Farnor

by Roger Taylor

  Nilsson was grateful that the comment had been relatively good-humoured. Others might have told Rannick he had to fight if he wanted to be heard.

  And they might yet.

  'I'm not teaching you your affairs,’ Rannick said. ‘I'm telling you what you already know. You're well led, that's why you've come so far. But from here you must join with me and together we go an entirely different way.'

  'We go north ... Lord,’ cried another voice. ‘North and away from this place. And we have ways of choosing our own leaders.'

  'You go north and you die,’ Rannick said, starkly.

  There was abusive denial from the crowd. ‘Whatever kind of land lies up there, we'll get there and we'll cope,’ was the consensus.

  Rannick shook his head. ‘Up there is the Great Forest. No people. Nothing. Just trees and birds and animals. There's nothing for you to live off except whatever your own labours grow or hunt down. And that's not your way, is it? But ...’ He levelled a finger at the crowd before anyone could remonstrate with this comment. ‘You'll not even get so far.'

  There was more denial, this time indignant.

  Rannick pointed north. ‘I came to your camp the other night to warn you, but I could see you were in no mood to listen so I had to let matters take their course. But beyond where you were the valley is a bad place. Nothing that does not already live there enters and survives. You saw what happened to the horse,’ he added quietly.

  There was an uncertain silence. ‘Just some animals. Dogs probably,’ someone said eventually. ‘We've faced real dangers in our time.'

  Rannick shook his head. ‘You've faced men. Creatures like yourselves. But up there ...’ He left the sentence unfinished and another uncertain silence descended on the crowd.

  Nilsson watched intently. His men were in an odd mood. The early return of the patrol with its account of the slaughtered horse and Meirach's disappearance, followed by the arrival of this strange person who seemingly had the protection of their leader and who had brought back Meirach, cured of his burns, all conspired to unsettle them. Ironically, he thought it made them more amenable to listening.

  But not that amenable!

  'We don't have to put up with this,’ came a disparaging voice. ‘You want to lead us, then state your case and take your chance. We don't want to hear children's tales. You said yourself you needed us, Rannick. Well, as far as I can see, we don't need you. You're not even a good teller of tales. We've given you credit for helping Meirach but unless you've anything worthwhile to say, stand down and let us get on with our business. We need to see what's to the north for ourselves then we'll decide what we're going to do.'

  Shouts of agreement greeted this.

  Rannick did not reply for a moment, but stood with his head bowed slightly.

  Then he spoke. His voice was low and menacing and it once again filled the courtyard, hissing around it like a biting winter wind. ‘In deference to your captain, I have indulged you enough,’ he said. ‘Know this: I come in the wake of the one who once led you. I come with his power to take up his mantle and to lead you back to what was unjustly torn from you by his weakness. I do not vie for leadership with the likes of you any more than does the eagle with the sparrow. If you wish to go to the north and test the truth of my words, then go and I'll not hinder you. And if any of you are fortunate enough to return then you may try your fortune further by prostrating yourself before me and begging my forgiveness for your arrogance and folly.'

  There was uproar. Still Nilsson watched. Surprisingly, the men were divided. Indeed, it was the disarray among them that prevented them from attacking Rannick. There was every conceivable reaction to his powerful declaration: disbelief, anger, confusion, fear and, strangest of all, adulation. It was a reflection of Nilsson's own inner feelings when he had confronted Rannick earlier. They feel it, too, he thought. The power again.

  'I leave you to choose now,’ Rannick went on, his voice overtopping the din. ‘Those of you who wish to go on to the greatness that was denied you, remain. Those of you who wish to follow your old way, go north and accept the consequences.’ Then he turned and walked down the stairs to Nilsson, motioning him back to the castle.

  As they left, the crowd, though noisy, parted for them freely.

  Back in Nilsson's quarters Rannick sat silent, while Nilsson watched the continuing proceedings from his window. Various figures mounted the stairs to state their piece, some haranguing, some persuading, some reasonable, some emotional. He listened as all the minor jealousies and differences in his troop came to the surface. A wave of anger passed through him. You'll blow some wind now, won't you, you dogs? he thought. Now that you're well fed and housed again. But it was Nilsson this and Nilsson that, look after us, Captain, only a few weeks ago.

