Part 10 (2/2)

'Ethriss, eh?' she muttered, again to herself. Then, to Hawklan, sharply, 'Is your name Ethriss?'

'No,' he replied.

'Then why did you gallop into the mist like a madman at the sound of his name?' she pressed.

Hawklan shrugged uncertainly. 'It was me they were calling out to,' he said quietly. Gulda looked at him darkly for a long moment and then pulled up her hood so that her face disappeared into its shade except for the end of her nose which floated white in the darkness.

Abruptly she turned round and headed off down the road. After a few paces she turned. 'Come on,' she said crossly.

Hawklan waved vaguely in both directions. 'I thought you were going . . . that way.'

'Bah,' she snorted and, turning again, stalked off into the mist. Her voice floated back through the greyness. 'I'll see you two at the Castle.'

Isloman swung up on to his horse, a wide grin on his face. 'Loman'll be pleased, I don't think. Get your horse and catch her up. I'll fetch the others.' Then a deep chuckle bubbled out of him. 'But keep out of the way of that stick. And watch your lip, young fella.'

Before Hawklan could speak, Isloman had trotted off into the lightening mist and Hawklan could hear him laughing to himself.

Mounting, he urged Serian gently forward after the woman. As he reached the top of a small rise and emerged into the sunlight, he was surprised to see how far the woman had travelled. For all her appearance of age, and her stick and stoop, she had a long purposeful stride and he had to trot Serian forward briskly to catch up with her.

He debated offering her the saddle, but was dubious about the reception of such a suggestion, so he dismounted a little way behind her. 'Come along, young man, don't dawdle,' she said without turning round. 'I've got questions to ask you.

Quickly, quickly!'

Hawklan found himself running forward like a schoolboy in response to these instructions. When he reached her he found he needed his long legs to match her unrelenting pace. He cast a sideways look at her, but the hood covered her face and he could see nothing but the end of her nose ploughing steadily forward like the prow of a s.h.i.+p.

A combination of courtesy and amused alarm stopped him asking any questions as they strode on in silence along the old stone road. Occasionally she would mutter to herself as if partic.i.p.ating in some internal debate, then, 'Give me your sword, young man,' she said sharply.

Hawklan hesitated. Her right hand stretched out impatiently and the morning bird-song was silenced momentarily by two resounding cracks as she snapped her fingers to indicate that hesitation was not what she had asked for. Hawklan drew the sword and handed it to her gingerly.

'Take care,' he said. 'It's very sharp.'

Gulda grunted and her long fingers closed around the hilt. Hawklan noted the grip. It was not that of a woman examining a dangerous curiosity. It was a swordsman's grip.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't realize you were used to weapons.'

Briefly her pace slowed and there was a slight inclination of the head. Then there was another grunt and she strode out again. The sword hilt went to the end of the long nose and was turned round and round, then each part of the sword in turn was similarly scrutinized. Abruptly she stopped walking.

'Well, well, well. Ethriss's sword. His black sword.' Her voice had lost its cantankerous quality and was quiet and full of many emotions. 'I thought it might be, but I couldn't be sure in that mist. Then, who'd have expected to see it ever again? How did you come by it, healer?'

'I found it in the Castle Armoury,' Hawklan said. The hooded head turned towards him. With the sun in his eyes he could see nothing of her face, but he could sense those piercing blue eyes, sharp in the blackness of the hood, missing nothing. Then she turned away, and striding out again gave an enigmatic laugh.

'That I doubt, Key Bearer. That I doubt. Ethriss's sword couldn't be found because it was never hidden.It foundyou . Have no illusions about that.It foundyou .' Then the hilt disappeared into the hood, as if she were listening to it. 'And it's killed Mandrocs recently. Iknew it!' There was triumph in the voice. 'I knew it. I've not lost all my wits yet.'

Hawklan's eyes widened in surprise. 'How could you know that?' he asked.

Her voice was distant. 'Gulda knows Mandrocs. Could smell them. That's why I came back. Couldn't believe my nose after all this time. They've been killing again. Taken life here in Orthlund, haven't they?

That's what's upsetting all the Orthlundyn, although they're too sleepy to know it. Running about like ants under a stone instead of feeling what's happened.'

Hawklan shook his head. 'Gulda, I don't understand you. How do you know these things?' Then partly to himself, 'I don't understand any of this. All these strange and awful happenings. What do you knowabout them?'

