Brann smiled. ‘I have always been the same. When I react, I seem to do things right; when I have time to think about it, it all goes a bit awry. It was a running joke, whether I was hunting or playing games like…’ He had been about to refer to the cairn game, but the memory of Callan and thoughts of his family racing out to meet him after the victory were so overwhelming that he was unable to check them this time. A lump in his throat blocked his words and he turned away and busied himself with his pack to mask the tears that had sprung to his eyes.
Konall had, however, noticed. Picking up his own load, he ended the conversation by saying simply, ‘Come, we have wasted enough time. Let’s go.’
Gratefully, Brann followed him. A bleakness started to settle over him, though, as thoughts of Callan refused to leave his head. He looked at Konall’s back, so close ahead even he couldn’t miss with an arrow. It would be so easy.
Glancing warily about, Konall ran swiftly to the river and stopped at the water’s edge under the cover of the bridge. He unslung a leather water pouch from his shoulder to top it up.
The sight of it snapped Brann from his melancholy thoughts. He slid down beside Konall, catching his arm before he could dip the container into the water.
‘What are you doing?’ Konall snapped, his recent relative good humour gone.
‘Do not use that water,’ Brann gasped, out of breath from the sudden burst of speed that had been needed to reach the older boy in time. ‘We cannot trust it.’
Konall regarded him as if he were mad. ‘It is water from a mountain river. It is fast-moving and clear. Even if you have not learnt on military patrols that these are exactly what you look for if you want fresh water, a country boy like you should know that anyway. What do you do when you are out hunting? Or did you never stray far enough from your mother’s apron strings that you could not return home if you were thirsty?’
He moved to lower his water pouch to the river’s surface, but again Brann grabbed him. Konall rounded on him, but the look of fury in the smaller boy’s eyes stunned him – he had no idea of the effect of his reference to Brann’s mother, and had no time to wonder about the reason for the anger before Brann growled, ‘If you were not my only guide out of these stinking mountains, I would let you risk drinking it, and enjoy any effects it may have as I remembered your ill-mannered arrogance. If you bothered to think about it instead of worrying about your precious authority, you might realise that their settlement looks as if it is upriver and, from the look of the bandits we have come across so far, hygiene and sanitation will not be top of their priorities.
‘So we have no idea what they might be putting the water further up the river. That’s the logical part of it. The more immediate reason is a bit more obvious.’ He pointed a short way up the course of the river where the corpse of a sheep lay rotting. ‘If you still want to drink it, go ahead.’
Konall slowly removed Brann’s hand from his arm and, his face a stony mask, nodded once. He slung the pouch back over his shoulder and, scanning the surrounding area, he rose in silence and skimmed across the grass to the cover of the woods.
Struggling, as usual, to keep up, it took around a dozen paces of Brann’s shorter legs before his anger began to fade and he wondered to what extent his choice of words had made his time with Konall more difficult.
They wove their way between the trees, heading up through the valley. Almost immediately, they came upon the road as it cut through the end of the woods and, as Brann had surmised, a way had been cut or, rather, hacked through the vegetation. Like everything else the bandits had a hand in, there seemed to be an ugliness about their work.
Checking back and forth to make sure the way was clear, they bolted across into the relative safety of the woodland on the other side.
Hesitantly – the anger was no longer there to give his words any assurance and he was nervous of the reaction he might provoke – Brann asked, ‘Do you think we should keep going through the trees in case we cannot cross the river further up? You would think the road over there leads to their camp, which would mean the camp is on the other side of the water.’
‘I think we have no choice,’ Konall said simply, with no trace in his tone that the previous conversation had ever taken place. ‘If we are close to their lair, we are more likely to come across them, in greater numbers and with untold support nearby. I do not see many places to hide over there.’
‘I think we should stay with the trees,’ Brann declared, the relief at Konall’s apparent dismissal – for now – of his impertinence to a noble leaving him almost giddy. He strode off purposefully, nearly catching a low-hanging branch with his forehead. Konall almost smiled.
With the trees reducing visible distance – and therefore the notice they would have of any enemy presence – they both had an arrow nocked to their bowstrings. Although Brann’s method of holding several spare arrows along with his bow had served him well during the fight with the bandits, he knew that Konall’s advice – that the extra shafts would be an encumbrance when moving – was right, and he took only one arrow from his quiver. Konall noticed but, as was his way, said nothing.
Brann’s hunting experience and Konall’s military upbringing served them well in moving through the trees. The techniques from each background were surprisingly similar in this environment – surprising until they realised that the objectives (to move quickly and silently while remaining able to spot and react to their prey in an instant) were the same. They fell naturally into a pattern of move and cover, with one slipping a short distance ahead and then waiting, bow half-drawn and scanning for any sound or movement, while the other passed and took up an identical station further ahead.
It was a manoeuvre that rapidly ate up the distance and time, and Brann was startled when Konall called a halt. Memories of the way that Gerens had seemed compelled to protect him on the ship had filled his mind more and more as they drew closer to their goal. ‘Dusk will soon start to fall,’ he objected. ‘Should we not press on if we are to try to find their camp tonight? If we have to start looking again tomorrow, anything could happen to them overnight.’