  The anger passed as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by some satisfaction. He had effectively manoeuvred Rannick into calling the congress, and the outcome could only be an improvement. A rowdy congress was essential from time to time and, being formally absent from it, he could view this one with unusual equanimity.

  And, too, it had revealed interesting details about this new saviour. He was particularly amused to hear Rannick lying about luring them into the valley; a politician's device if ever he heard one. Whatever chance had brought them here, it had nothing to do with Rannick, he was certain. Even his former lord would not have claimed such skill; indeed, he had feared chance happenings.

  And too, Rannick had surreptitiously wiped his brow as they had stepped out of the courtyard and into the shade of the castle interior. Good human traits, he thought. They confirmed his earlier conclusion that though Rannick could indisputably use the power, he was still just another scheming, grasping mortal; at heart, his own kind.

  Definitely now he would bind himself to this man. There was a roar from the courtyard.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  'I don't think those men are tithe gatherers at all.'

  Standing in Rannick's dishevelled garden, Gryss felt his insides go cold. Marna's words were perhaps only the petulant grumblings of an over-sensitive young woman disturbed by recent events, but their effect was like that of a gentle leaf-stirring breeze which tilts an aging tree that final fraction too far and sends it crashing down, seemingly without apparent reason.

  'What makes you say that?’ he asked, struggling to keep his voice from reflecting the turmoil within him that had abruptly been released.

  Marna pulled a wry face. ‘I don't know,’ she said. ‘Their appearance. Their behaviour. Everything. They're a shifty-looking lot, not to say downright nasty-looking. Why would the King hire a motley crew of foreigners like that to collect the tithe? And that ... Saddre ... didn't really seem to know what he was doing when he was going round the barn with you. Did you see the way he kept looking at that captain for instructions?’ She began to warm to her revelations. ‘And why did everything have to be taken to the castle to be checked?'

  Gryss gestured to stop this outpouring. ‘I don't know,’ he conceded. ‘But soldiers are soldiers, Marna. They're not chosen for their looks, and I've no idea where the King gets them from or how he decides who does what. All I've ever seen are soldiers on ceremonial parades and on guard outside public buildings, and that was a long time ago. And I didn't speak to any of them; they could all have been foreigners for anything I know, even then.'

  Marna looked at him, unconvinced and waiting.

  'And they can't go wandering about the country in their fancy city uniforms, can they? They're bound to wear more rough and ready clothes when they're out in the field,’ he offered.

  'Rough and ready!’ Marna echoed with a snort. ‘You and me are rough and ready ...’ Farnor glanced down at his clothes uncomfortably. ‘They look more like beggars than soldiers. They should have some kind of uniform. And what about Saddre? And hauling the tithe all over the valley?'

  Gryss scowled. He never could handle this girl, and she was the very devil when she started.


  'Saddre's just an army clerk,’ he said crossly. ‘Nilsson told us that.'

  Marna's lip curled.

  'And I've no idea why they've had the tithe taken to the castle,’ Gryss went on, struggling unsuccessfully to keep the desperation from his voice. ‘They said it was the law and that there might be inspectors ...'

  'Examiners,’ Marna corrected.

  'Examiners, then,’ Gryss growled, ‘coming to check up on them.'

  Marna's expression indicated that she was confirmed in her suspicions rather than unburdened of them by Gryss's explanation.

  'And if they were coming to collect a tithe why didn't they bring any carts, for heaven's sake?’ she added, in what was intended to be a final blow, until another occurred to her. ‘And why didn't they have produce from any other villages with them?'

  Gryss gave a small sigh of defeat. Marna's questions merely served to clarify ill-formed thoughts of his own. He had been too concerned with the forgotten niceties of procedures, and with his hopes that these men would quietly move on, to stand back and look at what was happening—or so he pleaded to himself in mitigation.