The dark hood turned towards him, and there was a long deep watchful silence. Then suddenly, 'Here, catch.' And with a flick of her wrist she sent the sword spinning towards him. Without thinking, his hand went out and caught it solidly. A strange humming vibration came from the blade.

Gulda chuckled. 'You understand more than you know, healer. I wonder who you are? We'll have to talk later.'

Unsteadily, Hawklan put the sword back in its scabbard. He wanted to talk now. He had an acc.u.mulation of questions that more than accounted for twenty years of indifference, but she was off, clumping along the road towards the village.

He sighed resignedly. Patience, Hawklan, he thought. Patience. There'll be plenty of time when we reach the Castle. But, as that very thought came to him, he sensed that time was becoming more scarce, and that the meeting of the elders, and whoever else would be there, would be the last chance he would have to draw on the collected wisdom of Orthlund. After that, he could see only vague images of dispersion and scattering; even breaking.

Chapter 15.

As at all the other villages, the people of Pedhavin came out to meet them in straggling groups before they reached the village proper. Greetings were genuine and warm, but concern lined almost every face, and Hawklan noted again that everyone gravitated first to Isloman to hear his brief account of what had happened.

Gulda, too, created quite a stir, being obviously acquainted with many of Isloman's generation, and Hawklan was amused to see so many grown men looking sheepish after some encounter with her. Her cross voice echoed through the village and she did a great deal of poking and prodding with her stick, both at carvings and people. A clumping, black, stooped figure stalking around the village, she looked like part of their shadow lore come to life, thought Hawklan.

Tirilen almost charmed her. Hawklan detected a more pervasive quiet in Tirilen's manner, and felt both glad and sorry. The responsibility of being the village's healer in his absence had subtly altered the villagers' att.i.tude towards her, but the new, deeper quietness came mainly from within Tirilen herself. It was like a flower starting a summer-long blooming after the turbulence of spring. Though bewildered and hurt by the news of what had happened, Tirilen also showed the strange relieved acceptance that the other Orthlundyn had shown and she faced Gulda's scowling inspection with a manner that was at once both pleasant and unyielding and which provoked an entirely new range of grunts from the old woman.

Some, to Hawklan's ear, seemed quite complimentary.

Loman, however, fared less well; he appeared considerably less than enthusiastic about Gulda's return.

Hawklan gained the distinct impression that the great barrel-chested man was hiding behind his daughter's skirts, but Gulda winkled him out and transfixed him against a wall with both stick and blue-eyed gaze, while her face reflected a memory's journeying through the years. Then her eyes narrowed as a destination was reached.

'Young Loman, isn't it?' she proclaimed. Loman coughed slightly, nodded, and went red. Gulda pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes further. The stick tapped him twice on the chest. 'I'll be watching you more carefully this time, young man,' she said. That was all. Loman cleared his throat and looked vaguely into the distance. Gulda cast another look at Tirilen who was trying not to smile at her father's discomfiture.

'Hrmph. You take after your mother, child,' said the old woman, turning and walking away.

It was Gulda who led the procession up the steep winding road to the Castle. This time Hawklan did offer her the saddle, although her pace had not slackened. The stick twitched menacingly.

'Are you trying to make a fool of me, young man?' came the unhesitating reply. Hawklan declined to answer, knowing by now when his foot was on quicksand and when a further step would leave him in inextricable distress. He walked quietly by her side, discreetly listening to her mutterings and snorts.

Many of the others continued to ride, but none felt inclined to pa.s.s Gulda.

Gavor gazed groggily down at the approaching group from far above in a cosy cranny high in the eaves of one of the towers. The front tip of the distant, shuffling snake gave him trouble. Closing one eye, and concentrating hard, he still failed to make the two black images merge into one. He looked reproachfully at his 'friend' snoring contentedly in the dusty sunlight and muttered something about abstinence, then he wriggled cautiously to try to straighten out some troublesome feathers. His companion's eye opened.

'Gavor,' said a soft voice, carrying a quite unmistakable implication.

Gavor affected to ignore the request and squinted gamely down the dizzying perspective of the tower.

'Gavor.' More urgently.

Gavor debated with himself. Should he fly down and greet Hawklan or should he . . .?

'Gavor . . .

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