‘Not that I am disappointed to see the horses,’ he said, ‘but I thought your people fought on foot.’
‘We prefer to, yes,’ the tall boy said. ‘But we do not believe that we should therefore have to run around between fights when there are perfectly good animals for the job.’
Brann smiled. ‘The gods bless that attitude.’
The warriors mounted up, leaving five horses for the four members of the rescued group. Brann counted the animals, frowning for a second before his fatigue-befuddled mind began to work. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘They had not anticipated that we would bring a horse with us. That extra horse was to be for Gerens.’
Konall grunted disinterestedly. Brann was undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm. ‘It is flattering, though, that they expected us to be successful in rescuing all three of them and managing to return alive, and they brought enough for all of us.’
Konall leant towards him conspiratorially. ‘Do not get carried away. They were prepared for all eventualities, rather than expecting just one of them. I would not speak in such a way too loudly if you do not wish to become the subject of ridicule.’ He paused. ‘If truth be known, they probably expected to use more of those five horses for bodies than riders.’
Brann realised that his high spirits, now curbed by Konall, had raised his energy momentarily. With his tiredness flooding back yet again, he grabbed at the nearest available horse and hauled himself into the saddle. Grakk caught the horse beside him and swung himself with practised ease onto its back.
Brann’s eyes widened. ‘Somehow, I never thought of you as a horseman, Grakk,’ he said as the wiry tribesman casually wheeled his mount around to face the same direction as the rest of the party.
Grakk shrugged. ‘We prefer nimble ponies to these oversized, clumsier beasts, but any one of my people who cannot ride by their fourth summer is considered a slow starter.’
‘All right, I misjudge you again,’ Brann conceded. ‘Any more advice for me?’
Grakk grinned. ‘Do not fall off. It is easier to fall asleep sitting down than when running.’
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and it sprang after the rest of the party. Brann hurried to follow suit and, heading down gentler slopes to the mountains’ foot and the plain beyond, he glanced back at the peaks behind them where, all of a sudden, such recent horrors seemed so far away.
Chapter 10
He had but once consulted her.
The speaker of sooth, the reader of the many paths yet to be. Or the useful fraud, depending on your stance. And, oft times, he had found her of use. Once, however, he had consulted her. Once he had tested, to seek if any value lay in what was revered by other men. But he had dismissed her as merely an instrument of use.
Her words, he had never tried to memorise. Nonetheless, they had remained engraved in his mind more clearly than if they had been carved into stone tablets and placed by his bedside for him to recite every morning for the half-century since he had heard them uttered. Whenever his mind touched upon the matter, the words were there. Unbidden, they were there.
One will come
Thought nothing by all,
A seed there will be
In a breast thought so small,
From one who is nothing,
Greatness will spring,
Of the deeds of that one
Great songs will they sing,
But the seed must be nurtured
And the shoot must be fed,
For the flower to blossom,
For the man to be bred,
And nations will stand
Or nations will fall,
When heroes and kings
On the One come to call
On one they once thought
So small.
In recent weeks, her words were entering his mind so frequently that they seemed to be a backdrop to all of his other thoughts. The oracle, she had been an instrument of use. Now he felt, another instrument was coming his way. Every instrument needed a hand to wield it.
His right fist clenched. He smiled.
****
For the second time in an astonishingly short few days, Brann woke stiff and aching in his small room at Ravensrest without any memory of having arrived there. This time, however, rather than being wakened as dawn was about to break, he had been allowed to sleep and strong sunlight was streaming from a high sun through the narrow window.
He jumped from the bed in alarm. ‘Oh, gods,’ he moaned aloud. ‘It must be almost mid-day.’ He was hours late and the Captain would be furious at being let down in front of his uncle.
He paused at the realisation that he was thinking of himself as a real page. Maintaining the pretence during the stressful and harrowing times in the mountains had made it difficult to accept that he was still a slave.
Even so, he thought grimly, I still have to act as a page, and arriving half a day late for my duties is not the most convincing way to do so.
He had fallen asleep – he had no idea whether he had made it to his bed by himself or with the help of another – in the same clothes that he had been wearing during the past few days; only his boots had been removed. Glancing around, he noticed the boots placed neatly at the foot of the bed, confirming that he had received assistance in reaching his bed: if he had been so exhausted that he was unable to remember reaching his room, then tidiness would have been his least consideration. He only hoped that he had not embarrassed himself in any way.
He grunted as the combined smell from himself and his clothes assaulted his senses. ‘Whoever was my assistant, they possessed bravery and strength of character to withstand that.’ He glanced around the small room in case a victim of the stench was lying unconscious as a result.
His mood turned serious once more as the sight of a towel and a filled basin reminded him of the pressing need to clean himself and find Einarr. He peeled off the offending garments and hurriedly washed himself. Fresh clothing had also been left for him, and he pulled it on frantically, grabbing his boots and hoping that his feet would block the smell that remained within after their overnight airing. He found, however, that not only had the leather been cleaned externally, but that herbs had been sprinkled within, eradicating the expected smell.
Without pausing to wonder about the effort that had been made in assisting him, he burst from the room, almost knocking Valdis and the tray she was carrying into the opposite wall of the corridor. With a squeal and an impressive display of reactions and dexterity, she managed to recover without spilling any of the food and drink that she was carrying.
‘Now, now, master page,’ she scolded with amusement. ‘I believe you need to calm yourself. I did not tuck you in and look out fresh clothes for you only for you to try to hurl me through a stone wall.’
