‘I did tell you!’ Arinndier wrote.
But nothing could prevent the people of Vakloss providing their own informal welcome, muffled and gloved though they might be.
Eldric was pleased to see the crowds. Dan-Tor’s rule and his bloody deposition had left many scars on the Fyordyn; scars which ached and throbbed from time to time and some of which might take generations to heal fully. But the Uhriel’s leeching corrosion had destroyed none of the vital threads which bound the people together. The re-establishment of the Geadrol and, above all, the open meting out of justice in the tradi-tional courts, proved too rich a fare for the ranks of malcontents that had thrived on Dan-Tor’s diet of envy, vindictiveness and secretive treachery. The recovery had gone on apace.
It had been helped, too, by the news from Orthlund. With old enemies threatening Riddin, and the Orthlundyn-the quiet, gentle Orthlundyn-marching through the winter mountains to their aid, the Fyor-dyn’s own sufferings could be seen as part of a wider torment. A combination of guilt at their failure to fulfil their ancient duties, and anger at Dan-Tor’s personal betrayal swept away many lesser grievances.
Now the Orthlundyn were here. And soon the winter would be ended. Then the creator of this long nightmare would feel the wrath of his victims!
The Fyordyn were optimistic.
Except for the news from Riddin, Eldric thought. Or, more correctly, the absence of news. According to messages from Arinndier, the Alphraan had reported that the army had left the mountains to enter Riddin in good heart, but since then there had been only silence. What had happened there? What had happened to the Muster? The Orthlundyn? Hawklan? And, not least, Sylvriss? And, though heard only in Eldric’s heart, Jaldaric?
It had been suggested that some of the Goraidin be sent through the mountains to find the answers to these questions, but Yatsu calmly, if regretfully, stated the obvious. ‘Men could die on such a journey,’ he said. ‘That’s probably why they’ve not sent any news themselves. And at the worst, what information could such a venture bring us that we can’t already make preparation for? The Goraidin should be used where they’ll be of greatest benefit. They must stay in the north, preparing for the assault on the mines.’
Nobody had seriously disputed his comments, but still the silence from Riddin lay across all considerations like a cold hand.
Distant cheering brought Eldric out of his brief reverie and he saw that the road ahead was blocked by a milling crowd. Beyond the bobbing heads he could see wagons and horsemen, prominent among the latter being Arinndier.
Eldric reined to a halt and smiled.
‘Commander Varak,’ he said. ‘Take a few troopers and see if you can gently open up a way for us… and our allies.’
Varak saluted smartly and signalled to a group of High Guards. Their offices, however, were not required. Even before they had moved forward, the crowd ahead parted to reveal a black, stooping figure leaning on a stick.
‘Gulda,’ said Eldric and Darek simultaneously.
‘Memsa!’ Hreldar reminded them raising his eye-brows in mock warning.
Gulda moved purposefully towards them, Arinndier and other horsemen following in her wake. Eldric and the party dismounted to greet her.
For the first time in many years, Eldric felt young again as the black figure bore down on him; too young. He had the distinct feeling that he was a child again, standing in front of one of his old teachers. There was quality about Gulda that belied utterly the stooped form and the stick she seemed to lean on.
‘Lord Eldric,’ she said-a statement, not a question, he noted. He took the offered hand. Her grip was like a man’s; indeed, not unlike Hawklan’s in the feeling it gave of great power finely and totally controlled. He found his balance being subtly tested. A brief apprecia-tive smile passed over Gulda’s face, then her piercing blue eyes looked into his and reduced him unequivo-cally to the schoolroom again.
The word ‘Gulda’ formed in his throat, but ‘Memsa’ came out as he scrabbled back to his true age and dignity. ‘Lord Arinndier has written much about you. It’s an honour to meet you.’
‘I deduce from what he’s told me that you conducted a fine campaign,’ Gulda said, without preliminaries. ‘You and your Goraidin. Well done. Bravely done, against such a foe.’ Then, before Eldric could speak, she moved to Darek and Hreldar, gave them their names and tested them similarly.
As she did so, her gaze took in the other waiting dignitaries and their High Guard escort.
‘Commander Varak,’ she said.
‘Yes, Memsa,’ the startled commander replied, click-ing his heels and bowing slightly.
Gulda nodded and grunted non-committally. ‘Thank you for the escort you sent us,’ she said warmly. ‘They’ve been most efficient and helpful. Disciplined but with lots of initiative. You and I will get on well.’
Varak’s mouth opened, but no sound came.
Eldric moved to rescue his flustered aide. ‘Memsa, we’ve come to greet you and your people and to escort you and your senior officers to the Palace for a small ceremony of welcome.’
Gulda pursed her lips. ‘These people are all the wel-come we need, Lord,’ she said, looking at the surrounding crowd. ‘That and a place to camp.’
‘That’s all arranged, Memsa,’ Eldric said. ‘These Guards and your escort will attend to it.’ He looked at her intently. ‘Join us please. We see the value of our small ceremonies much more since the passing of Dan-Tor.’
Gulda looked at him keenly for a moment then gave a consenting nod.
‘A perceptive observation, Lord, I commend you,’ she said. ‘Give me a little time to see the people settled first-we’ve covered a good distance today and they’re tired, cold and hungry-then, with your permission, I’d like to walk your city again-alone-see for myself the damage that Oklar wrought on it.’
‘Alone, Memsa?’ Eldric queried awkwardly.
‘I’m well acquainted with the place, Lord,’ Gulda replied, mildly indignant. ‘You needn’t fear for my getting lost.’
Eldric began to flounder. ‘Memsa, there are a small number of disaffected elements in the City… ’ he began.
‘They’ll not bother a harmless old woman,’ Gulda said, turning away from him and heading back to her army. ‘Have no fear, I shall join you before noon.’
Arinndier dismounted. He was smiling broadly as he greeted Eldric and his friends warmly. ‘Welcome to the ranks of the intimidated,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consola-tion, the Memsa gets worse as you get to know her.’
Eldric looked at him uncertainly. ‘That’s most reas-suring,’ he said.
‘I can see you don’t believe me,’ Arinndier went on, laughing. ‘Well, if I were so inclined, I’d wager that you’ll be discussing strategy and tactics with her before sunset, welcoming celebration or not.’
Arinndier was correct. At noon, Gulda presented herself at the Palace where, in one of the great halls, and together with a few senior company commanders, she patiently accepted an official welcome in the form of a rather long speech from the City Rede, and a hastily shortened one from Eldric. This was followed by what was to have been a feast of welcome, but Gulda took the initiative.
‘Lords, I thank you for your welcome, but now we’ve much to discuss. We’ll eat as we work,’ she said, but with an unexpected graciousness that disarmed even the cooks and chefs.
Thus, to Arinndier’s amusement, and well before sunset, the Fyordyn found themselves retailing the history of Fyorlund from the Morlider War to the present; retailing it in great detail under Gulda’s gently incessant interrogation. At times it seemed she was allowing the discussion to ramble aimlessly; the Mandroc found in Lord Evison’s castle, the brief use of the Old Power, if such it was, by Dan-Tor prior to the Lords’ assault on Vakloss, the terrible fire wagons that had been launched against the infantry, the gradual deterioration of the High Guards over the years, Hawklan’s confrontation with Dan-Tor and its conse-quences, the illness and recovery of the King; an apparently endless list of topics were touched on and then left until, quite abruptly, Gulda clapped her hands.