Konall looked up from where he was crouching, taking food from his pack. ‘Can you not hear them?’ he said in a low voice. ‘From the sound of it, I think we can afford to stop to get some food inside us and still make it there very soon.’
Brann stood motionless, straining his ears until they became attuned to the same sounds that Konall had perceived. At first, he heard nothing but the noises of the forest but, gradually, a low murmur of the voices of many people going about their daily business grew in his consciousness. The more he listened, the more he heard: the clank of metal on metal, the creak of wood, the cry of fowl. So different were they from the sounds he had become accustomed to in the woods that he wondered how he could not have noticed them as quickly as Konall. But they were faint – so faint that a slight change in the breeze obscured them briefly – and he was forced to admit that Konall was simply better at noticing such things than he.
They ate quickly, forcing down food despite their nerves and moved in the direction of the river, where the clear ground would let them see further. The edge of the trees came so quickly that they almost stumbled into the open and had to throw themselves backwards to halt their momentum and ensure that they stayed within the relative gloom of the woods. They remained still until they were certain that their movement had not been noticed, before each moved to a tree close to the riverbank. Standing flat against the trunk to disguise their human shapes, they peered across, then up, the river.
Brann caught his breath. It was one thing fighting groups of the bandits, or even hearing the sounds of their encampment; it was another, totally, to see them as large as life in their lair.
The bandits’ home was a sizeable settlement but, in comparison to Brann’s village, it was as if a part of hell’s domain had been lifted to the realm of men. The encampment lay within a hollow; with no walls or fortifications of any kind, its loca
tion had been chosen for concealment rather than defence, and would have been invisible if the boys had been two hundred yards further back down the shallow slope that approached it. If a large force came upon it, the inhabitants would, Brann guessed, flee by the nearest available route rather than stand and fight for their homes. If the buildings could be referred to as homes, he corrected himself. Ramshackle huts had been thrown together in a layout of no particular order, and had been constructed with the same lack of expertise and care as had been afforded to the bridge at the other end of the valley. To say they were basic dwellings would be understating the case – it was as if building them was an onerous chore that had been completed with the minimum of effort, with the result being accepted by the inhabitants on the basis that, in doing so, they would have to undertake no more work.
Some were lying derelict, although there was little to distinguish them from those in use but for the fact that there were no people coming or going from them. Around the site, the refuse of life lay where it was dropped, with no regard for personal pride or hygiene. Whether broken tools or excess raw materials of the construction process, or the daily detritus of the feeding process (in varying proportions of the original animal), there was scarcely an area uncluttered by piles that attracted children and rats in equal measures and with an equal lack of interest shown by any of the adults towards either offspring or rodents.
The settlement spilled up against the far bank of the river from the boys’ vantage point, with the filthy debris travelling one stage further and spilling into the water, causing a film of scum to spread outwards until it was broken up by the flow of the current. Konall caught Brann’s attention as he stared at the contamination of the river, and nodded meaningfully. Brann guessed that this was the closest to an apology for the incident at the bridge that he was likely to receive.
The inhabitants of the settlement teemed over it or slumped in any space that took their fancy, often forcing those moving around to step over them or, in some cases on top of them; arguments that spilled into violence – which more often than not involved a short flurry followed by a retreat, with exaggerated defiance, by one of the participants – were frequent as a result even in the short period they had been watching.
The people seemed, in appearance as much as actions, to have more in common with their rat cohabitants than with normal villagers. Their appearance was much as those Brann and Konall had already encountered: unkempt and aggressive, as if their demeanour was the first barrier to any challenge, verbal or physical. The domestic setting now added women and children to their experience of these people and, although distinguishable in appearance, the women shared their attitude with the men…when dealing with those of their own gender; when around the men, however, they varied between fawning and fearful, and the occasional, violent and casual cuff that was administered explained why. Communication was sparse and brief, and covered a narrow spectrum from what seemed boastful or mocking statements to aggressive and bullying exchanges, if the tone used was any indication. Leaving the greatest impression, however, was – when the wind swirled their direction – the stench from both moving and unmoving, living and rotting creatures that inhabited the site, an overpowering smell that caused Brann’s head to swim.
As his eye cast about the settlement, however, his disgust changed to horror. In an open area at roughly the centre of the village, there were a number of posts bearing impaled bodies in various stages of decomposition and attention from carrion. Although tattered, the remnants of their clothes were still clearly of superior quality to those worn by the living who passed them by, suggesting that they had been captives rather than inhabitants. Although it was too distant to distinguish any features on what the birds had left of their faces, the state of the corpses showed that they had been there for several weeks, and so none could have been the remains of the three who had been taken so recently. The sight did, however, make a strong case for urgency on the boys’ part.
