Part 10 (1/2)

As soon as they entered, however, the horse slowed to a cautious walking pace and the dripping silence of the woodland mist folded round them. As the cold dampness struck through him, some impulse made Hawklan draw his sword.

It felt strange in his hand powerful and alive as if leading him. He looked at the hilt. The two intertwined strands at its heart seemed to be catching a light from somewhere and were glinting brilliantly, threading an infinite way through the myriad stars that surrounded them.

'Ethriss, awaken.'The voice was faint and weak, but a flicker of light seemed to run along the strands in response.

A soft movement in the air thinned the mist briefly and, s.h.i.+mmering in the distance, Hawklan saw four indistinct figures. He leapt down from his horse and ran forward along the road, the sound of his footsteps dying flatly in the greyness. The mist sighed silently back again and the figures were obscured, but Hawklan ran on.

'Wait!' he cried. 'Wait!' Then he halted suddenly as a dark hooded figure emerged through the mist a little way head.

'Wait for what?' it asked in a sharp, cross voice. A woman's voice. Hawklan ignored the question and ran up to her. 'Where are the others?' he asked.

'Others? What others, young man?'

'They were with you. Three of them. They were calling out to me.'

The woman's head tilted to one side quizzically. Hawklan ran a few steps forward into the mist, looking desperately from side to side in a vain attempt to see through it and swinging his sword wildly as if to cut a pathway. A sense of loss was rising in him. He ran in another direction.

'There's no one here, young man, as you can see. I'm on my own.' The woman's voice showed marked impatience. Hawklan stopped his pacing, his face pained.

'But I saw them,' he said quietly. 'And I heard them. They were here with you. Standing behind you.'

The woman flicked her hood back revealing a face as cross as her voice. It was an oddly striking face; one that drew the eye, though not beautiful. Its predominant feature was a long pointed nose overhanging a tight-lipped mouth and b.u.t.tressing a determined forehead. From under the shade of this, two piercing blue eyes peered out. Judging from her stooped posture and the support she took from a stick, she was old, but Hawklan could not have guessed her age. Her gaze was remarkable.

'Three you say?' she asked. Hawklan nodded. She gave a non-committal grunt and stared at him relentlessly.

'You a bandit?' she demanded after a moment. The suddenness of this eccentric question nonplussed Hawklan and his mouth opened and closed vaguely.

'No,' he managed eventually and rather weakly.

'What's that then?' she asked, bringing her stick up and pointing to his sword.

'A sword,' he replied helplessly.

She took a purposeful step towards him. 'Do you always address a lady with a sword in your hand?'

Hawklan felt his face redden, and clumsily he put the sword back into its scabbard with a mumbled apology.

'Should think so too,' snorted the woman. 'Charging out of the mist shouting and yelling and waving your sword looking for people who aren't there. Frighten a defenceless old woman to death you could.'

Hawklan was beginning to think this was most unlikely, but he kept his own counsel. He gazed round again, but he knew that the three other figures would not be there. They had been round this woman whether she knew it or not, but they were gone now, that was beyond doubt. A vision of a great glowing answer to the questions that plagued him had opened before him, he knew, but it had slipped away as easily as the mist through the leaves of the trees. Now in place of this vision, he was standing in a dank, foggy dell, talking to a cantankerous old woman he had never seen before and who could quite legitimately reproach him for his conduct.

'May I escort you through the rest of the wood?' he offered tentatively. Up came the stick again. 'Don't you soft soap me, young man. What would I want with an escort who sees things, hey? Be on your way, or I'll give you a taste of my stick.'

Hawklan was not a man to hold on to an indefensible position indefinitely and he was about to go back for his horse when a great shape loomed up out of the mist.

'I don't believe it,' came Isloman's voice. 'I thought I recognized those dulcet tones.' He jumped down from his horse. 'Old Memsa Gulda, as I live and breathe. And not changed a jot.'

The woman looked at him ferociously.

'Don't you recognize me, Gulda?'

The woman stepped forward and peered intently up at him. 'I used to know an impudent young whelp called Isloman who had the look of you snotty-nosed little imp. Quarrelled with his brother over some girl and then went off to the wars as I recall.'

'Not so snotty-nosed by then, Gulda,' said Isloman, slightly subdued.

She was contemptuous. 'You're all snotty-nosed. Men. Eternally in need of some attention or other or you'll be off creating trouble.' She stepped back a little and looked him up and down as if she were contemplating a purchase. 'You've aged, lad.' Her voice was quieter.

The mist brightened a little as the morning sun skimmed over the hollow.

Isloman stroked his horse. 'Of course I've aged. It's been a long time since you left, Gulda,' he said.

'Probably twenty years or so. Where did you go? Why did you leave so suddenly?'

The stick came up and prodded him in the stomach. 'Cheeky as ever, I see, young Isloman. I go where I go, and for my own reasons.' Then, with a prod for each word, 'Just like you did.' The stick relented.

'A woman needs a little peace now and then, a little time away from people and their noise.'

Isloman was about to speak when the woman released another barrage. 'And it's Memsa to you, my lad,' she added indignantly. 'Gulda indeed. I'll give you Gulda. And a little less of the old if you please.

I'd say I've weathered the years better than you have, wouldn't you?'

Isloman seemed uncertain about how to react to this fierce reminder of his youth. He found boyhood fears surprisingly near the surface under the threat of her gaze and her stick.

She spared him further reflection. 'What are you doing here then? Looking after this lunatic?' She continued looking at Isloman, but the stick pointed to Hawklan, standing listening to this exchange with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

'Gul . . .' Isloman faltered. 'Memsa, this is Hawklan,' he finished formally.

Slowly she turned her head and looked at Hawklan severely. The she grunted thoughtfully. 'Hawklan.

The healer. The Key Bearer. I've heard a lot about him round and about.'

She walked round him, looking him up and down as she had Isloman. 'Who is she?' Hawklan mouthed silently to Isloman over her head.

Isloman made a tiny movement with his hand to indicate explanations later.

'Stop that,' snapped Gulda without altering her pace. Then suddenly, to Hawklan, 'Perhaps you'd tell me, young man, why the Key Bearer of Anderras Darion should charge about in the mist, sword in hand, chasing shadows?'

Hawklan spoke quietly. 'I'm sorry if I frightened you. I heard someone calling and I saw the figures by you.'

'You've said that once,' said Gulda impatiently. 'And I've told you I'm alone.'

Hawklan shrugged. 'They were there. I saw them. Just behind you.'

'She wrinkled her nose suspiciously. 'What were they calling?'

Hawklan told her.