‘Where’s the King?’ she repeated uncertainly, her glow fading as though an icy wind had just struck her.
Isloman found himself holding his breath.
Tel-Odrel stepped forward and bowed slightly. He swallowed and faced the deed he had been dreading since he left Vakloss. Despite Dilrap’s request, and his own wish, there was no gentle way to do this. Swiftness was all he could offer. ‘Majesty,’ he said tonelessly. ‘The King is dead. He was mur… ’
‘No!’ The Queen’s voice was raucous with a mixture of fear and regal defiance. Her right hand swung up and struck him across the face as if the ferocity of the deed and the loudness of her cry might reach back through time and prevent the escape of such news. But even as she did so, the blood drained from her face, and Isloman knew that she was looking into the cold empty void that the rest of her life had suddenly become.
Tel-Odrel staggered slightly under the impact of the blow and red weals appeared on his cheek almost immediately. His left hand started to reach up to soothe the injury, but the right hand restrained it. Water came to his eyes.
‘Majesty,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘I’d take a thousand such if it would make my news untrue, but the King is dead. Murdered by Urssain and the Mathidrin at the command of Dan-Tor.’
The Queen looked at him pleadingly for a long mo-ment, but Tel-Odrel’s tearful gaze gave her no escape. Suddenly spent, she closed her eyes and briefly covered her face with her hands.
The four men stood motionless.
When Sylvriss lowered her hands, her face was pale and strained but controlled. She looked at Tel-Odrel’s reddening cheek and her eyes narrowed slightly in self-reproach.
‘I apologize, Goraidin,’ she said quietly. ‘I behaved like a stable maid. It was inexcusable. Forgive me.’
Tel-Odrel opened his mouth to speak, but had he found the words, his taut throat would not have allowed him to speak them.
The Queen turned away and moved back towards the entrance to the staircase. ‘I shall be in my quarters for some time,’ she said. ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed.’
‘Majesty… ’ Yatsu began, but the Queen was gone and the four men were left standing in silence, listening to the echo of her footsteps growing increasingly faster as they faded into the distance. Once she stumbled slightly.
Tel-Odrel wiped his eyes with the edge of his hand, and for some time the others avoided looking at each other.
Slowly the noises of the disbanding patrol filtered down the long corridor and helped ease them away from that terrible moment.
Yatsu cleared his throat, a strange tocsin calling them back to the present from their dark isolation. ‘I’m sorry Tel-Odrel,’ he said. ‘That was my job.’
Tel-Odrel waved the remark aside. ‘We’ve done worse for each other,’ he said. ‘Besides, you’ll have to tell Eldric and the others what happened.’
Yatsu nodded. ‘You told no one else of this?’ he asked.
Tel-Odrel shook his head. ‘No, of course not,’ he replied. ‘Only that the King wouldn’t be following.’
Yatsu looked along the corridor. In the distance he could see the neat form of Commander Varak, obviously looking for someone. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘We need a little quiet time to talk and think and… to accept this atrocity.’
Without comment, the three men took his lead and slipped quietly from the corridor. Varak, casting up and down for Yatsu, blinked as he thought he caught a shadowy movement in the distance. He dismissed it as a fancy.
Unthinkingly using old battle reflexes, the four men moved through the castle unseen and unheard until at last they reached a lonely room in a high tower.
Yatsu bolted the door behind them and then flopped down in a chair. His earlier calm was replaced by a restless agitation.
‘This is horrific,’ he burst out. ‘Rgoric assassinated. I can’t believe it.’
No one spoke.
‘Poor Sylvriss,’ he muttered softly, staring down at his hands. ‘Poor… ’ He swore. Then he looked at Tel-Odrel and Lorac. ‘Tell me everything that’s happened,’ he said, almost angrily. ‘Hawklan comes back stricken in some strange fashion. Isloman tells us that Dan-Tor has razed half the city with a mere gesture. The Queen flees to us saying the King is miraculously well again. Now you tell us he’s dead amp;mdashmurdered. In the name of sanity, give me clear information amp;mdashsomething to make sense out of all this.’
The tale took little telling. The two Goraidin had parted from Hawklan and Isloman when they reached Vakloss and had gone quietly about the business of re-establishing old contacts. As a result they had been well away from the palace and the two great levelling swathes of destruction that Dan-Tor had cut in his agony and rage.
Stunned and shocked by what had happened they spent some time digging frantically for survivors along with countless others. Eventually some semblance of order had emerged and they too had become calmer, gradually remembering why they were there. Circum-stances having changed so appallingly, they moved into the palace to seek out Dilrap as being the most likely source of information.
Yatsu made them tell Dilrap’s tale twice, watching them intently as they did so. ‘You confirmed the King’s death?’ he said coldly, when they had finished. Lorac frowned at him. ‘Of course not,’ he said irritably. ‘But the Throne Room and all around it was sealed tight although the rest of the Palace was wide open.’ He leaned forward over Yatsu. ‘And Dilrap saw what he saw, commander, have no doubts about that. He’s supposed to be some kind of a clown, but the man’s worth ten of any one of us.’ Tel-Odrel nodded.
Yatsu put his hand to his forehead then abruptly looked up again. ‘And you ask me to believe that Dan-Tor is one of the Uhriel? Oklar… the earth Corruptor,’ he said, almost contemptuously.
Neither Goraidin flinched from this onslaught. ‘The King named him, Commander,’ said Tel-Odrel. ‘With his last words.’
‘Dilrap’s words,’ Yatsu sneered.
‘Dilrap saw what he saw, commander.’ Tel-Odrel’s echo of Lorac’s words was menacing. He levelled a finger at his eyes. ‘And we saw what we saw. An army of sappers and engineers couldn’t have done that to the city in months. Only the real sweat and toil of real digging stopped us going mad. That and real people in real pain. And real death,’ he added as a grim after-thought.
He struck the sleeve of his tunic with his hand and a cloud of dust leapt up at the impact. Yatsu stared into the hovering motes. ‘That’s Vakloss, commander,’ Tel-Odrel said through clenched teeth. ‘It’s under my nails, ingrained in my skin, my hair, everywhere. And it’s no man’s handiwork.’
Yatsu turned away and sat silent for a moment. Then he turned to Isloman. ‘If this… force… was so powerful, how did you and Hawklan stand in front of it?’ he asked. His voice did not have as harsh an edge as when he had spoken to his fellow countrymen, but it was severe.
Isloman shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. I was too terrified to think,’ he said quietly but in a voice that would allow no questioning. ‘Hawklan withstood the force. I merely hid behind him. Perhaps he’ll remember if amp;mdashwhen he wakes.’
‘And you saw nothing of Dan-Tor changing into this… this Uhriel?’ Yatsu pressed.
Isloman shook his head again. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘But Hawklan saw something very clearly, or he wouldn’t have attacked the way he did.’ He paused. ‘And Dan-Tor was changed in some way,’ he continued hesitantly. ‘Changed and unchanged. I can’t explain it. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You can put your own worth on your own men’s words, Yatsu, but the Dan-Tor that loosed that force against Hawklan was no man.’
Yatsu closed his eyes and sat very still for some time, then, relaxing suddenly, he breathed out heavily.
‘Is that everything?’ he asked. The two Goraidin nodded. They too relaxed. ‘Sorry if that was a bit rough,’ he added.
‘You’ve been harder,’ Lorac said. ‘And it’s no easy tale. Have you any doubts?’ Yatsu shook his head.