Still there was no reply.
Gulda nodded to herself and turned away. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she turned back again. ‘Our people will be returning to the mountains soon,’ she said. ‘To continue practicing the skills amp;mdashthe awful skills amp;mdashthat must be acquired to face Him. Skills which may yet be used in time to protect you. They will carry no weapons, but you must watch and listen, and learn. And do not seek to harm those who are prepared to face the evils you would turn away from.’
Loman looked at Gulda sharply. Her whole speech had been delivered with what was tantamount to angry scorn, but the nuances in her voice during this last statement were strange and he was unable to tell whether it was a plea or a threat.
Before he could comment however, she turned away purposefully and signalled to him and Athyr to pick up the packs and prepare to leave.
Throughout their journey back to the Castle they heard no sound other than those of the mountains.
Immediately on their return to Anderras Darion, Loman ordered the commencement of the new training exercises and, within days, large groups of Orthlundyn began making their way into the mountains to establish a series of temporary camps.
‘At least, I hope they’re temporary,’ Loman said to Gulda as they walked up the steep road to the Castle from the village. ‘It’s been a hard struggle to persuade everyone that it’s necessary, and there’re still some reluctant souls out there.’
Gulda stopped and turned round to look down at the village with its solid houses scattered about the slopes below. To the north, the sky just above the horizon looked grey and misty, but a pleasant sun shone on the village, cutting sharp shadows through its maze of streets.
‘Always different, always the same,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Poor Orthlundyn. Preparing for war again.’
She turned back and began marching towards the Castle. ‘They should be temporary,’ she said. ‘I can’t see the Alphraan taking kindly either to what I said, or to Dan-Tor’s wares.’
‘You were quite forceful,’ Loman said cautiously. Gulda’s speech and its blistering delivery had concerned him since they had come down from the peak, but he had found no suitable opportunity to comment on it.
Gulda chuckled. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I told them the truth and I told them in a manner that they couldn’t ignore.’
Loman looked at her. ‘With our people going out there, was it wise to risk making the Alphraan angry?’ he asked.
Gulda returned his gaze and pointed towards the distant path leading up from the village into the mountains. ‘There’s only one way the Alphraan could prove to be a permanent danger to us,’ she said.
Loman raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘By doing nothing,’ Gulda replied emphatically. ‘By just sitting quiet in their little holes and doing nothing.’
Loman frowned uncertainly. Gulda took his arm. ‘If they do nothing, Loman, what can we do?’ She did not wait for an answer. ‘Also nothing. We’ll be left with an Armoury we can’t get into, no way of getting weapons in any quantity, and no way of reaching the people who’re causing the problem.’
For all its brevity it was an apt summary of the grim outcome that could ensue from simple inaction by the Alphraan. It was an idea that had not occurred to Loman and it chilled him. He made no effort to reply.
Gulda continued. ‘Fortunately they’ve already shown themselves willing to make contact with us, just by interfering, so it’s important that we respond, and respond vigorously, to provoke response in return. We must keep them moving. Each time they respond we’ll learn more about them.’
Loman was torn. ‘And if their responses involve hurting some of our people… our friends?’ he asked.
‘People are getting hurt all the time,’ Gulda replied brusquely. ‘You can’t learn what’s got to be learnt and not get hurt at some time or another. You’ve been hurt often enough before now and come out none the worse for it.’
Loman looked angry. ‘It’s not the same,’ he said. ‘We’re using other people to… ’ amp;mdashhe searched for a phrase amp;mdash‘… to test the heat of the furnace. And we’ve no idea what’s going to happen to them. You’ll forgive me if I feel for them a little?’
Gulda’s tone became hard. ‘It’s exactly the same, Loman,’ she said. ‘They’re all going of their own free will. They’ve all been told as much as we know… ’
‘They were persuaded.’
‘They were told the truth,’ Gulda snapped back. Then, more softly, ‘School yourself to this kind of pain, Loman. There’ll be more, and worse, to come. Your concern does you credit. But there are times when you can’t allow yourself to feel for individuals too much, it’ll mar your judgement, and you’ll make mistakes that’ll plunge everyone into the furnace with a vengeance. You need balance in your compassion.’
Loman stopped walking. ‘That’s not balance, that’s callousness,’ he replied bluntly. ‘Training and organiz-ing is one thing, but this… I’m not sure I can do it.’
Gulda tapped her stick on the hard ground, an omi-nous tattoo. ‘You can’t not do it, Loman,’ she said. ‘If you want to preserve all this.’ She swung her stick round in a sweeping arc to encompass the Castle, the moun-tains and the rolling landscape. ‘And all your friends. You’re Orthlundyn. You’ve enough shadow skill in you to know how a change in perspective changes a scene. Your perspective is changed now. You have a broader vision. You can’t see everything. No one can. But you can see more than many. Just play your part and think yourself lucky you’ve got plenty of good, sensible, capable, people around you to support you.’
Loman looked at her, his eyes penetrating. ‘Where did you learn all these things, Memsa?’ he asked abruptly.
Gulda turned away from him sharply, almost as if she had been struck, and started off up the road again without replying.
‘You’re right,’ she said, as he caught up with her. ‘It is callousness. But I’m right as well. We’ve no alterna-tive.’ She turned and looked at him, her face unreadable. ‘No alternative that we can live with. The few have always fallen for the benefit of the many,’ she said stonily. ‘Always. Our pain is to accept that; to honour our own lives when we’ve helped deny them theirs. And our task is to make that few as small as possible. What that costs us personally is irrelevant.’
Without speaking, Loman walked off the road and across a small area of short springy turf sprinkled with bright flowers, to a jagged rocky outcrop. Standing on it, he could see the stream that bubbled out of Anderras Darion, cascading white and silver towards the river below. Beyond lay the village and the familiar country-side, small patches now scarred brown where fallow areas had been used for cavalry and infantry training.
Gulda had told him nothing he did not already know, but the speaking of it had changed it in some subtle way. He was at once profoundly free and profoundly pinioned.
He looked to the north and the habitual thought came amp;mdashwhere are you, Hawklan? Isloman? What are you doing? When are you coming back? But even as the thought occurred he knew that their return would make no difference to his burden. Indeed it might well presage events that could make that burden worse. No, his greatest solace would lie in Gulda’s last statement. ‘Our task is to make that few as small as possible.’ As small as possible! That was a practical problem and would have practical solutions. That, he could apply his every resource to willingly.
He turned away from the scene and returned to the road. Gulda had gone on ahead, leaving him to his reverie, and she was now a tiny black insignificance moving along at the foot of the towering splendour of Anderras Darion.
For several days, nothing untoward was reported from the mountains. The various camps were established without any serious difficulties, and training began almost immediately.