‘You can honour our dead by relinquishing your office, before the Moot votes you out,’ Bragald said.
Urthryn’s face set. ‘You do not listen, Bragald,’ he said grimly. ‘You never listen and you never think.’ Bragald bridled at the sudden quiet menace in Urthryn’s tone. ‘We are attacked. We are at war. A war which, at the moment, we’re losing. We’ve lost a day with this nonsense of yours, and who knows what else we’ve lost in the way of unity through your clattering rhetoric and petty ambition.’ He swept up his cloak from the chair and fastened it about himself. ‘Our Law aside, the office of Ffyrst ceases to exist when its holder doesn’t have the hearts of all the Lines. If you seek those, Bragald, then set yourself before the Moot here and rant to your heart’s content, but know this.’ He raised his voice. ‘Know this all of you. Cadmoryth’s people-the fishermen-are not here, talking. They’ve patched the enemy’s boats and gone in search of them. Oslang’s people too are searching in their own way to find and face this… Uhriel. I can do no less. The House of Urthryn will waste no more time in pointless debate. We ride to find the Morlider, and we ride now. Follow me who will.’
Chapter 14
Hawklan stood at the entrance to his tent and looked up at the grey sky. It seemed to be strangely oppressive and the air around him felt as though a summer storm were pending.
Andawyr joined him.
‘Shut the door,’ came Dar-volci’s deep voice from within the tent.
Hawklan glanced back through the opening. Dar-volci was curled up in front of a small fire of radiant stones and Gavor was asleep with his claw clutching the back of a chair.
He sealed the flap and pulled his cloak about him-self.
‘What’s the matter?’ Andawyr asked.
Hawklan shrugged. ‘The weather,’ he said looking around. ‘It’s still snowing, but it feels like a thunder-storm building up.’ He shook his head. ‘And my ears are ringing.’
Andawyr looked puzzled. ‘It feels odd for sure,’ he said. ‘But I can’t hear anything.’
‘It’s rather like the song of the Viladrien,’ Hawklan said tentatively. ‘But… harsher in some way.’
Andawyr looked up at the featureless sky and shrugged. ‘It probably is a thunderstorm building up, as you say. I wouldn’t worry about it.’ Then, taking Hawklan’s arm, he said, ‘It’s very peaceful. Let’s walk.’
And peaceful it was. The two men walked slowly down the ranks of snow-covered tents, largely silent except for the occasional muffled conversation and the odd individual pursuing some duty.
‘This weather’s opportune,’ Hawklan said. ‘It keeps us as well hidden as we can expect in the absence of any convenient forest.’
He rubbed his arms uncertainly.
‘What are we going to do?’ Andawyr said abruptly.
Hawklan stopped and turned around. ‘I don’t know,’ he said after a moment. ‘But we haven’t much time. They’re not showing any signs of moving out, but they’re growing in strength daily; we’ve only got limited supplies and now that we’re rested a little we’re likely to have a morale problem.’
‘And we’ve no idea what’s happening in the south.’ Andawyr completed the list.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘Nor are we likely to have for several days, even if Agreth doesn’t run into any difficulties.’
Hawklan looked at the sky again. ‘Something’s hap-pening up there,’ he said.
Andawyr followed his gaze, but the snowflakes fal-ling towards him, dark against the greyness, told him nothing. Casually he took hold of the cord around his waist.
‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘It’s been going on for some time. Someone somewhere is using the Old Power. But it’s a long way away.
Hawklan looked at him anxiously. ‘Creost?’ he said.
Andawyr shook his head and cast a knowing glance upwards.
‘Dar Hastuin?’ Hawklan said, lowering his voice as if afraid of being overheard.
Andawyr hesitated. ‘I can think of no other,’ he said. ‘The Power’s being used for no good, that I can tell. And it seems to be… up there. But it’s way beyond anything we can influence.’
The memory of Ynar Aesgin’s pain and fear re-turned to Hawklan, but further discussion was ended by the appearance of Gavor. He landed on Hawklan’s shoulder and shook the snow from his feathers. ‘Jaldaric and Athyr have just got back,’ he said. ‘They want to see you right away.’
The two Helyadin, still wearing their white camou-flage, were pacing up and down outside Hawklan’s tent when he and Andawyr returned.
‘What’s happened?’ he said, motioning them inside.
‘They’ve started to send out foot patrols,’ Athyr said, loosening his coat and throwing his hood back. ‘They nearly spotted us.’
‘It’s about time,’ Hawklan said, then, anxiously, ‘What about Tirke and Yrain?’
‘They should be all right if they keep their wits about them,’ said Athyr. ‘But I don’t think they’ll be able to move until nightfall.’
‘Gavor, find Loman and Isloman will you?’ Hawklan said. ‘Ask them to come here straight away.’
‘And Dacu, dear boy,’ Gavor added.
‘And Dacu,’ Hawklan confirmed.
Within minutes, the bulk of the two brothers was filling the small tent. When Dacu arrived, Dar-volci reluctantly yielded his place at the fireside and clam-bered on to Andawyr’s lap.
‘Decision time I think,’ Hawklan said when Athyr had given his news to the new arrivals. ‘Presumably it’s only a matter of time before they find us if they’re sending out patrols, and we can’t lose the one advantage we have-surprise.’
No one disagreed, though the atmosphere in the tent seemed to become suddenly heavy.
Dacu crouched down and stared into the small fire.
‘When shall we attack?’ he said.
‘Unless Tirke and Yrain tell us something different when they get back, we’ll have to make the first raid tonight,’ Hawklan said, without pause. ‘And be ready for a major encounter tomorrow or perhaps the day after.’
Dacu closed his eyes. ‘With no cavalry worth speak-ing of,’ he said.
Hawklan nodded. ‘But such as we have is better than theirs,’ he said. ‘And they’ve almost certainly been training to face cavalry and not infantry.’ He waved the conjectures aside. ‘It’s of no importance anyway. We’re going to face the reality of it all soon enough, and our people are as well prepared as they can be.’ He looked around the tent. ‘Does anyone want to change any of the battle plan?’ he asked. Dacu smiled wryly. ‘Other than to march back to Orthlund,’ Hawklan added in reply to the unspoken suggestion.
But the mirth could not survive in the stultifying atmosphere of the tent. ‘Come on,’ Hawklan said understandingly. ‘We’ve no choice, you know that. There’s nowhere we can hide or seriously disguise our numbers out here, and if they find us they’ll move out to meet us and against such numbers we’ll have a real problem on our hands. Added to which we’re going to start running into serious supply problems very soon.’
He looked round at his friends again. All, except Dacu, were looking at him. The focus of all their attention, he felt a great loneliness rise up inside him like a black, engulfing shadow. The familiar, terrible images that had so often returned to haunt him, images of war and defeat in a long gone time, came with the darkness and, for a moment, it seemed that the tent and the waiting people were receding into an unreal distance.
But his mind would not allow it. He rested high on the shoulders of these people, like a mountain peak on its broad base, yet, paradoxically, he alone must support their entire weight now. He knew that if he faltered then all would fall. Many things may sway a battle, but the resolution of an army was paramount and this was merely a measure of the resolution of its leader. Wilfully he looked into the ancient darkness and then scattered it with the light of his twenty years at Anderras Darion. Whatever the Morlider had been, they were His creatures now. They must be defeated utterly; crushed. The only choice that he, Hawklan, could give them was flight or death.