Instead, Brann moved to use other huts as cover. The buildings were, as they had seen, haphazardly placed, so he was able to plot a course roughly parallel to Konall’s while still remaining close enough to reach him within a few strides if necessary. Konall noticed his move, understood, and carried on.
They saw the prison hut simultaneously, and stopped to consider their next move. They had come upon it from the side and could just make out the sentries at the front. One had fallen asleep, while the other sat in a crouch, idly picking at a straggly beard. Konall signalled towards the rear of the building and they crept, placing each foot agonisingly slowly, to meet there. Brann had further to travel, and arrived slightly after Konall.
The tall boy stooped to bring his mouth hard against Brann’s ear. ‘Awake. Voices.’
Brann nodded, having heard them also. He was puzzled. They could not make out the words, but the tone was more animated than he would have expected from prisoners captured in such horrific circumstances. Perhaps they were trying to keep up their spirits.
Konall’s head pressed against him again, his breath hot on his skin. ‘You go one side, I the other. Take one sentry each.’
Brann shook his head. ‘Prise apart wood here. Bring them out unknown to all.’
‘Too noisy,’ Konall objected.
Brann pressed the tip of his sword against a plank. It crumbled slightly. ‘Rotten,’ he whispered. ‘Could come away quietly. Dead or missing sentries could raise alarm. Bigger start on them: better.’
Konall stared at him for a moment in an interplay between the two that was becoming familiar, and nodded. He lifted his sword to work on the flimsy wall.
The voices came closer. The boys froze, realising together that, with walls as rotten as these, prisoners would have to be bound in some way to prevent escape. Restrained people do not move about.
Konall’s eyes narrowed, and his hand gripped his sword so tightly that the weapon quivered. ‘Loku,’ he mouthed.
Brann felt panic rising. They had not found the captives, and Loku was in the heart of the village, meaning that if it had not been discovered yet that Konall was not among the captives, it would happen too soon for them to discover the prisoners’ location and free them.
Konall read his face and, with a single abrupt gesture, eloquently ordered him to control himself. He brushed a stray lock of white-gold hair from over his ear – he had bound it behind his head when they had entered the mountains in the same manner as prior to fighting the bear – and pressed the side of his head against the wall. Brann was not sure whether he should keep watch or listen also. Curiosity took over, and he quickly chose the latter.
Although the hut was larger and more substantial than the others, it had been built by the same shoddy workmen and the planks that formed the walls were ill-fitting. Gaps were abundant, and there was no difficulty in picking up the words as those inside came closer.
Brann was surprised to discover that he could understand the speech: similarly to Konall, those inside were using the same language as he did, but with the lilting local accent. Expecting to hear an interrogation taking place or, at least, anger being expressed at not finding Konall among the prisoners, Brann was confused instead to hear a deep voice, warm and almost friendly, discussing the merits of resting after a long, hard-paced ride.
Brann had expected the scheming and treacherous ambassador to sound oily and manipulative – instead, the voice was resonant and exuded power. He glanced at Konall and mouthed Loku’s name. Konall nodded confirmation.
The ambassador continued, ‘It is a strange day indeed when one finds himself referring to a hovel such as this as one of his homes, but it is shelter, it is mine, the views – beyond the village boundaries, of course – are spectacular, and I am exhausted. So, even if it is merely for a few nights here and there, on occasions such as this, it is indeed my home.’
Understanding and despair hit Brann simultaneously. This was not the prison, and they had no idea where the prisoners were being kept.
Another voice spoke, more rough and commonplace, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Should we not visit the captives now, my lord?’ Brann guessed it was a warrior, perhaps a personal guard. He caught his breath, waiting for the answer.
‘No, they are going noplace,’ Loku laughed, and Brann breathed again. They had a chance once more, slim though it may be. ‘We will visit them when we are ready. We rest and eat first, at our leisure. Ragnarr’s arrogant whelp,’ Brann saw Konall’s knuckles whiten, ‘cannot partake of the pleasures of a latrine pit for long enough, as far as I am concerned.’
Brann’s spirits soared almost to exultation in comparison to the despair he had felt until now. In a single sentence, Loku had narrowed their search dramatically. Such a pit would be on the outskirts of the settlement. What was more, it was unlikely to be alongside the river – there was little room between the buildings and the river and, also, water would be liable to seep into it and raise the contents towards ground level, which would defeat the purpose of digging it in the first place. No, it would be on the landward side.
He made to rise to begin their search, but Konall’s hand stopped him as the soldier spoke again. ‘What’s to become of them, my lord? The captives?’
