As they entered the hall, however, she threw back her hood and started moving towards a small raised platform that had been hastily built at one end.
The crowd parted before her, and the hiss of her name rose softly out of the silent gathering to fill the hall like a wind in the tree-tops. Isloman followed self-consciously in her wake.
On the platform were Eldric and Arinndier, together with Hreldar and Darek, both of whom were showing marked signs of shock and fatigue. Hard riding was Isloman’s diagnosis of the cause of the latter.
When they reached the platform, Sylvriss walked up the steps but Isloman stopped at the bottom until she turned and beckoned him to join her. Eldric came forward to greet her.
‘May I speak, Lord Eldric?’ she asked. Eldric did not reply, but simply bowed and extended his arm towards the now packed hall. Sylvriss bowed in return then turned to meet her subjects.
For a moment she looked at them, then she spoke quietly and clearly, her voice rich with the characteristic singsong lilt of the Riddinvolk accent. The form of the hall carried her words to each individual as if she were standing only a few paces away.
‘I ask your pardon, my friends,’ she began. ‘I know you’re about to start your Speaking and, as Rgoric’s widow, I shouldn’t intrude my grief on yours. But these are no ordinary times and certain matters must be resolved before we can allow ourselves the luxury of grief.’ There was a hint of sternness in her tone and Isloman felt the attention of the hall beginning to focus on her intently.
‘For many years Dan-Tor has poisoned not only my husband, but our whole country. With his words and his deeds, he has caused us to turn away from the wisdom of our ancient ways and duties. We now know why. In other circumstances we would catalogue the misdeeds of such a man, but we have no need of such niceties here, because we know now that he is no man.’
Eldric shot a glance at Isloman.
‘He is the dark agent of a darker power that has risen again in Narsindal. We know him now for Oklar, the Earth Corrupter, the first of the Uhriel of Sumeral. A creature we had thought only a legend, but who we see amongst us now as a creature of terrible reality. One whose power is beyond our imagining.’ Her voice was still soft and steady, and her command of her listeners was now absolute. She held out her hand to indicate Isloman.
‘Even as I was told of this I knew its truth beyond doubt. And I found solace in it. Great solace.’ She leaned forward, hands extended in powerful emphasis. ‘Did you think that such as Rgoric could be downed by a man? Did you think that Fyorlund could be so reduced by a man? To be laid so low by the acts of a man would be a dishonour indeed, but to stand unbowed after a such blows from such a creature tells us that he has missed the heart of people utterly and that now, as in times long gone, he is neither invincible nor infallible, and that both he… and his Master.’ She pointed northwards. ‘Can be defeated.’
The hall was silent.
‘For even with his treachery and cunning, he could not bind forever the will of your king. He could not hide forever from the light of truth. And even with his vaunted, city-crushing power he could not destroy the determination of people to stand against him. To oppose him utterly.’
Eldric moved to her side.
‘By your Law,’ Sylvriss continued, ‘I am now your ruler. But none has ever sat the throne of Fyorlund without the word of the people and I would hear yours now.’
There was a stir among the crowd, but Sylvriss si-lenced it with a gesture.
‘But know this. As your ruler or not, I shall oppose this creature and his master as Rgoric did. To the end. I shall oppose him for the sake of the Fyordyn, the Orthlundyn, the Riddinvolk.’ She paused and laid her hand on her stomach. ‘For the sake of all peoples. For if we who know him do not oppose him, then who will?’
Then, slowly, she held out Hawklan’s black sword horizontally, her left hand gripping its scabbard. ‘This sword comes out of Orthlund. Orthlund, whose care we have so recklessly neglected. It is the sword of Hawklan. A man. With it he faced the wrath of Oklar. He has paid a price that we cannot yet fathom, but he lives and he recovers, and even in his dreams he reaches out and aids us. Truth and help have come to us unasked. Who can say what forces are stirring now? We have allowed evil to grow in our midst because of our blindness. Let us not now be blind to the good which has awakened also, for in not seeing it, we will bind it.’
Her right hand came up and, gripping the hilt of the sword, she drew it and held it high above her head. ‘I cannot pledge you this sword. Such a pledge is not mine to give. But I pledge you my sword arm and my spirit to follow the path that this sword has begun to cut through the choking weeds that have fouled our way for so long.’
Before the crowd could respond, she turned round and faced the Lords on the platform and looked at each in turn.
Then she knelt down. ‘Do you want such a Queen, Lords?’ she said quietly, bowing her head. Eldric drew his sword and offered it hilt first to her. She laid her hand on it. Each of the Lords did likewise and Isloman remembered how they in turn had knelt before the Goraidin and the High Guards to seal such a pledge.
While Sylvriss was still kneeling, Eldric moved to the front of the platform. ‘Is this the will of you all?’ he said simply and quietly.
Isloman started visibly as a great cry burst out from the previously silent crowd. Then, spontaneously, from no source that Isloman could see, they were all singing. A rhythmic and stirring song unfamiliar to Isloman but obviously to no one else. Despite that, however, the massed voices were so powerful that he felt his pulse racing in excitement at the sound.
Then on a climactic chord the song was finished and the ordered harmony fragmented into equally loud cheering and shouting. Isloman looked round at the others on the platform. Without exception they were flushed and damp-eyed. Eldric cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Didn’t expect that,’ he said to the others. ‘Marvellous.’
Isloman turned to Arinndier.
‘It’s the Emin Rithid,’ Arinndier said, anticipating his question. ‘Supposed to have been sung by the warriors of the Iron Ring at the Last Battle.’ He was obviously deeply moved. ‘It means a great deal to us as a people. That was most unexpected. I… ’
He cleared his throat noisily and, with a nod, di-rected Isloman’s attention to Sylvriss, now rising to her feet. She sheathed Hawklan’s sword and held it out to Isloman.
‘Thank you,’ she said to him, then, to the still noisy crowd. ‘This sword must return now to its true owner, but we have swords of our own which will serve our needs well enough. I’ll leave you now to your Speaking. Let it be open and honest, and when at the end you turn your faces forward, let it be not only with the hope you’ve just expressed but in the knowledge that more than just Rgoric’s spirit lives on.’
She placed her hand on her stomach again. ‘I carry his child. Spread the word through the countryside. The line of the Lords of the Iron Ring is unbroken. Let it be a thread of brightness in these dark times, a thread to weave the rope that will bind the awful creature that would seize not only our land but our very hearts.’
Chapter 13
The council chamber of the Cadwanol was sparsely decorated, low-ceilinged and circular with many doors around the wall; all were open. Between them, mirror stones brought bright clear window images of the surrounding Riddin countryside into the room. Rolling foothills spread out to the south like a heaving sea caught by some great whim of nature and held mo-tionless, while to the east, sparse grasslands shimmered into the distant horizon, where a thin bright line betrayed the presence of the ocean. Dominating the scene however, were the surrounding crags and peaks of the approaches to the grim Pass of Elewart; a daunting sight even in the bright sunshine that had greeted Andawyr’s awakening.