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Most who are called wise, and many who would disclaim that title, will admit that the High Powers have reasons for all which come to pass, though to Mortal men on earth, the reasons are not always readily apparent.
The Icarian Pass was blocked and forgotten, so thoroughly the Hygerians were never aware of it. It was thus that the men of Asbaln were able to cross the Mountains to take the Hygerians by surprise. And, eventually, Asbaln grew to outshine Hygeria.
Then, when Asbaln had grown old and corrupt, Darkon the Vakon Sea-roving Prince who had become Captain of the Guardian’s Warriors, received the Sword from the hands of the dying Guardian, last of his line. And, supported by the Sword, he forged a kingdom from the four baronies east of the Mountains which held for twenty years of his reign, and was passed to his son.
And his son was Rorick of the Iron Hand.
-Avantir, the Kingdom Out of the Ruins
Ammerlyn
Among the many things discussed in the next few days was the task Donal had undertaken. The Old One spoke of the task to Conel and Rorick, and other than Donal, they were the only ones to hear the tale. They agreed he had done more than should be expected of a man fighting for a country, not his. Over his protests, he was assigned command of the castle of Avantir.
In two weeks, the army marched again.
The direct route to the pass took them past the haunted forest, and it was here the rumours grew more intense about the task Donal had undertaken. It was commonly agreed he had fought the goblins within the forest of Tarrallalla Banarra, though the details of the battle varied with the man who told the tale.
In the two weeks since the taking of Avantir, skirmishing bands had been making life uncomfortable for the Hygerians on this side of the Mountains, and more and more of them made their way across the Mountains. Some even went through the Pass, and the defenders, being few, let them go rather than fight against desperate men.
And the army of Asbaln, on the road, came upon several little pathetic groups carrying what they could on carts or wagons, and striving to reach the pass. Worse still were the burned out farmsteads where men looked and cursed the Hygerian barbarians until they found that the family who had been massacred there was dark of complexion and had jet-black hair.
For two weeks they attempted the pass, but the pass was so narrow there was no room for maneuver, and the Hygerians had a stubborn determination which made the holding of their position a matter of course. They had erected a low barricade of stones, and had stocked innumerable javelins behind the rocky wall, enough to hinder any attackers until they came to close quarters. And no man ever called the individual Hygerian a poor fighter.
For two weeks they attempted all manner of stratagems and failed. Then, in returning from another unsuccessful attack, Rorick heard a young Hillman telling an Asbalnian, “I’d almost as lief try the Icarian pass.”
“Why not tie bundles of your arrows to your arms and flap your way over the mountains? As sensible as going through mythical passes.”
“No myth. With my own eyes I have seen it, though I’d not want the task of clearing this way.”
Rorick stopped them. “This is truth? There is another way through these mountains?”
The Hillman, a handsome young man in a catskin tunic and kilt with a long green feather in his hair, answered, “It is true, Milord Guardian. But that is Lycar’s Pass, and may not be used until the hero clears the way.”
“Why has this way not been spoken of before?”
“Little use if it had been. By magic, the pass was blocked long ago, and in the old days, many went in, but none came out.”
Rorick spoke to Conel on the same subject later on. “What of this Icarian Pass?”
“Ah, yes. In my time in the Hills, I was shown the pass. The entrance is narrow, blocked by a vast mirror, and on the mirror are these words: ‘This way is closed to all, until he comes who bears the Power to face the dangers beyond.’”
“How and by whom was the pass blocked?”
“You have heard of Lycar, the Icarian magician?”
“The one who brought forth the legendary dragons?”
“No legends, they. Long ago, after Conel the Wild had united all who speak the Asbalnian tongue, he died more at peace than he lived. His son Ilach, sometimes called the Rash, sought more glory for Asbaln and so sent his hosts into the Hills. The Hillmen resisted him valiantly, and in the end won a truce and a peace.
“But during the time of that war, Lycar determined to block the near-secret Icarian Pass, lest the Asbalnians discover the way and be enabled to send an army secretly into the midst of the Hills. He was not a good man, indeed. Some called him evil, and he drew his spells from places most men would avoid. All one night, he worked in deepest secrecy.
“They say that one of his spells turned on him and drove him mad, and with that same madness, he erected his barrier across the Pass. In the morning, the mirror lay across the pass, and dragons occasionally wandered forth from this mirror, dragons more fierce and hard to kill than those known to inhabit the mountains. It was found men might step through the mirror readily, but none ever returned. After some time, men left the pass alone, left it to slip into legend.”
Rorick stood up. “It is in my mind I must try to clear the Pass,” he declared.
“And I am thinking you have lost your senses. None has returned from the Pass, and we have need of you here.”
“Look closely at the situation, my friend. We might sit here for months and go no further. We might go to the coast and seek out enough ships to ferry our host around the end of the Mountains. If we are able to find the ships and can convince enough ship’s masters to undertake the task, they will know we are coming. Will they not certainly be watching and waiting for us to attempt to land?
“And we might march down through the Hills and circle the end of the Mountains. Again, they will surely know we are coming, and will be able to wait for us. And in either of those cases, they may be able to defeat us simply by denying us the supplies we will need. If we can come through the Mountains unknown to them, if we can appear suddenly where they do not expect us, we have that much more advantage.
