He turned back to Girvan. ‘We can’t tell you why we’re here,’ he said. ‘At least, not yet. The Queen must tell her father first.’
Girvan frowned. ‘Yes, I forgot about your… elabo-rate… ways of discussing things,’ he said. ‘But I asked for a reason. I’ve patrolled here for years and seen little more than the odd soul who’s lost his way from the Gretmearc. Now, within a few days of one another, one of the old men from the Caves comes and tells us he has an important message for Urthryn; Morlider land for the first time since the war; and you appear, presumably out of some little used route through the mountains, escorting your Queen, no less.’ He looked intently at each of the two men. ‘The lines of the house of Orness are responsible for patrolling the northern borders,’ he said. ‘I want no precious secrets, but I need to know what trouble is following you so that I can dispose the lines properly to meet it.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Yengar said. His Goraidin train-ing told him he must give this man the information he needed to answer these legitimate concerns. ‘As far as we know, no danger follows the route we took. Certainly no army, especially now the snows have arrived. It might perhaps not go amiss if you increase your vigilance of the more usual routes from Fyorlund, but again, I doubt any force will be coming. As for your old man and the Morlider, I know nothing.’
Lennar appeared with food. Girvan looked at her severely and she contented herself with accidentally brushing against Yengar as she reached across to hand a plate to Olvric.
Clearing his throat, Yengar answered Girvan’s other question.
‘We asked you to keep the Morlider because they too raised questions which should be answered,’ he said. ‘For one thing, they were too far inland for such a small raiding party.’
Girvan coughed, and pulled at his ear. ‘That was my mistake,’ he said awkwardly. ‘We delayed because we didn’t believe the first reports we got, then we acciden-tally cut them off and drove them this far in. It was fortunate for us all that Sylvriss ran into us when she did otherwise we might have ridden past and lost them for days.’
‘That’s one problem dealt with,’ Yengar said, look-ing relieved. ‘Their appearance here made no sense at all. But there are other matters. Their leader, Drago… spoke of a new chief; of wanting… breeding stock.’ He wrinkled his face in distaste at the expression. ‘Of their time coming soon,’ he concluded.
Girvan shrugged. ‘Words,’ he said. ‘Rhetoric. He was blowing air in front of his men. Probably didn’t like Sylvriss getting the better of him amp;mdashthey’ve some very strange ideas about women, you know.’
Both the Goraidin shook their heads and said ‘No,’ simultaneously. Olvric spoke. ‘You’re a veteran, if I’m any judge, Girvan,’ he said. ‘Why did your country ask for help twenty years ago?’
Girvan looked at him, but there was no accusation or offence in Olvric’s manner.
‘There were too many of them,’ he answered simply.
Olvric nodded. ‘Far too many,’ he said. ‘And from what we know about them, their islands are crowded with people. They can want breeding stock for one thing only. Fighters. Armies.’
Girvan looked uncertain. Olvric leaned forward. ‘Drago knew he probably wouldn’t reach the coast undiscovered, yet he was so concerned about his new Chief, that he was prepared to slow himself down and also risk being punished by you by taking a pregnant woman with him.’ He reached out and took the line leader’s arm. ‘And they have a torch, the like of which we thought existed only in Fyorlund, and which betokens no good. We have to question these people, Girvan. Find out what’s going on. I fear that our troubles and yours may be the same.’
Girvan looked from Olvric to Yengar and reached his decision. ‘I’ll have the watch on the coast increased,’ he said. ‘And give orders that Morlider are to be captured and taken to Dremark.’
Chapter 30
The Morlider War had been fought mainly in the north of Riddin and following its dreadful conclusion the various allies had said their sad farewells on the battlefield and departed directly for their homelands. Thus neither Yengar nor Olvric had ever visited Dremark.
It was unlike anything they had ever encountered in Fyorlund. Where Vakloss stood high on a solitary hill, dominating the surrounding countryside and domi-nated itself by the Palace, Dremark was spread over the floor of a lush valley, its centre being overlooked by those outskirts that rose up the valley sides. Where Vakloss had tall, haughty buildings, bedecked with elaborate and colourful wood carvings, Dremark had wide, open streets and smaller, simpler buildings whose plain white walls were decorated with expansive painted murals showing, inevitably, horses and horse riders: horses grazing on rolling countryside; horses in battle, from travelling columns to cavalry charges; horses working in the fields; horses in Festival celebrations and parades and, above all, in the Helangai, a fearsome game played at the least excuse and with monumental zest by seemingly all the Riddinvolk.
Girvan’s line had played it once on the journey from the north, shortly after they had crossed the River Endamar. It seemed to Yengar to be almost like an act of thanksgiving now that they were leaving the harsher pastures of the north behind them.
The principle of the Helangai was simple enough: a large, weighted bag, suspiciously man-shaped, was to be picked up and carried to an agreed place on the field. It could be played anywhere, and by any number of riders, and would sometimes last for days, ranging far and wide across the countryside. Apart from outright murder and maiming, however, there seemed to be no rules, although Yengar noted that anything which threatened to injure the horses brought swift dismissal from the field for the offender.
He and Olvric watched it for a little while from the edge of the field, but with their unerring instinct for survival, soon retired to a nearby, higher rock to watch the remainder of the game in a combination of amaze-ment and bewilderment.
At one point, Lennar, circling wide, rode by them and stopped to wipe perspiration from her flushed face. She waved enthusiastically to Yengar. ‘Get your horse. Join in,’ she cried.
Yengar declined the invitation as politely as he could, but freely cited cowardice as his excuse.
‘It’s only a little knockabout. Nothing serious,’ the woman declaimed, puzzled, but seeing Yengar was not to be persuaded, she was soon swept into the fray again.
Olvric chuckled.
‘Shut up,’ Yengar said brusquely, staring intently at the mayhem swirling in front of them.
Olvric’s chuckle turned to a barely stifled and pro-longed laugh.
The journey to Dremark had been hard on Sylvriss’s escort. They had neither the mounts, the skill, nor the endurance to keep up with the Muster line for any distance once they moved beyond a leisurely trot. Girvan was thoughtful about his guests and tried to keep the pace moderate, but even the Goraidin were more than pleased when at last they came to the top of a ridge and saw Dremark sprawling below, peaceful in the autumn sunlight; the silver thread of a river running through it.
The city streets were busy, but their width and the sense of spaciousness afforded by the relatively low buildings lent it a relaxed and pleasant air. Girvan had sent the captives in discreetly, by post-wagon, and had equally discreetly sent a personal messenger to Urthryn to tell him of the unexpected arrival of his daughter and of her wish to enter Dremark unnoticed. Thus their arrival was that of an ordinary Muster line accompanied by a few strangers, and attracted little or no attention, although one or two passers-by stared at Sylvriss awkwardly, trying to place a long-forgotten face.
The murals fascinated the Fyordyn, as did the prac-tice of the Riddinvolk of grassing the roofs of their buildings and sweeping them down to ground level in long continuous ramps.