Aelang let the papers fall slowly back onto the desk. And yet to disobey this, a direct and personal order from the King. There would be plenty of people happy to profit from his making such a mistake; plenty to take his place, one of them sitting opposite him now. And, for all his judgment of the matter, he could well find himself the recipient of the Lord Dan-Tor’s anger if he disobeyed a direct order from the King. He swore again softly. Urssain was right; there really was no alternative.
If this is some folly of the King’s, then I’ll be judged by the way in which I put this order into practice, he concluded. Besides, practicalities always made opportu-nities of their own.
‘Where is this Jaldaric?’ he asked brusquely.
Urssain looked at him awkwardly. ‘He’s in charge of the patrol that’s escorting the Lord Dan-Tor. According to the King they’re heading south through Orthlund on some mission or other.’
Aelang’s cruel face almost smiled at the increasing folly of it all. This was getting worse and worse. He had put the right man in Vakloss. The King must indeed be raving.
‘When’s he due back?’ he asked, knowing the an-swer.
Urssain gave it with a shrug. ‘You know the Lord Dan-Tor better than I do,’ he said.
Aelang stood up and moved over to a map hanging on the wall. He stared at it for some time in the pallid sunlight that was washing into the room.
‘So we have to move the patrol right across the country and down into Orthlund of all places. Keeping it out of sight all the way. Then we have to take it through Orthlund, still keeping it out of sight. Looking for the Lord Dan-Tor, who could be anywhere, but who doubtless will be moving quietly along the very roads where we won’t dare to travel.’ He looked significantly at Urssain, but the Captain neither spoke nor moved.
Keeping your head down still, Urs, Aelang thought. Well, I’ve got a better use for you now.
‘This is going to be… delicate, Urs,’ he said pen-sively. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’
Urssain’s eyes narrowed briefly as old instincts came into play. Rgoric’s order meant trouble for Aelang and he did not want to be too close if it happened. On the other hand, Aelang was also a consummate survivor. He cut through his own debate by reminding himself that there was no way in which he could reasonably oppose his Commander, so he contented himself with a token resistance.
‘Yes, Commander,’ he said. ‘But what about the Palace? There’s a lot happening there, the King being the way he is. And Vakloss. There’s already some serious rumblings from the people about the King having his own High Guard. That’s bothering them more than the Geadrol being suspended.’
Aelang turned his pale eyes onto the captain and bared his teeth in a grim smile. ‘Captain.’ He empha-sized the word to remind Urssain who had won him his promotion. ‘With all this… activity, going on, it’s in our best interests to find the Lord Dan-Tor as soon as possible, isn’t it?’ The comment summarized all their problems succinctly. ‘And I need someone by me that I can rely on to handle that patrol. We’ll send a rider with a sealed message to try to find the Lord Dan-Tor and persuade him to head back, while we obey this order and follow-as slowly as we dare-with the patrol.’
Chapter 21
Under the unexpectedly powerful impact of Andawyr’s blow, Hawklan, sword in hand, found himself staggering backwards out of the pavilion for some distance. Even as he struggled to recover his balance, he felt the cold night air at once waking and quietening both his mind and his body.
In front of him the pavilion flickered and shone dementedly, no longer a thing of fascination or enchantment, but something unpleasant and unnatural, and now, seemingly increasingly uncontrolled. Looking around him he noticed that for all the glare of its many-changing lights, and the light it threw in the clearing, the pavilion cast no illumination on the surrounding buildings.
Screwing up his eyes, he peered into the entrance, now dazzlingly bright. In the haze, he could make out a confusion of movement. They were struggling figures. He stepped forward, anxious to aid his rescuers, but before he had taken two paces, there was a dull thud and a gasp and the little old man ran out into his arms, followed by Gavor, black and purposeful against the brightness.
Andawyr looked at Hawklan angrily.
‘What are you still here for, you blockhead?’ he shouted. ‘Get away, man, get away.’ Then seizing Hawklan’s arm he spun him round and began dragging him across the clearing, now garish and swirling under the hysterical lights.
Gavor made an unsteady landing on Hawklan’s shoulder. ‘Dear boy,’ he gasped. ‘What on earth’s happening? You’re just not safe to let off on your own. Oh. This is Andawyr. He found you. He… ’
Gavor did not finish his sentence. Before they reached the waiting darkness, the light around them took on a new quality. It steadied and became a cold green colour. Hawklan felt his progress slow, as if he were under water, or as if a thousand tiny strings had suddenly seized him. Turning, he saw that Andawyr also seemed to be having difficulty.
His face was torn with anger and fear and he was muttering to himself. ‘Ethriss give me strength. I’m not ready for this.’
‘Hawklan.’ A soft soothing voice sounded in Hawk-lan’s mind. ‘Don’t be afraid.’ The voice carried the memory of some long-forgotten sweetness. ‘This turmoil is but a dream. Set it aside. Journeying so far from your home has wearied your very spirit. Come and rest. Come and be easy. Hawklan felt a warm restfulness pervading him again, and slowly started to turn back towards the pavilion.
‘No.’ A harsh, angry voice rent through his peace. It was distorted and ugly but it tore away Hawklan’s euphoria as if it had been a suffocating veil. He was again in the cold night air, but his movements were still clogged by the eerie green light. Andawyr was speaking, his voice still distorted and oddly distant.
‘Fight, Hawklan,’ it said. ‘Fight your way to the darkness and then flee for your life.’
Hawklan opened his mouth to speak. He would not leave the old man, but he could not form the words of refusal he wished to use. Andawyr’s eyes showed understanding.
‘No. Go, now,’ came his voice. ‘I must face this one. He’s far beyond any skill you’ve yet mastered.’
Then he staggered as if struck, and Hawklan felt as though the green light around him was solidifying, so difficult was it to move. A small spark of his recent frenzy flared briefly, and he tightened his grip on his sword. The greenness wavered and his movements became a little easier.
Slowly he turned round. The pavilion was now a blur of insanely dancing light. It seemed to exist in some other place, the entrance to which was like a jagged tear in the fabric of reality and from which emanated the baleful glare now sweeping over the three escapees.
Silhouetted black against this light was a single figure. Hawklan could not make out its shape clearly nor distinguish any details of its appearance except for its eyes which seemed to be like holes through which the green depths behind it were pouring.
‘Hawklan, lay down your sword, and rest,’ came the voice again, soothingly. Hawklan hesitated and the green light glowed welcomingly.
Then again Andawyr was by his side, leaning heavily on him for support, as if he were being assailed, though Hawklan could see nothing. The old man’s face was damp with effort and only a grim determination was keeping some fear at bay.
‘Obscenity,’ he gasped at the waiting figure. ‘Who taught you thus? Where did you find what was needed for… that?’ Andawyr’s finger jabbed through the green light towards the interior of the pavilion.