“And they say that the inscription of the mirror says ‘until he comes who bears the Power;’ we know the Sword bears a great deal of power. It is in my mind the Sword has the power needed for this task. I shall be going with or without your permission, but I would prefer to have your blessing.”
“You are not to be stopped? How could I refuse my blessing on you, who have given to my land her pride, and have given to me most of my Kingdom? But if you do not return, the sun and the stars will turn dark in the sky.” True concern was written on the Prince’s face.
“It is in my mind that an extremely determined group of men could win this fight here, if they recked not of wounds or death. Even should I fail, perhaps I might see that you succeed here.”
The next day, before he left, Rorick assembled the Warriors.
“You know where I go, and that I may not come back. I should be gone no longer than three weeks, and if I have not returned then, you shall know that there is no longer Sword nor Guardian. At that time, you shall no longer be under my orders, and will be free to take whatever service you desire. Yet for those of you who would do a thing in my memory, I could ask no more than this pass should be opened for the Prince.
“Fear not. I shall return while the Sword serves me, and I believe its power will see me safely through. Yet no man is immortal, nor completely invincible, and only a fool does not admit that he, too, may die. So I leave you, and I leave you with my good wishes, and hope to see you again.”
On his second night of travelling toward Carill Don, he was wakened shortly after he went to sleep. His hand had gone to the hilt of the Sword automatically, and he felt what had wakened him had been a burst of light. There seemed to be a dim shadow over beside the remnant of the fire, a robed man with a staff.
In a quick movement, the figure stamped the butt of the staff down on the ground, and suddenly flames grew from the upper end. In the light, Rorick saw an old grey man, slight of build, slim-featured, and though he leaned on the staff as one wearied with age, something told Rorick this man was more than he seemed. “You go to the Icarian Pass, trusting in the power of the Sword.”
“What do you know of that?”
“Great things are moving. The flux of events takes certain courses. And when the Sword is involved, one who knows what he sees can discover much. And you trust in the power of the Sword?”
“Why not? Has the Sword not served me well in several circumstances?”
“Ah, but was the Sword using you, or did it answer your request? Does the Sword simply give you all protection, or does it protect you when you require it?”
Rorick thought for a moment. “It seemed to me when I needed to use the Power of the Sword, I knew how to use it. What is it you are trying to say?”
“I am saying this. You are walking blithely into one of the most complicated traps ever devised by the mind of a madman. No man, I think, could clear the pass unaided by great power. A man with some kind of power might pass through, might even survive, but he must be a man aware at all times. And if, as it appears, you intend to go in feeling the Sword will protect you with no need for you to do anything, why you will probably survive for less time than a man who entered depending on his might and weapon-skill.”
Rorick looked the men over, noting the flames on the end of the staff were not burning the Sword in the least. “Do you come to me like this? What concern is it of yours what I do?”
“For yourself, my dear young Guardian, your loss within the pass would sadden me as does the death of any of the many young men who are dying in this war. Yet it is not for that which I come, but that the Sword should not be lost. You do not know what forces are at work in this world, what dread beings will feel free to move when the Sword disappears into that barrier. And when it comes not forth, then will be a time of woe for all men.”
“Riddles and mysteries, old man. You look like no Hygerian, nor yet like one who would hinder us in our war, yet you speak of some dread danger which will befall us if take the Sword into the Pass. Surely you know strange tales will not deter me.”
Within those eyes, at the same time seeming both summer-rain grey and deep-sea blue, a flash of humour appeared. “My young Lord, will it in any way ease your mind to know that those same strange forces and beings I spoke of will also move if it should come to pass that the Hygerians are victorious? I know you have looked to your strategy, have made your evaluations, and have decided you must try the Pass. I simply wish you will bring the Sword forth again. For this reason, you must be aware that it is yourself who decides to use the power of the Sword, and the Sword will respond only to your desire. Do not expect it to leap into your hand when it is needed.”
Rorick was silent for a moment, then he asked, “Can you tell me what I shall meet behind the barrier?”
“Can I tell you whether fall will be early or late this year, whether the snows of this winter will be light, or whether men must remain in their houses for weeks on end? You go into a trap built by a madman, where what is at one moment is not at the next. It is for you to watch what arises, see when matters require the power of Sword, and where it is your weapon skill which is to be tested. To this degree, may I warn you, that you beware always for what may not be what it seems.”
“So you have come to tell me not to depend on the Sword.”
“I have come to tell you not to depend on the Sword to do your fighting for you. Use the Sword, use your mind, but do not count yourself safe because you bear the ultimate talisman against powers of magic. We have been speaking too long, with too little understanding. Now I have said what I would say, and may it go well with you.”
“May I ask your name?”
“My name? I am Ammerlyn, and you have no doubt heard of me. Farewell, Lord of Avantir” The flame at the end of the staff flared into sudden brightness, and when Rorick could see again, the old man was gone. He sat still for some time, wondering at what he had seen and heard. Ammerlyn, the Wandering Wizard, the figure of a thousand legends! Yet surprisingly, sleep came easily to him.
When he at last reached Carill Don, he stayed there but one night. Helana listened to him and was sad, but said nothing against his plan, though the Chief and one or two others tried to argue with him. When the two were at last alone, he smiled at her. “Will you not also try to dissuade me from this mad project?”
She shook her head. “No, for it is in my heart that you will not be stopped. May the High Ones go with you.”