Gavor nodded sagely. 'True, true,' he agreed. 'I'll have to experiment judiciously. I must admit, this recent protracted period of abstinence could well add a little freshness to the proceedings.'

'Good,' said Hawklan. 'That'll make it easier for you to school yourself to a further period of abstinence, as I doubt we'll be stopping at the Castle for any length of time, if at all.'

'Dear boy,' said Gavor reproachfully. 'I'm finding it hard enough to concentrate as it is.'

Hawklan was unsympathetic. 'Go and roll in the snow for a while, that'll sharpen you up,' he said,nodding towards the more distant, higher peaks.

But it was difficult for them to maintain any spirit of light-heartedness. The reason for their haste and the probable questionable outcome of their journey weighed heavily on them all, nagging like a toothache.

As they wound their way down out of the mountains and viewed the wide fertile plains of Orthlund.

Hawklan thought he could feel even the Great Harmony trembling, as if its very root notes were under a.s.sault.

As it transpired, they did not stop at the Castle at all, pausing only briefly in the village to see if any news had been received from Ireck and his party. But nothing had been heard and the village was strangely quiet. The sound of the horses' hooves and the creak and clatter of their weapons echoed starkly around the three men in the sunny, shadow-strewn streets.

Hawklan stopped and dismounted at the heap of the tinker's wares the villagers had discarded. Metal objects were turning red with rust, wood had lost its sheen, and cloths and silks were already green with decay. He wrinkled his face in distaste and shook his head sadly.

'Why couldn't we see these things for what they were?' he said.

Neither Loman nor Isloman offered an answer.

Loman dismounted and joined Hawklan. Stooping stiffly, he picked up a rusting blade and held it for a moment. He smiled faintly and looked up at his brother. 'The metal's righting itself,' he said. 'Probably the other stuff is as well. But the misuse was great. It'll take a long time.'

Isloman nodded.

Hawklan sensed the lingering aura of Tirilen's protective words, and renewed them with his own. On an impulse he drew his sword and held it over the little pile while he spoke them.

Then the three of them headed north along the Pedhavin Road.

Within half a day, they encountered Ireck's party galloping purposefully towards the village. Sweating horses and stern-faced men milled around as the two groups met, and Hawklan took his horse to Ireck's side to hear his news.

The villagers had met the Fyordyn only a little distance away from the camp where Loman and Isloman had been held. The High Guards were neither pursuing the brothers nor fleeing homewards. Jaldaric had been coldly formal and dismissed the villagers with a casual indifference verging on contempt.

'None of our business, he said. He had his orders and we'd be well advised to stick to our farming if we knew what was good for us.' Ireck's quiet voice was full of rage and frustration. He took Loman's arm.

'I'm sorry, Loman,' he said. 'I've let you down. I tried to talk to him, to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't even tell us how Tirilen was.' He paused and looked upwards. 'Eventually I threatened him. Told him we'd return, with you, and armed.'

'And?' asked Hawklan.

'He laughed, Hawklan. Just looked at us and laughed.' Ireck clenched his teeth. 'I turned and rode away without any more ado. Some of the younger ones were getting too angry and there'd have beenbloodshed there and then. I'm sorry, Loman,' he repeated. 'I don't know if I did the right thing or not.

My head says yes, but my stomach says no. We're going back to the village now to get the rest of the men, and arm ourselves.'

Loman shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Not until we've thought about all this a little more. You were right at the beginning and you were right when you left their camp. If violence is all we're left with, then it mustn't be in the heat of pa.s.sion. That barrel's not easily plugged once tapped. For our sakes and for theirs, we must overwhelm them completely before they can act. That way there's less chance of death and injury. Hawklan?'

Hawklan nodded in agreement. He swung down slowly from Serian, and led the horse over to a nearby stream, his face thoughtful.

'You didn't see Tirilen?' he asked.

Ireck shook his head in confirmation.

'Did they give you any idea where she was?'

'No,' said Ireck.

Hawklan patted the drinking horse's neck and gazed down into the stream. Quietly, one by one, all the men dismounted and left their horses to graze and drink. The air was full of bird-song and breeze-blown seed, and an atmosphere of unreality and uncertainty seemed to spread over the group as if the spring day would not allow them to sustain their anger once they were free of the pounding urgency of the unfamiliar horse riding.

Loman took Ireck's arm and, together with Isloman, they joined Hawklan on the banks of the stream.

