The numbing physical effect of his flight and his impact with the wall was beginning to wear off and the terror of the incident overrode the reserve which he normally maintained with Gulda.
Unasked, he seized a nearby chair, sat down oppo-site her, and gabbled out his tale, almost incoherently. Gulda listened without comment, keeping her eyes fixed on her book.
‘I can’t get back into the Armoury, Memsa,’ he con-cluded with an anxious wave of his hand. ‘The labyrinth has closed itself in some way. I couldn’t step one pace into it without… ’ His voice tailed off.
Unexpectedly, Gulda reached out and laid her hand on his. He started at the touch, it seemed so vital and strong. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, her blue eyes search-ing into him.
‘A little battered,’ Loman replied. ‘And, to be honest, frightened and shaky now.’
Gulda nodded. ‘Good,’ she said, standing up and leaning on her stick. ‘You’re lucky.’
Loman’s eyebrows arched. ‘Lucky!’ he said indig-nantly. ‘It was a sprint the like of which I haven’t done in years got me out of that place, Gulda, never mind luck!’
Gulda glowered at him. He cleared his throat. ‘Memsa,’ he corrected apologetically.
‘It was luck, young Loman,’ Gulda stated defini-tively. ‘The labyrinth’s more dangerous than you can imagine. You were lucky it paused long enough to see you were a friend, or at worst, no foe, and simply threw you out.’
Loman recalled the force with which he had struck the wall.
‘Threw me out?’ he said softly. ‘I don’t understand. I must have jumped, surely.’
Gulda shook her head. ‘Nothing can escape the laby-rinth if it chooses to hold them,’ she said. ‘It could have trapped you there to starve to death, driven you mad, killed you outright before you could even sense the threat, even reached out and… ’ Loman went white, and Gulda stopped. A brief look of self-reproach passed over her face.
‘Hawklan didn’t tell you, did he?’ she said.
Loman shook his head. ‘He just showed me the path and helped me learn it. Perhaps he didn’t know what it could do. He wouldn’t ask me to face a danger I didn’t understand.’
Gulda nodded. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, absently. ‘Who knows where his knowledge comes from? Or what fatal gaps it contains.’ Then she fell silent, staring pensively down at the floor.
‘But what happened, Memsa?’ Loman ventured after a while, adding, with increasing force: ‘I was on the path. I did nothing unusual. Why should it… attack me? Aren’t you concerned? We can’t get back into the Armoury now.’
Gulda remained motionless. ‘It heard something,’ she said faintly. ‘As did I. Something neither of us have heard for a long time. I trembled, it acted. My response was too slight, its perhaps too strong. I doubt either will happen again.’
Loman frowned and bit back his first response. ‘Memsa, I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ he managed.
Gulda turned to him slowly. ‘I think perhaps Hawk-lan has met Dan-Tor, Loman,’ she said. ‘And, I fear, has been assailed by him.’ She raised her hand to forestall any questions. ‘I know no more.’
Loman’s frustration burst out. He stood up, his chair scraping noisily across the floor. ‘How can you say something like that, Memsa, and then not expect me to ask about it?’ he said angrily.
Gulda winced briefly at the force of his appeal, then swinging her stick up, levelled it at his chest. ‘Lower your voice and lower your backside, young Loman,’ she said sternly. For an instant, Loman felt an urge to dash the stick to one side. Gulda’s eyes narrowed and her head tilted again as if she were listening for something. Then she lowered the stick and, stooping heavily, walked over to a large chair opposite the window.
She pulled up the hood of her gown so that her face was completely hidden, then leaned back and stared out over the ridges and towers of the castle, bright in the summer sun, her stick laid across her knees.
‘Loman, I must think,’ she said, her voice uncharac-teristically soft. ‘I can’t answer any of your questions. Truly. Go back to the Armoury. You’ll find the labyrinth is open again. It knew enough not to kill you, or even darken your soul. You’ll be safe. Trust me.’
Loman hesitated. ‘But Hawklan…?’ he said.
Gulda made a slight movement with her hand, part dismissal, part plea.
‘Please, Loman,’ she said. ‘Do as I ask. Then go out into the wind and light and renew yourself.’
Loman looked at her, now motionless and silent. The memory of the figure he had seen when he first entered returned to him. He looked down at his hands and wondered if his carving skills could capture it. Suddenly he missed Hawklan and his brother.
‘Very well, Memsa,’ he said.
As he opened the door, Gulda said, ‘Loman, I think we too are assailed. In your quieter moments, ponder your anger of late, and that of your people. We must be eternally watchful with these old skills we’re re-learning.’
Loman paused. The comment stirred unspoken concerns of his own. ‘I will, Memsa,’ he answered quietly. ‘I will.’
Chapter 7
Dilrap walked wearily along the quiet, almost deserted corridors of the Palace’s private quarters. He looked down at his errant robe. It was grimed with dust. As were his hands. As was everything, he reflected. It would be pleasant to bathe, albeit briefly, and then rest safe in soft sheets and soft darkness even if it was only an hour or so until dawn. His fatigue overrode his fears about what kind of a day he might waken to. Whatever future lay ahead, this day was one he could take some pride in. He had helped the Lord Eldric and Jaldaric escape and been instrumental in helping the people of Vakloss recover themselves and draw some semblance of order out of the chaos that Dan-Tor had unleashed on them. Further, he had managed to take a small step away from his own destruction and into the service of Dan-Tor by a combination of his organizing skills and an unexpected confrontation with Urssain.
Head down and preoccupied, as he turned the cor-ner that would bring him to his own rooms he almost tripped over two men who were lying asleep on the floor. One was leaning against the wall, mouth agape, and holding the head of the other in his lap. They made an incongruous sight, looking to Dilrap like large, dirty children picnicking in a forest and, despite his tiredness, he smiled.
As Urssain had originally feared, a great many ‘in-truders’ had indeed entered the Palace, and were now to be found sleeping in a variety of places and postures. They were a mixture of exhausted helpers, sleeping wherever they found themselves when fatigue overtook them, and those frightened and homeless who had not yet been drawn into the gentle nets of order that Dilrap had been casting over the City.
Several times through the day, uncertain of his role in the work being undertaken, Urssain had pestered Dilrap about ‘all these people, wandering about’. Finally, in exasperation, Dilrap had hissed at him: ‘All these people, as you call them, are Fyordyn citizens, not thieves and robbers. The Palace is as safe with them as it is with some of your guards. Just make sure the Throne Room and the Ffyrst’s quarters are guarded.’ Then, very softly, ‘And wherever you’ve put the King’s body.’
For a moment he thought he had gone too far, but driving his nails into his palms, he held Urssain’s gaze, tempering the bluntness of his words with a look of pleading urgency in his eyes. It had worked, but Dilrap had reminded himself to win no more such victories for the time being. Very soon his value would become less evident and small acts of defiance such as that could then float to the surface to wreck the fragile vessel of his survival.
Looking down at the two sleeping men, it occurred to him that he should seek a very public opportunity to thank amp;mdashno, praise amp;mdashCommander Urssain and his men for their vital contribution to today’s rescue efforts. That should smooth down any ruffled pride and also assure Urssain that the Honoured Secretary knew his place. He nodded to himself. That would be something for tomorrow. Sometime perhaps when the Rede and the Guild Master and a few senior officers were present.