‘The boy can form the locals’ evening sport,’ Loku’s rich tones continued, incongruous with the subject matter of his words, ‘as can the barbarian. The raiding party thought I might find him of interest; it was indeed a thoughtful gesture but, frankly, once you have seen one monkey, they are all much the same. No, they will keep our friends happy. It is amazing how they never fail to find sport in an impalement, with their little races using the different weights on the ankles. Remember the last time, when one of them got over-excited and leapt onto the legs of one of the victims. He was not so excited when those who lost their bets as a result used him to replace the dead man, but it was extra entertainment for the rest, especially when they let the children swing on his feet.’ The warrior laughed, and Loku chuckled with him. ‘Yes, they are almost sweet when they are at play like that.’ His tone darkened. ‘The young lordling, however, will be mine. Much as I would love to look into his eyes as he sinks onto a spike, his death must be precise and to plan – although the fact that torture is involved will let me indulge myself after all.’ Konall was quivering with rage, and clearly finding difficulty in not bursting through the wall. ‘Sometimes fate rewards one well. I have long enough endured the sight of him stalking the corridors of his father’s hall, snootily looking down his nose at me and dismissing my importance just as quickly.’
Brann nudged Konall and, with an expressive look, suggested that this may be a fair assessment of his companion. Konall scowled at him, but the tension was broken, and colour started to return to Konall’s face.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, my lord,’ the soldier began again, ‘how will this work? Wars have been started this way since history began. Surely they will see through it.’
‘That is precisely why it will work,’ Loku purred. ‘This ruse has been used so often because it works so well. Yes, it is obvious. But when an only son – or, in the case of the opposing side, an only remaining daughter – becomes a mutilated corpse, the raging grief of a father blinds him to reason, blinds him to all but retribution. And the timing is perfect: when I pass on the news of Einarr’s return, old wounds will be opened and their blood will feed the flames of fury.’
‘I understand, my lord,’ the soldier said. ‘I just wonder what all this – the raids, the trick, especially the war – is for. What is the point?’
‘The point is, my dear man, that you are a common bandit who, along with your fellows, I have elevated to the position of mercenary. You do not question either my decisions or the orders of my master. And, by my master, I do not refer to Bekan, you understand, but a man who will be far more powerful than he, or any of the other lordlings and petty kings. I let you speak, this evening, because I wished to talk, and you were convenient. If you question m
e again, you will wish that I had given you over to these savages. And do not imagine that any of your men will support you. They will be clambering over what is left of your body to receive the few extra coins for filling your place. Do you understand?’ His voice bore the same silky tone as before, but the words carried all the more menace for that, and the warrior could not convey his understanding quickly enough.
Loku yawned, loudly and casually. ‘Now, leave me. I would eat and rest in peace. Wake me just after dawn, and we will visit the prisoners when they are disorientated by fatigue. It will be more enjoyable informing them of their fate at that time, when they will have all day to contemplate their part in the evening’s entertainment. Do not disturb me until then.’
Clearly disturbed, the man muttered his obedience. The noise of his leaving was easily followed, especially the kick aimed at the sleeping guard and the sound of the man’s reactions – startled, furious, and then fearful as he realised the source of the blow.
Brann prepared to leave, but realised that Konall was moving to head around the other side of the hut. He grabbed the tall boy before he could think about his response to such restraint. Surprisingly, Konall seemed to be becoming accustomed to Brann’s unconventional and disrespectful methods of attracting attention, and merely turned, exasperation clear on his face.
‘This way,’ Brann hissed, desperate for Konall to listen to him but conscious that his voice could carry through the wall as easily as Loku’s had in the opposite direction.
Konall shook his head. He pointed into the hut and drew his finger across his throat. Already familiar with Konall’s simple and straightforward solutions to any sort of injustice, Brann had already guessed that the opportunity to rid themselves of Loku’s influence and manipulations would be too much for the boy to pass up, and he was ready for Konall’s decision. Before the tall boy could realise or resist, he pulled him to the relative cover of a large pile of putrid refuse where they could raise their voices to a faint whisper.
‘I know what you are thinking,’ Brann breathed. ‘I understand, but it is not the best course.’
Konall told him what he could do with his ‘best course’ and turned to go. Brann grabbed his sleeve barely in time to stop him. ‘I mean it is the best course for all, including your people.’
Konall’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know what is best for my people. Loku dies, and many lives are spared.’
‘If you kill him, you, I and the prisoners will probably die as a result.’
Konall shrugged. ‘If the lives of many of our people are saved as a result, it will be a favourable trade for us.’
Not for the first time, Brann cursed Konall’s relentless sense of duty. He shook his head. ‘You heard him: he has a master pulling the strings. If Loku dies, another will be sent to orchestrate this other man’s plans. Then we will have died in vain and your people will have lost the heir to your father’s position at a time of great crisis.’
Konall was in a quandary, and his agony was evident. He could see the truth in Brann’s words, but the thought of Loku, and the treachery he represented, being separated from him by nothing more than a flimsy wall was consuming him.
Brann gripped Konall’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. He felt awkward with such a dramatic gesture, but felt it would be effective with one so formal as Konall. He tried to speak with as much conviction as he could muster. ‘Loku will not go away, we can be sure of that. You, or someone fighting your cause, will face him at some point. Remember, if we spirit the prisoners away before he sees them, he will never know that you escaped from the original raid with news of his treachery. If he thinks you were a captive here and escaped before encountering him, he will consider that the location of the village will be revealed, but nothing more. As far as his knowledge will extend, his involvement will remain undiscovered. So he will carry on with his charade, oblivious to our knowledge, which will give you and your father a great advantage that can be exploited in many ways. And he is likely, then, to meet his end, but in a way that will best serve the interests of your people.’ His grip tightened on Konall’s shoulders. ‘Please think about it.’