Eventually Hawklan spoke. 'Hors.e.m.e.n, soldiers such as you've described, could have outrun you easily if they'd wished. It seems strange to me that you caught them in the first instance and then that you escaped them so easily. And now Ireck's group has found them just as easily. We must presume that they're neither running nor hiding, but waiting.'

'For what?' asked Isloman.

'Not for what, Isloman, but for whom,' replied Hawklan. 'It's me they want, or somebody wants. But who it is, or why, is beyond me. I'm driven across mountains to find an answer to some devilment I can scarcely even define, only to find more devilment and more questions. Then, when I escape that snare, a more earthbound, ordinary trap is laid for me.'

The three men looked at him silently.

'I'm being lured into something, my friends. Someone fears me, or at least fears what I might once have been. Someone evil. I'd be easier in my mind if I knew why I was so precious and why I've to be taken by stealth. But taken I have to be, there can be no doubt about that.' He slapped his hand against his leg and straightened up briskly. 'I weary of defence,' he said. 'Laying traps for me is one thing, using those I love as bait is another. We must move on to the attack and lay this villain by the heels before he does something even worse.'

In a nearby tree, Gavor flapped his wings noisily and laughed. The soft spell of the spring sunshinedispersed and the group seemed to take on a purpose again.

'Ireck,' said Hawklan forcefully, 'Go back to the village with your men. Arm yourselves and then head for the High Guards' camp. Make no effort at concealment. Look as fierce as you like, but . . .' He raised his hand in a cautionary gesture. 'Don't attack them. Keep them at a safe distance, unless Gavor brings you a message expressly to the contrary.'

Ireck seemed inclined to demur.

Hawklan silenced him gently. 'No, Ireck,' he said. 'Do nothing other than as I've said.' He glanced up towards Gavor, who floated silently down and landed on his shoulder. 'We four will go ahead and do what we can by stealth. If we've not achieved anything by the time you arrive, then perhaps your arrival will cause a diversion and give us the opportunity. And, if by some chance we've been hurt or captured, Gavor will at least tell you what our position is.'

Ireck still seemed inclined to argue, as did one or two others in the group, but their erstwhile healer was exuding an authority that would brook no further debate. Nodding reluctantly, Ireck mounted his horse silently and signalled to the others to follow him.

When Ireck and the villagers had ridden into the distance, Hawklan turned to Loman and Isloman, grim-faced. His forced confidence had fallen away from him.

'Now,' he said. 'I'm pinning my faith in you two old soldiers knowing something, preferably a lot, about stealth. I don't think Ireck will be able to control the younger men if anything happens to us, and I don't want those High Guards ma.s.sacring half the village.'

Chapter 5.

Continuing their northward journey, Hawklan was surprised at the subtle changes he noted in his two friends. It was as if knowledge long dormant were re-awakening. He reminded himself that the two men had travelled widely and fought bitter battles shoulder to shoulder in the past, and that they could not have survived such experiences without developing traits which necessarily would not be apparent in their normal peaceful daily lives. Both sat easier in their saddles, and the anxiety that had lined and furrowed their craggy faces ever since they had met in the mountains gave way periodically to looks of a grim purposefulness that chilled Hawklan, so alien was it to his understanding of the two men.

Worse, however, was the occasional gleam of antic.i.p.ation he caught in their eyes, though he himself had to admit that his concern for Tirilen was at times forgotten in unexpected moments of exhilaration as Serian carried him steadily forward through the sunlit countryside.

The rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves, the soft spring breeze blowing in his face, the endless variety of the Orthlund countryside, with its meadows and leas, streams and rivers, forests and arbours, all combined to dispel pain and fretfulness for unmeasured and effortless miles. But to the east were the mountains; white-tipped peaks and heavy shoulders hulking against the blue sky. Their silent, timeless vigil reproached him when unexpectedly he found himself relishing the deeds that were to come.

As the day drew towards evening and the sun dipped beneath a cloud-lined horizon, the three men eased their pace to a steady walk. Gradually, and without debate, both Loman and Isloman slowed down even further, and then eventually stopped and dismounted.

'What's the matter?' asked Hawklan. 'Nothing,' said Isloman. 'But according to Ireck, we're not far from the camp now, and they'll have plenty of sentries looking out for us if your guess is right and it's you they're waiting for. We'll have to leave the road and move very carefully from now on.'