Konall grunted. ‘I see from the state of the river that you offered good advice at the bridge.’ Despite the unexpected addition to his previous nodded admission of Brann’s correctness, he received no reply. He glanced at Brann and noticed his whitening complexion and quickening breathing. ‘Keep your stomach under control, farm boy. If you are like this now, what will you be like when we get closer?’
The colour returned to Brann’s face in a rush. ‘I am no farm boy,’ he blurted hotly, ‘although most of my friends were and there is no insult, as you intend, in being compared to them. And, although I am nothing more than a mere mill boy, I have been through more recently than any of the boy heroes you mix with manage to experience in years.’ The initial rush of anger subsided and he remembered to whom he was talking and the secrets he must hide. ‘We cannot all be great warriors, you know,’ he mumbled, turning away.
Konall looked appraisingly at him. ‘Maybe not, but you seem to learn quickly – or you would be dead by now. But it changes nothing of what I said: you must control yourself and find a way to stand apart from your emotions when you see such things. If we creep around there tonight, you will see many things that will turn your stomach. Never mind managing to keep down your last meal – if you even stop to stare you will not notice the scumbag who creeps up behind you.’
He paused, and stared back at the settlement. ‘I meant no insult,’ he added quietly. ‘You have undertaken much to be here.’ He paused again. ‘Apologies.’
Bran was glad that he had the support of the tree at the final comment. He guessed there had been few, if any, occasions in the past when Konall had uttered that word or anything similar. He had certainly never expected to hear it directed at him.
He shrugged casually. ‘I probably over-reacted. It is of no importance.’
Konall stared intently at him. ‘But do you accept my apology?’ he asked urgently. It seemed vital to him, now that he had crossed such a difficult barrier, that the matter was concluded properly.
Brann was tempted to offer a flippant reply to try to defuse the situation, but realised that it was more likely to have the opposite effect. Adopting Konall’s serious tone, he said, ‘Of course I accept it.’
Konall nodded. They stared at the village in awkward silence until Brann decided that there was a more pressing question to be addressed. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
Konall snorted, a derisive sound that Brann was beginning to realise was not always to be taken personally. ‘Normally, when planning an attack, whether it is an all-out attack or a low-key infiltration such as awaits us, one would study the defences and the patterns of those within them. But here, there are no defences, and the vermin we are watching do not seem to be able to walk in a straight line, even if they were interested in doing so in the first place, never mind conform to any sort of routine behaviour.’
‘So…’ Brann prompted.
Konall shrugged. ‘So, I suppose it makes our plan simpler. We wait until darkness, slip in – avoiding, or attending to, any sentries – find and release the prisoners, and move away at whatever speed seems most appropriate at the time.’
Brann took a deep breath. He felt anything but qualified to criticise but, with his life depending on their actions that night, he had to overcome his nerves.
Konall noticed his expression. ‘You disagree?’
He had no option but to speak now. ‘Not as such,’ he said slowly, choosing his words with care. ‘I just think there is more to it than that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, what you described was accurate, but it seems to be more of a description of what we have to do, not how we will do it.’
‘But that is all there is to it,’ Konall snapped. ‘It is so simple, that the objectives and the method of execution are one and the same. This conversation is a waste of time.’
Now that Brann had managed to start to speak, he found it easier to continue. ‘Actually, I think there is much more to it although, as you say, the objectives are simple. And, anyway, what
time are we wasting when we have to wait until darkness before we can move?’
There was a long silence. Brann began to wonder if Konall had heard him. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, the white-haired boy turned to him. ‘All right, mill boy,’ he said with an emphasis that was less insult and more an indication that he was trying to lighten the tone with his unique brand of humour. ‘Enlighten me.’
Brann grinned. ‘I would be delighted to, oh mighty warrior,’ he said grandly, with a sweeping bow.
‘Do not test the limits of your fortune,’ Konall growled.
‘Well,’ Brann began hastily, ‘first of all, as we have time, I think we should move further up in the woods, to see the village from a different angle. Maybe we could spot somewhere that looks as if captives are being kept there – one of the huts might be more solid, or might have guards outside.’
Konall nodded, taking interest. ‘Go on,’ he invited.
Brann was warming to his subject. ‘Then we have to consider where we cross the river.’
‘Does it matter?’ Konall asked dismissively. ‘It seems to be the same width and speed in this stretch as far as we can see. All that we know for sure is that we will get wet.’
‘True, but there is more to consider than just the river itself. Do we cross as far away as this, where we are less likely to be seen by chance by anyone in the settlement, or do we do so closer to the development where there are more background sounds to mask any noise we may make?’
Konall shrugged, and pondered the question. ‘I think here, and we try to be as quiet as we can. We can listen ourselves for any movement on the other side before we cross to judge if there will be any ears to hear us. In any case, I think that if there are any guards at all, they will be close to their creature comforts, such as they are, and not beyond the village borders. From what we have seen of the people here, they do not expect to be disturbed. This valley, and the settlement within it, is secluded enough, and they have their sentries watching the trails in the unlikely event that any force may venture up this direction. Every day must be the same repetitious squalor, so why would they expect today to be any different?’
Hero Born Page 26