The immediate temptation was powerful, but Konall had to admit the sense in Brann’s reasoning. The fact that his people would gain a comparatively greater benefit by this alternative was the crucial factor, and he did not take long to come to a decision. He sighed abruptly. ‘You are right. Again. If he lives, as you say, my father and uncle will be able to plan a strategy that may reveal the grander plan behind the horrors brought by this child of scum.’ Brann had, in the intensity of the moment, forgotten that he still gripped Konall’s shoulders, and the young noble reached up and removed them. ‘You are proving more than merely an extra pair of hands, even if you do have a remarkable lack of etiquette about you.’ His expression darkened once more. ‘But be certain that, whatever transpires, Loku will die.’
Brann did not doubt it.
They began to move away, but Konall stopped. ‘One thing, miller’s boy,’ he murmured. ‘Be careful. Stay alive. I am beginning to think I will have you as my special advisor when I take the title.’
Brann grinned. ‘I will consider it, if you make it worth my while.’
They crept back through the village in the same manner in which they had reached Loku’s hut. As they flitted from shadow to shadow, it dawned on Brann, to his surprise, that his fear had left him. The more they moved about in the heart of the village, surrounded by people who viewed an impalement as an evening’s entertainment, the more a surreal feeling of invincibility settled over him. And the longer they went without being discovered, the more he felt that they never would be, that they could move with impunity. It was such a powerful and ridiculous sensation that he had to suppress an urge to giggle. He forced himself to calm down, wondering if he were developing madness, and repeated an instruction to himself to concentrate as if it were a religious mantra. He was annoyed at himself for his lapse but, at the same time, curious that the situation could have affected him that way.
They reached the edge of the settlement, and stopped.
‘What now?’ Brann whispered.
Konall grunted. ‘We look for a latrine pit. I suggest you use your nose as much as your eyes. Hard though it may be to imagine, I suspect it will smell even worse than the rest of this lair of scum.’
‘Right,’ agreed Brann. ‘But which way do we go? Or do we split up so we can cover more ground?’
‘We do not split up,’ Konall said immediately. ‘When one of us found it, he would have to retrace his steps, find the other, then work back to where he had already been. We will be quicker moving together, then we can act as soon as we find it. And it will mean that, if we run into trouble, we will not do so alone.’ He paused. ‘Which way first, though?’
‘If I were digging such a pit, I would not want it near to the entrance of my village,’ Brann said slowly, thinking as he spoke. ‘And it will not be too far from the perimeter – from the look of this lot, they will have had to be forced by the mercenaries to use a latrine, so they will not site it any further than they can get away with.’
Konall was already moving before Brann had finished, his departure as clear a signal as any of his agreement. He paused, however, in the shadow of a rickety structure to replace his sword with his bow once more.
‘If there is a sentry, we will need to dispose of him before he sees us,’ he explained. ‘You may as well stick to your sword. I have seen your accuracy when you have time to aim.’ Before Brann had time to retort, he was moving again.
They found the pit almost exactly where they had expected, but entirely by accident. No sentry stood guard over the captives – a stroke of luck, but also the reason that they had not, in the dim light, noticed the large hole. Brann inadvertently kicked a small stone and the pair froze in apprehension as it rattled across the rough surface for several yards, the sound magnified by their nerves, before disappearing abruptly from sight. Its progress halted audibly as it
cracked against something solid.
Gerens’s voice rang out. ‘Can you flea-ridden, incontinent, degenerate bags of pus not control yourselves until morning?’ He added a highly imaginative and disgusting suggestion as to what the bandit he assumed was approaching could do as an alternative to using the latrine. Brann was astonished, not so much at the content of the outburst as at the animated tone from one normally so controlled as Gerens.
Konall looked at Brann. ‘That slave has a most encouraging attitude. I can see why you enjoy spending time with him.’
Brann was still stunned. ‘I have never heard him like this before.’
Konall shrugged. ‘You try sitting at the bottom of an active latrine and discover if you maintain your normal demeanour. Personally, I would say that, revolting and humiliating as his situation may be, a benefit of it is that it does seem to have well-informed his view of these people.’
Anxious to avoid silhouetting themselves, they crawled across the short expanse of open ground to the edge of the pit, where a grille of thick wooden bars lay across the opening. The smell was overpowering and Brann fought to prevent adding his vomit to all else that had been already sent down upon the captives.
He swallowed hard and whispered, ‘Gerens, it is us!’
‘Brann?’ the boy said, as loudly as before. ‘By the gods, how can that be you?’
‘It is too long an explanation for just now,’ Brann hissed. ‘Just accept it and keep your voice down before you bring down the whole lot of these maniacs upon us.’
‘Do not be concerned,’ Grakk’s calm tones reassured them. ‘He has scarcely desisted from the insults and complaints since we were brought here. It would attract more attention if he were to be silent for any length of time.’
‘I like him even more,’ Konall observed, struggling at the same time to conceal his surprise at the contrast between Grakk’s speech and his memory of the man’s appearance.
Hero Born Page 28