Hawklan nodded. Gavor glided silently out of the darkening sky and landed on his shoulder. Hawklan held out his hand, palm upwards, and Gavor jumped onto it. Speaking softly, as if his voice might carry to the enemy across the still evening, Hawklan said, 'While there's still a little light, go and see if you can find their camp and how many of them there are. We'll stay here and rest until you return.'

Gavor flew off without speaking.

The three men settled themselves down to wait in the shade of a nearby copse, each too preoccupied with his own thoughts to indulge in conversation.

Hawklan felt strange stirrings within him as he lay in the darkness. His stomach felt uneasy and he had difficulty in controlling his breathing, frequently having to stifle a yawn. Then he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and a quietness came over him. Pre-battle nerves, he thought, without wondering where such a thought could have come from.

At last Gavor returned and the three men sat around him while he recounted his tale. Fifteen men altogether, seven on watch, seven doing nothing in particular, and a leader, Jaldaric presumably. And Tirilen.

Loman started. 'She's there?' he asked breathlessly.

Gavor stepped back a pace. 'Yes,' he replied. 'And she's well,' he added before Loman could ask.

Loman breathed out almost as if he had been holding his breath since his daughter's disappearance. His face wrinkled as if he were going to weep. Isloman placed an arm around his shoulders, but Loman recovered his composure almost immediately.

Hawklan nodded. 'This confirms that they're not interested in Tirilen. She could have been in Fyorlund days ago. She's just being used as bait, I'm sure. Are you sure she's all right, Gavor?'

'Certain, dear boy. She can't get away and she's not happy, but it looks as if she's being treated more like a special guest than as a prisoner.'

After some further discussion, Gavor took off again into the night, Hawklan spoke softly to Serian, and the three men disappeared into the gloaming like shadowy night predators.

A slow hour later they were at the High Guards' camp.

Gavor flew down and whispered to Hawklan. 'His perimeter guards are constantly moving.'

Isloman nodded. 'They'll have prearranged checkpoints. If we attack one, however quietly, the others will know within the minute.'

Hawklan turned to Loman enquiringly. They had been able to get quite close to the clearing where the Fyordyn had camped, but the trees and foliage that had hidden their approach also prevented their seeing all of the camp clearly. Gavor's information was timely, for without it they would surely have encounteredone of the slowly strolling guards.

Loman pursed his lips. 'Shrewd young man, this Jaldaric,' he said. 'a.s.suming his men are up to scratch, which I imagine they will be, he could destroy a large group of disorganized villagers without even being seen in this terrain, but even so he's taken the trouble to guard his camp like a fortress.' He gave a soft bitter chuckle. 'Someone must have told himsomething about you, Hawklan.'

Hawklan winced slightly at the implications of Loman' s comment. 'Indeed,' he said. 'And our second task, after rescuing Tirilen, is to find out who that someone is.'

However, the rescuing of Tirilen would be no easy matter. Even with the element of surprise, Hawklan knew that against such odds they could not fight their way in and out again. And if they were able to rescue Tirilen by stealth, there would be the problem of pursuit, bringing the soldiers down on their backs or into direct conflict with Ireck and the villagers. The matter had to be ended now, Hawklan decided.

They must strike at the head of their enemy.

The two brothers took little persuading.

'All the protection is centred on Tirilen. We must seize Jaldaric and then negotiate some kind of a peace with them.'

So close to his daughter, Loman was in a mood for cracking heads, not negotiating, but he agreed reluctantly that Hawklan's reasoning was correct.

They skirted around the camp seeking some weakness in Jaldaric's defences, using the breeze rustling through the swaying branches overhead and the occasional scufflings of night creatures to disguise the slight sound of their movements.

'Ah,' sighed Isloman eventually. 'Shrewd he might be, Loman, but he's got no shadow lore. Look.' He pointed out into the clearing.

Hawklan followed his gaze, but could see nothing. Loman stared intently. Although a smith, he was, like all the Orthlundyn, no mean carver. He glanced up at the moon and then into the clearing again.

'Yes,' he said at last. 'You're right. There'll be a dark path along that edge of the clearing . . .' He looked at the moon again. 'In about ten minutes I'd think.'

'And the rest of the clearing will be brightly lit,' said Isloman. 'Which will make it difficult for the guards to see into the shadow.'

'I can't see what you mean,' said Hawklan.

