Hawklan stopped. ‘Who are you?’ he repeated.
One of the figures stepped forward, and Hawklan could see the others reaching out nervously to restrain it.
‘I am Ynar Aesgin,’ it said. ‘One of the Soarers Tar-ran of Hendar Gornath, Margrave of this land. These are my companions in flight. ‘We are… ’
‘Drienvolk,’ Hawklan completed the sentence. The memory of the great cloud land he had seen floating through the spring sky over Riddin returned to him vividly. Involuntarily, he glanced upwards as if expect-ing to see the huge bulk of the sky island towering above him, but all was darkness.
A flood of questions surged into his mind, but all that he could voice were, ‘How did you come here?’ and ‘What do you want?’
‘We came here because that was the will of Sphaeera,’ said the figure.
‘But… Viladrien have never come to Orthlund before,’ Hawklan said, still uncertain what he should be saying.
‘Not in countless generations,’ Ynar said. ‘But many things are not as they were. Not now that He is awake again, and His Uhriel are turning to their old devilment.’
Hawklan put his hand to his head. Were not even the citizens of the skies to be allowed peace? ‘Does He assail you also?’ he said.
Ynar nodded, but before Hawklan could ask any further questions, he said, ‘The Alphraan tell us you are a great prince, wearer of the black sword of Ethriss and key-bearer to Anderras Darion. They say you have made whole their shattered family and struck down Oklar himself with an arrow from Ethriss’s bow. Is this true?’
There was an unexpectedly plaintive, almost desper-ate note in his voice.
‘It may be that I was once a prince,’ Hawklan an-swered quietly. ‘The prince who led the Orthlundyn to their doom, if you know the tale. But now I am a healer and the Orthlundyn know no ruler, nor have since that time.’ There was no response from the Drienvolk but Ynar was leaning forward slightly as if listening intently. Hawklan continued. ‘It’s true that I carry Ethriss’s sword and hold the key to his castle, but how that has come to pass is beyond my knowledge. As for the Alphraan, it was they who brought their own family together, and while it was I who fired the arrow that wounded Oklar, this was the smith who made it.’ He indicated Loman, then Isloman. ‘And this the man who saved my life by bearing me on a Muster horse from the horror of Oklar’s wrath.’ And finally Gavor, still pacing fretfully up and down at his feet, ‘And this the friend who made Oklar show his true nature.’
The figures in the mist milled around, seemingly in some excitement. ‘What of Oklar now?’ asked one.
‘I don’t know,’ Hawklan replied. ‘He is pinioned in some way. It seems he could not free himself of the arrow, and he did not use his Power when the Fyordyn launched their army against him. Now he skulks in the tower fortress of Narsindalvak. The Fyordyn watch him, and we are preparing an army to ride into Narsindal and face Sumeral Himself.’
There was more agitation amongst the Drienvolk.
‘In our pain and distress we doubted you, Alphraan,’ said Ynar. ‘But this man-these men-are fired by Ethriss’s spirit beyond doubt and their telling seals the truth of your own words. Forgive us. How can we atone?’
‘The pain of our own ignorance is all too near for us to offer you any reproach, old friends,’ came the Alphraan’s voice. ‘And the music of your great land echoes now through our Ways to put us eternally in your debt.’
As Ynar turned back to him, Hawklan repeated his earlier question. ‘Who assails the Drienvolk, Ynar?’ he said.
‘Dar Hastuin assails us, Hawklan,’ the Drienwr re-plied simply. ‘He rides the Screamer Usgreckan again and has been amongst us for many years.’
‘Amongst you?’ Hawklan said, instinctively resting his hand on his sword hilt. He felt Loman and Isloman becoming suddenly alert behind him. Was this, after all, another subtle trap, with the Alphraan as innocent dupes?
‘Amongst some of our people,’ came the reply, hast-ily, as if noting the concern the remark had caused. ‘He has corrupted and possessed the minds of many of our kind on other lands, but not yet ours.’ Suddenly there was defiance in the voice. ‘Nor will he, though he hurl us to the depths of the ocean.’
Hawklan flinched from the passion in the voice; it betrayed the desperation of a man prepared to lose all in order to destroy his enemy. Yet it was uncertain. Childlike almost?
‘Your voice tells me you’re sorely pressed,’ Hawklan said. ‘I know nothing of your… lands or your people, but we are allies against a common foe; tell me how you will be attacked and how we can help.’
There was a mixture of gratitude and gentle amusement in the Drienwr’s reply. ‘We are both at some extremity here, Hawklan, and we cannot even touch, let alone help one another,’ he said. ‘But you help us more than you know by your very presence. And your news that Oklar is harmed and that the peoples of the middle depths are rising to oppose Sumeral will bolster us in our last days.’
Hawklan looked round at Loman and Isloman in concern, then he stepped forward towards the strange mist. ‘Your last days? Do you go to war looking only to your defeat?’ Suddenly, and somewhat to his own surprise, his voice became angry. ‘War is chance run riot. Where the merest gesture, the shifting of a pebble, the braying of a horse, may tilt the balance. You cannot wield your sword while your hearts and minds are so bound.’
Except for Ynar, the figures in the mist retreated a little. ‘Hawklan,’ he said. ‘You admit to knowing nothing of us or our lands. We will be attacked in ways you cannot begin to understand. It is… ’
Hawklan cut across him. ‘I understand that if you are defeated, then Dar Hastuin will own the skies and will be free to add his power to that of Oklar and Creost which is already ranged against us.’
The Drienwr bridled. ‘You do not understand, Hawklan,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘Like Creost with the Morlider Islands, Dar Hastuin has committed the ultimate blasphemy. He moves the lands to his own will. He can command the higher paths and destroy at his whim any land that opposes him. Either binding them with his legions or… ’ He hesitated, as if having difficulty speaking. ‘… crushing them in the depths. So far chance has kept us from him, but he knows of us and even now is seeking us out. When he finds us… ’ He left the sentence unfinished.
Hawklan hesitated. He did not indeed understand, he realized, but the word blasphemy hung in his mind. He recalled Agreth’s telling of the interrogation of the Morlider Drago by Oslang. To Drago, the moving of the islands had been a matter of mystery and awe; to these Drienvolk however, it was a blasphemy, and blasphemy implied choice.
‘Can you not move your own land?’ he said quietly.
There was no reply.
He repeated the question.
Still there was no reply. Gavor flapped his wings noisily in the cold air. At the sound, Hawklan suddenly felt as if he were one of the figures on the other side of the glowing mist, looking through at this strident black shadow of a man from the choking middle depths, who had had the effrontery to stand in judgement over them.
‘You are right,’ he said contritely. ‘For all we are both human, we are too far apart for us to understand one another truly. I should not intrude. You have your own choices to make in the light of your own ways and your own needs.’
He bent down by Gavor, who stopped fidgeting and looked up at him. ‘But war tests many things. It is the horror of Sumeral’s gift that we must accept it to oppose it. Healer though I am, I know that I must be as He, to defeat Him. If I am fortunate I hope I will stay my hand from excess in victory. That tiny hope is all that will distinguish me from my enemy when we finally meet. So it may have to be with you. Many valued things have to be set at hazard.’ Then, Andawyr’s conclusion about Creost returned to him unexpectedly. ‘But remember,’ he said. ‘If Dar Hastuin uses his Power to move your lands then he is that much weakened in himself.’
Ynar moved as if to speak, when suddenly there was a small commotion behind him. Hawklan caught ‘… the paths move… ’ spoken urgently.