casually.
Unconsciously, he laid his left hand on his sword hilt. Damn you, Sumeral, he thought savagely. Damn you back into whatever darkness you’ve come from. I’d have forgone the past twenty years with all their light and joy, had I known this was to be the price. He felt the ancient, mocking spectre of vengeance rise within him and he faced it. I have your enemy’s sword now, and I’ll cleave you from neck to hip with it if we meet. And relish the deed.
His mood lightened as suddenly as it had darkened and he turned and moved away from the window.
‘Grim times for us all,’ he said. ‘But we’re as ready as we can be and there’s no reason why we should make them grimmer than necessary. How long to the solstice, Gulda?’
She told him.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll make this year’s Winter Festival one that will warm and sustain us through anything the future chooses for us. Loman, make sure that that too goes out with the other orders.’ He clapped his hands and smiled broadly.
The sound of the clap echoed round the hall and the listening Alphraan caught it and spun it into a glisten-ing, brilliant, rhythm, to counterpoint Hawklan’s declaration. Clapping and laughter rose up from the audience to complement it and, with a wave of his hand, Hawklan dismissed the meeting.
As the people began to leave, Hawklan felt a power-ful grip take his elbow. He did not need to identify the owner.
‘Memsa,’ he said, cautiously.
‘Young man,’ she replied neutrally, ushering him discreetly to the door. He cast about for an escape route, but Isloman, Loman and Andawyr, with Dar-volci still draped in his arms, appeared beside him suddenly, like solicitous flank guards.
‘Are you in trouble, dear boy,’ Gavor said, chuckling maliciously.
‘Well, at least I can rely on the support of my faith-ful ally, can’t I?’ Hawklan replied.
Gavor looked around and sucked in his breath nois-ily. ‘Not against these odds,’ he said. ‘I suggest you surrender immediately.’
In silence, Gulda propelled Hawklan steadily to-wards the room which she had commandeered as the central command post for the Orthlundyn army. It was large and spacious with a window at one end that occupied virtually all of the wall. The view through it was similar to that from the meeting hall, and normally sufficient light flooded through it during the day to illuminate every part of the room. Now however, the premature winter greyness dominated the room, and as the party entered, the torches burst into life. Their warm light made the scene outside even darker and filled the window with a faithful, if dim, echo of the room and its occupants.
Gulda ushered Hawklan to a low settee and, signal-ling Isloman to close the door, waved the others to whichever seats they might choose.
She herself sat down heavily on a seat behind a desk which gave her a commanding view of Hawklan’s position. Then she placed her stick on top of the desk with ominous slowness and leaned forward to rest her head on her interlinked hands.
‘"Andawyr and I, with others, will go another way,"’ she began, quoting Hawklan’s words faithfully. ‘"To levy the forces that must be levied if you are to be protected from the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel."’
She looked at Hawklan narrowly. ‘Explain,’ she said, quietly but with a purposefulness that made the three other men in the room sit very still.
Hawklan looked at his interrogator, then unexpect-edly stretched out his legs and relaxed on the settle.
‘How can it be otherwise?’ he asked. Gulda’s eyes widened at his replying with a question, but he contin-ued before she could give vent to her feelings on the matter. ‘A few days ago, you and Andawyr told me who I am… ’ He smiled. ‘Who I had been, I should say. Equally importantly, you told me who I was not. I was not Ethriss. That was not something I’d ever had serious doubts about myself, nor can I pretend to any regrets about it, but it prompts the real question, "Where is Ethriss"?’ He turned and fixed Andawyr with a penetrat-ing stare.
The Cadwanwr tried to avoid the gaze by making Dar-Volci more comfortable on his knee.
‘You’ve been very silent about parts of your own adventures, Andawyr,’ Hawklan went on. ‘You’ve told us of your journey into Narsindal, and of your subsequent escape. And you’ve been honest in admitting that your Order has been remiss in its duties. But something’s missing.’
Andawyr did not speak.
‘You’re Ethriss’s chosen,’ Hawklan continued. ‘To you alone he gave knowledge about the Old Power. Consider. Someone, somewhere, with far less knowledge than you, I imagine, woke Sumeral and the Uhriel. Yet we hear nothing about you, with your great power and knowledge, trying to wake Ethriss and the Guardians, without whom we are probably doomed. What has happened, Andawyr? Why are Sphaeera, Theowart, Enartion, and above all, Ethriss not walking amongst us even now, determining the order of our battle?’
Andawyr looked down at the seemingly oblivious felci draped across his lap.
‘I don’t know, Hawklan,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve made no mention of this before because I needed to know for certain who you were. And I’ve made no mention these last few days because I’ve been thinking. My knowledge is not for those who haven’t the wisdom to withstand it.’
Outside, a few large snowflakes meandered down out of the greyness, casual vanguard to a mighty host.
Uncharacteristically, Andawyr sighed. ‘Ask me no details, because I can give you none that you’ll under-stand,’ he said, addressing everyone. ‘But Hawklan’s right. On my return from Narsindal, I was… greatly changed. My brothers saw this and saw the truth of our danger and together we sought to contact the Guardi-ans.’ He looked up and stared at his distant reflection in the darkening window.
‘It took great faith.’ His voice was suddenly quiet and his remembered sense of wonder and awe over-flowed to fill his listeners. ‘But by some miracle we succeeded. Redeemed ourselves a little, perhaps, for our neglect.’ He shrugged. ‘For a moment the Guardians shared their being with us. I… we… became the Guardians. Knew and understood them. He fell silent.