‘Good, good, good,’ she said. ‘This has been most helpful. As I expected, we shall all get on splendidly. However, I must return to camp now; we all of us have duties to perform. I shall come back tomorrow and we can begin in earnest.’
As she reached the door of the hall, she stopped and turned round. ‘You didn’t falter in your duty, Fyordyn. You were foully brought down by an infinitely subtle hand. A hand that has led astray wiser than you by far before now.’ Her face became stern and the stick came up. ‘Your tellings are full of self-reproach. That must end. Cling to your past only in so far as you can learn from it. All else will cloud your vision and get your throats cut.’
Eldric started at the unexpected harshness in her voice as she made this last comment, but before he could respond, Gulda and her small company were gone.
He slumped back into his chair and slapped the table with his hand. A nearby goblet chimed out in protesting harmony.
‘Good grief, Arin, is she always like that? Where does she come from? The way she takes charge of things she reminds me of Dan-Tor. Are you sure they’re not related?’
Arinndier laughed. ‘No one seems to know anything about her,’ he said. ‘And she won’t tell you, rest assured. I did tell you about her in my letters.’
‘I presumed you were exaggerating,’ Eldric said ruefully. Then he looked affectionately at his old friend. ‘Still, it’s good to have you back. And whatever that woman is I’m glad she’s on our side. From what little I saw, the Orthlundyn have sent as fine a body of men as you said.’
‘Men and women,’ Arinndier corrected off-handedly, reaching across the table for a piece of bread.
Eldric frowned. ‘Women?’ he said as if he had mis-heard.
‘Women,’ confirmed Arinndier. Then catching El-dric’s eye he raised his hand hastily to forestall the impending outburst. ‘And, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll accept it without comment.’
Despite the seriousness in Arinndier’s voice how-ever, the observation was to little avail. ‘Women can’t wield axes and swords, draw bows, fend for themselves in the field,’ Eldric exclaimed.
‘The Riddinvolk do,’ Arinndier said.
Eldric waved a dismissive hand. ‘Cavalry’s not infan-try,’ he said rather peevishly, unexpectedly stung by this immediate riposte from someone who should have been an ally. ‘Besides, they’re a different people.’
Arinndier smiled but his voice and manner were uncompromising. ‘So are the Orthlundyn,’ he said. ‘Very different from us and very different from what we, or for that matter, what they thought they were. Accept it, Eldric. I’ve learned a lot about them these past weeks, they’re a strange and powerful people. It’s as if the whole country was waking from some long sleep. It behoves us all to take Gulda’s advice and learn.’
A flurry of remonstrations came to Eldric’s mind, but they fell to nothing against Arinndier’s resolution and he brushed them away with a reluctant growl. ‘Very well,’ he said, nodding. ‘After all that’s happened of late I suppose we should be beyond being surprised. But… women… fighting… ’ He shook his head and sighed resignedly. ‘I can’t see it myself, but tell me about them anyway.’
After leaving the impromptu command meeting, Gulda stood pensively on the Palace steps. ‘Go on ahead,’ she said to her companions. ‘You’re tired, and there’s still a lot to do. I’ve some things here I need to attend to.’
As the Orthlundyn left, Gulda turned and went back into the Palace.
Walking through its many corridors and halls, she was inevitably an object of some curiosity to the servants and officials that she encountered. Few, however, lingered to question her, finding that her stern inquiring eye invariably reminded them of duties to be fulfilled elsewhere.
As she entered the deserted Throne Room, its many rows of torches burst into life, and the great stone throne glittered and sparkled as if in welcome.
She looked along the deserted arches and galleries that lined the room, and at the solitary window at the far end, now pale with the uncertain winter twilight. Then she walked the long carpeted way to the steps that led up to the throne. Pausing before she reached them, she turned and stared at the floor. Though no stain existed to mark it, Gulda was looking at the place where Rgoric had met his cruel end.
She stood there, still and silent, for a long time, then slowly she turned her back on the throne and returned to the great double doors through which she had entered. Gently closing them she set off again on her solitary pilgrimage around the Palace.
Eventually her footsteps carried her through an elaborate archway and into the Crystal Hall. It was apparently deserted and the subdued light was tinted with a rich redness that the Hall had drawn from the setting sun outside.
Gulda gazed around at the flickering sagas being silently enacted in the depths of the strange walls. Slowly she moved around the hall, her stooped form carving its own deep and subtle darkness through the shadows. Occasionally she reached out and touched the translucent, gold-threaded wall, and the scene behind it would shift and flurry in surprised agitation, sometimes seeming to flow out along her arm to hover briefly in the warm darkness.
She smiled and the whole wall rippled with celebra-tion.
As she stopped before the great tree, its stark, wintry branches seemed to reach out to greet her, becoming alive with the eyes of countless glittering insects.
She chuckled in response, then she paused. There was another presence in the hall.
‘Honoured Secretary,’ she said, without turning.
‘Memsa,’ came the acknowledging reply.
Gulda turned round and looked at the figure of Dilrap, sitting motionless in the shade. ‘Forgive me, I’m intruding on you,’ she said, her hand extended to stop him rising,
Dilrap shook his head. ‘No, Memsa,’ he replied. ‘There’s few who appreciate the splendour of this place in its quieter moods and such as there are could not, by their nature, intrude.’
Gulda bowed.
‘Rather, I suspect it’s I who intrude on you,’ Dilrap went on. ‘The Hall pays homage to you. I’ve never seen it so… alive… not even in bright sunshine.’
Gulda smiled and sat down beside Dilrap. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It pays me no homage, nor anyone. I understand it, that’s all. I used to play… ’ Her voice tailed off and Dilrap’s eyes narrowed as a terrible loneliness washed over him. Impulsively he reached out and took her hand. It closed around his, strong and powerful, yet almost unbearably plaintive.
‘They’re all here still, for those with the eye to see them,’ she said, after a long silence. Her voice was a throaty whisper. ‘Sunlit, glowing times, full of laughter and joy. Captured by hands and skills long, long, gone. Times before… before He came. Before His taint sought out the weaknesses… seeped into them… ’
She fell silent again and Dilrap folded his other hand around hers; no words, he knew, could reach into such darkness.
Neither moved nor spoke for some time, and the redness around them slowly deepened and faded, to be replaced by the paler, quieter, stillness that came from the night-covered winter landscape outside.
Slowly Gulda withdrew her hand from Dilrap’s gen-tle clasp.
‘You have strangely powerful hands, Memsa,’ he said. ‘Like the Queen’s.’
‘Ah, your Queen-Sylvriss-the horsewoman,’ Gulda said, looking down at her hands, her voice still uncertain. ‘Another mote in Dan-Tor’s eye.’ She paused briefly. ‘I went to the Throne Room,’ she went on. ‘Her love sustained Rgoric to the very end.’
‘I know,’ Dilrap said simply.
Gulda nodded. ‘Of course you do,’ she said. ‘I forgot who I was talking to.’
She turned to him. Dilrap met her gaze, but as he looked at her his eyes filled with bewilderment and uncertainty.
‘You are not what you seem, are you, Gulda?’ he said simply. ‘Why do you choose to be thus?’
Gulda started momentarily then lowered her eyes. ‘You have great silence around you, Dilrap,’ she said. ‘You stood at the right hand of Oklar and deceived him. Looked into his dark blazing soul and hid your deceit behind the truth. And you lived. And remained a whole man. It has given you a sight rarer than you can know… ’ She hesitated. ‘But where you cannot aid, perhaps you should not look too closely. Thank you for your sharing, though. You are rich and blessed, Honoured Secretary.’