  Or perhaps he was just getting too old!

  'I can't answer any of your questions, Marna,’ he said. ‘And I don't know who could. I certainly can't ask them of the Captain.'

  He stepped over the broken gate and set off down the narrow lane. It was darker than it had been, the hint of rain to come that had hung in the bright morning had become a threat as they had pursued their examination of Rannick's cottage. Now the sky was grey, and a distinct dampness pervaded the air.

  As they walked along the lane, the sound of intermittent raindrops striking the surrounding foliage became evident. Marna led the way, followed by Gryss. Farnor watched them both as they wended their way through the weeds and grasses tangled across the path.

  A raindrop struck his hand, sharp and clear in its coldness.

  He wished his thoughts were as clear. It did not help that Gryss, the senior village elder, was openly uncertain, all too human. And Marna's biting bluntness, as ever, held no comfort. Her questions added their uncontrolled momentum to his thoughts about Rannick and the gatherers, and the creature that had killed the sheep and now, seemingly, a horse, and which he had actually touched in some way.

  Despite all that had happened since the hunt, the memory of that touch persisted; foul, clinging ... and growing.

  Farnor found he was hunching up his shoulders after the manner of Gryss. He straightened up and made them relax, but it took some effort.

  Somewhere there was an end to this confusion, surely? An end to this hurt. The word came unbidden and surprised him. Hurt? Who was being hurt?

  We all are, he realized. Both the creature and the gatherers were intrusions from outside, and both brought disruption and anxiety in their wake. And what was anxiety if it wasn't a hurt? It marred the present and clouded the future. Yet it came to him with this revelation that what was truly disturbing him was the thought, hovering like a tiny, distant light at the fringes of his mind, that he could help in some way if he could but see it.

  He paused. There was a certainty about this that set it aside from any general, vague wishing everything was all right again. But it was elusive, also, and though it remained with him it refused to make itself further known.

  He looked at the retreating figures of Marna and Gryss, and frowned. They seemed different. As if the confusion and the hurt that they, like he, bore were wrapped about them like a cloying mist. Part of him reached out to clear the way for them and allow them to walk unhindered.

  Both of them stopped and turned round.

  'Sorry?’ Marna said.

  'Did you say something?’ Gryss said at the same time.

  Farnor suddenly felt a little dizzy, but he managed to avoid staggering by crouching down and fiddling with his shoe.

  'No,’ he said. ‘My shoelace snagged a bramble.'

  Marna reached up to her face as if to brush away a stray hair and Gryss shook his head slightly. Then a gust of wind stirred the trees and threw a light splatter of newly hoarded raindrops on to them and they set off again, briskly.

  There was an odd companionship in their common flight from the rain and, to Farnor, it seemed that they had passed some unseen boundary.

  'I think they're nothing more than bandits,’ Marna said, as prosaically as if she were simply just passing the time of day. ‘I think they came here by accident and ...'

  'Shush,’ Gryss said urgently, moving his hand up and down as if to beat down her enthusiasm as he would a boisterous pup. They had come to the end of the pathway and he glanced along the lane as they joined it. ‘Don't say things like that too loudly,’ he said.

  But Marna was barely listening, she had formed the words and they were too potent to remain unspoken. She did lower her voice a little, however.

  'I think they're bandits,’ she said again. ‘I think they found us by accident and when they realized we thought they were gatherers they decided to make the most of it. I'll wager they're not checking our tithe, they're eating it.'

  Gryss grimaced. He did not want to hear this. ‘I'm not saying you're right or wrong,’ he said. ‘I can't pretend to be happy about these people, but, please, please don't say such things.'

  Marna turned surprised eyes on him. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  'Think, Marna,’ Gryss said, a touch wearily, and shaking her arm a little. ‘Think. If they're really gatherers, then you're defaming the King's servants and who knows what kind of an offence that might be? And if they're not, if they're bandits as you call them, you're telling them we know who they are and what will they do then? Probably drop any pretence at being a legal force, and that might put all of us in danger.'