'Trust me,' said Isloman. 'We'll be able to go straight to the back of Jaldaric's tent in a few minutes.

You watch.' He hesitated.

'What's the matter?' Hawklan asked.

'The way they're moving, we might have a guard to deal with,' replied Isloman. 'It'll slow us up and might raise the alarm.' Hawklan thought for a moment and then spoke quickly to Gavor who flew noiselessly up into the night. Minutes later there was a startled cry from the far side of the clearing as the raven descended on the head of an unsuspecting guard, ruffled his hair a little and then flew off with agreat flapping of his wings. Three guards emerged silently from the shade and ran in the direction of the cry. There were more cries as Gavor repeated his trick. Then came laughter as the guards decided that it must have been a bat or an errant owl. While the laughter and noise continued, the moonlight in the clearing grew brighter and, as Isloman had predicted, one edge of the clearing disappeared into inky darkness.

'Now,' he hissed, and the three men ran low, swift and silent to the rear of Jaldaric's tent. The shadow here was less deep and they had only a little time to act before they would be seen by the guards.

Hawklan raised his finger needlessly to his lips and placed his ear against the tent wall. Someone was laughing and describing what had just happened.

Hawklan drew his sword quietly and, signalling his intention to Loman and Isloman, cut a vertical slash in the tent wall with a single silent stroke. The three men burst into the tent simultaneously, Loman moving to the right, Isloman to the left and Hawklan commanding the centre.

The surprise was total. Hawklan found himself unopposed and looking across a simple trestle table at Tirilen and a fair-haired young man with a flat, round, innocent-looking face, whom he presumed was Jaldaric.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Isloman's great hand rise and fall twice rapidly, each movement being followed by a thud, indicating that one of Jaldaric's guests had been excused after-dinner conversation.

To his right he sensed the stocky, more enraged figure of Loman restraining an urge to crush together the skulls of two men he had seized by the neck. Instinctively, the two men offered no resistance to his iron-bending grip.

Hawklan was aware of these actions in an instant, but he also saw Jaldaric knock over his chair and seize Tirilen's wrist as he rose, his face showing fear and surprise, then, almost immediately, anger at his negligence.

It was Jaldaric's brief flash of self-reproach, and the look of concern for the injured men, mingled with the alarm and relief in Tirilen's face, that made Hawklan pause.

It was a pause sufficient for Jaldaric to draw a knife and twist Tirilen's wrist expertly so that she could not move. He offered the knife to her throat and looked at the trio in front of him: two hulking villagers who had dealt with four of his men in no more time than it took him to stand up; and this terrifying man with penetrating green eyes and grim face, gaunt in the torchlight. He felt his knees quaking and hoped desperately that it did not show in his face, or sound in his voice.

'Hawklan, I presume,' he said. 'I congratulate you on your surprise, but I have the advantage, I think, and you can't hope to master my whole patrol. Lay down your arms and surrender peacefully and all this can be forgotten. We want only you. These people can return to the village.'

Hawklan answered quietly. 'And you must be Jaldaric. I'd heard the High Guards of Fyorlund were honourable men, not brigands. Not betrayers of hospitality. Kidnappers of womenfolk. What value shall I put on your word, High Guard?'

Jaldaric's jaw tightened angrily. 'Enough,' he said harshly. 'We are High Guards, and we must obey our Lord. I regret what I've had to do but you're an enemy of Fyorlund and I've been ordered to seize you in this way to avoid conflict with the local villagers and the consequent loss of life. Believe me, it's beenno pleasure for me to resort to this kind of conduct. The Lady Tirilen will confirm that she's had nothing but courtesy and honourable treatment from us while we've held her captive.'

Hawklan's green eyes searched deeply into the young man and found he was probably telling the truth.

Tirilen showed no signs of ill-usage, and her eyes showed alarm rather than real fear, even though Jaldaric's knife was at her throat.

Hawklan spoke quietly. 'Jaldaric. I'm no man's enemy, let alone a country's. You've been deceived. A person who'd give you such orders would be unlikely to stop at lying, would he?'

A doubt flickered across Jaldaric's face, but he tightened his grip on Tirilen's wrist and rested his knife against her throat. 'Release my men and surrender yourself. I'm not here to debate, I'm here to ensure you're taken to Fyorlund to account for your treachery. Surrender now or this girl's blood will be on your heads.'

Hawklan's manner changed imperceptibly, but the tent seemed to fill with a terrible aura of menace.