  Marna's brow furrowed. ‘I didn't think,’ she said, after a long pause.

  'You certainly didn't,’ Gryss replied, though he added immediately, by way of consolation, ‘Not that you're alone in that.’ He looked fretful. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about your ... ideas?'

  Marna shook her head.

  'Good,’ Gryss said, in some relief. ‘Don't.’ He turned to Farnor. ‘We must keep discussion like this between the three of us. If you hear anyone else talking the same, just listen and take note, but say nothing. Do you understand?'

  Both Marna and Farnor nodded, then they spoke simultaneously. ‘But we've got to do something.'

  Concern filled Gryss's face. ‘Yes, we have,’ he said. ‘But not until we know a lot more than at present.'

  'I could go downland and over the hill to the next village.’ Marna's suggestion came out with a purposefulness that indicated that it was no new thought.

  Gryss's eyes widened in horror. He levelled a stern finger at her. ‘You just stay where you are, young woman,’ he said. ‘For one thing, that's a good few days’ walk for someone who knows the way, and for another, the last thing we need now is someone like you doing wild-headed tricks like that and creating a great stir in the village.'

  'I won't tell anyone,’ Marna said earnestly.

  'Not even your father, I presume,’ Gryss retorted sharply.

  Marna looked flustered.

  'No, you hadn't thought about that either, had you?’ Gryss went on. ‘You do nothing, either of you. Nothing at all. Except keep your eyes and ears open and let me know whatever you see and hear.'

  The rain suddenly began to fall more heavily, putting an end to the conversation, and sending the three of them scurrying back to Gryss's cottage.

  'Hello, old thing,’ Marna said, crouching down and stroking Gryss's dog as it emerged to greet them. It wagged its stub of a tail briefly, turned and gave a cursory bark at Farnor, then retreated back to its current lair.

  'It's getting more like you every day, Gryss,’ Marna said, smiling as she stood up.

  Gryss flicked a brusque hand towards the back room. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘And less of your cheek.'

  Gryss placed his two guests opposite one another at the long table,
and, unusually, sat himself at the head of it. He laid his hands on theirs.

  'I want you two to promise me, now, that you'll keep silent about what we've discussed today,’ he said.

  'We already have,’ Farnor protested lightly.

  Gryss shook his head. ‘No Farnor, this is not some game, some sunset watch prank. This is serious and I want your solemn word that not only will you not tell anyone about what we've been discussing, but that you won't do anything ... unusual ... without talking to me about it first.'

  His manner was uncharacteristically severe, and the two young people watched him in silence.

  'You're frightening me, Gryss,’ Marna said, after a moment.

  'Good,’ Gryss replied, though not unkindly. ‘Because you frightened me with your foolishness. Running off to the next village, indeed.'

  Marna shrugged apologetically, but Gryss continued before she could speak.

  'And you're more than capable of doing it, so don't protest otherwise,’ he said. ‘You'd have got yourself in a rare pickle wandering the countryside, lost.’ He shook his head, irritated by his own distraction. ‘I've a great fondness for you, Marna, you know that. And I admire your independence and ... your right-headedness. But you're too impulsive for your own good at times, and while we don't know what's going on, we need thought, not impulsiveness. Now I want your promise, especially, that you'll do nothing foolish.'

  'What about him?’ Marna said, nodding towards Farnor in an attempt to deflect Gryss's intention.

  'Farnor and I ... understand one another,’ Gryss replied.

  Marna looked at Farnor, and then back at Gryss. Her eyes narrowed. ‘What's going on?’ she said suspiciously.

  Gryss closed his eyes. When he opened them, he met Farnor's worried gaze. It had occurred to him to make some flippant comment in an attempt to fob Marna off. But Farnor's expression reflected not only his pain, but also a peer's deeper knowledge of Marna's character. And he, the elder and thus outsider, would have to accept that judgement.

  'We don't know,’ he said quietly, looking straight at her. ‘Something ... strange ... is happening up at the castle, or in the woods beyond, but ...’ He gave an unhappy smile and looked around the room as if searching for inspiration.