Brann blushed. ‘Oh, it was you,’ he stammered. It was not his most erudite of answers, and he was not sure whether his inept performance was a result of the thought of her putting him to bed, the fact that he had almost flattened her or her usual effect on him. He guessed it was all three, which left him little chance of making anything but a pathetic impression. ‘I should… I mean… well, thank you,’ he continued lamely, confirming his prediction.
Valdis unleashed the devastating effect on his knees of her smile, and curtsied elaborately. ‘I accept your gratitude with pleasure, kind sir,’ she said, ‘and I am delighted to note that you smell so much better than you did last night.’
Brann’s blush grew even deeper. He started to stutter a reply but, before he could say anything of sense, Valdis blithely continued.
‘In any case, where are you off to in such a hurry? I do hope that you are not setting off on another jaunt into the mountains so soon.’
The encounter with the girl had driven from his mind all thoughts of his panic over being late, but he was sharply reminded by her question.
‘I must find the Cap… Lord Einarr at once. I have overslept terribly and must attend him at once.’
‘What
a strangely sudden passion for your duty,’ she teased him. ‘Disappearing for days with no warning or explanation was fine, but missing a morning is a calamity.’
It was difficult to argue against such simple logic, but Brann felt he had to try. ‘When I left that morning, it was under Konall’s orders. I mean, Lord Konall’s orders. My apologies, but I really must find Lord Einarr at once.’ He stared around wildly, trying to remember the direction of the Captain’s quarters.
Balancing the tray expertly on one arm, Valdis laid her hand gently on his sleeve to calm him. It had the opposite effect, her touch causing his arm to jump abruptly.
She smiled, amused. ‘Do not worry: I am having fun with you. Lord Einarr left word that he did not wish to see you until you had rested and eaten.’ She paused and stared distantly as if straining to remember a detail. ‘I believe it was along the lines of: “He has left me to manage on my own for days, so another morning will not matter.”’
Noticing his alarm, she added quickly, ‘Calm your panic. He was joking also.’ She tapped his arm reassuringly again, but this time without eliciting the same reaction. Brann found himself beginning to enjoy the feeling, and the removal of his need for a terrified rush to attend the Captain had allowed his hunger to awaken.
He looked hopefully at the tray. ‘I don’t suppose that is for me, then?’
Valdis laughed, an entrancing sound. ‘You are getting carried away with yourself now, young adventurer. Lords Ragnarr and Einarr will be having their lunch while they discuss the information you and Lord Konall brought back with the captives; your breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen. You may be one of everybody’s little heroes, but you are still a long way off having your meals delivered to you.’
With a swirl of her skirts that captured Brann’s gaze and refused to release it, she swept up the corridor. Watching her retreating form, Brann decided that he cared not about ‘everybody’s’ opinion – there was only one person whose ‘little hero’ he wanted to be. With a sigh, he headed for the kitchen, where he found Hakon enthusiastically demolishing a mouth-watering array of fresh bread, cheese and fruit that had been laid upon the large wooden table.
Hakon looked up. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said pointedly. ‘Do you realise how long the rest of us have been up and about?’
Brann grinned. ‘In your case, not much longer than me, considering the enthusiasm you are showing for your breakfast.’
Hakon slapped the table in mock annoyance. ‘I am found out,’ he said between mouthfuls. He noticed Brann’s dishevelled clothing. ‘Did you panic about sleeping in, by any chance?’ Brann nodded. Hakon cut a hunk of bread and tossed it to him. ‘Me too. They seem to be taking it well, though.’
Brann sat opposite him and started to gather food. ‘What: the sleeping in or the antics in the mountains?’
Hakon shrugged. ‘Both.’
‘It is all right for you,’ Brann objected. ‘You had no choice in the matter. They cannot criticise you. But Konall and I ran off without permission. And I can imagine it is a great deal easier for their anger to be directed at a page than a noble – at least Konall has some authority to make his own decisions.’ He looked morosely at his food. ‘I should probably make the most of this. It may be the last meal of a condemned man.’
‘I would not worry overmuch,’ the tall boy said, reaching for the cheese. ‘They are too excited about the news you brought back about Loku, the bandits, the location of their settlement, the involvement of the mercenaries and the level of organisation behind the bandits’ activities. It is a fair bit for them to take in, and they have to work out the best course of action. Add to that the fact that you helped to give Konall a chance to enhance his reputation, and that he seems to have returned marginally more human than he left, and it seems that it may have turned out to be an all-round success. So, as I said, I would not worry if I were you.’
Encouraged by the emergence of a much brighter character in Hakon than the experience in the mountains had previously allowed to be revealed, Brann fell on his food with gusto.
In mid-swallow, he stopped and looked up, his eyes wide in alarm. Avoiding the possibility that the food was a problem, Hakon guessed correctly the cause of his reaction. ‘Your injured friend?’
Brann nodded. ‘My, er… yes, the slave.’
‘Your friend.’ Hakon shrugged. ‘Relax, we aren’t too fussed in this part of the world. A man is either a good man or a bad man. You either like him or you don’t. He is your friend, or not.’
Brann started to get up. ‘Whatever, I must see how he is.’
Hakon waved him back down. ‘Do not panic,’ he said in what was already beginning to be a familiar instruction that day. ‘He made it here in one piece, and in time. The infection has been caught and he is sleeping off the effects of whatever was poured down his throat to achieve that. They have cleaned his wounded finger and dressed it again and they are waiting as long as they can before removing any more of his finger in case it will recover first. Do not worry, he is in good hands with Old Leeches, our resident doctor. He has treated far more gory wounds than this one in his time.’
Brann was startled. ‘Old Leeches? Do not tell me you still…’
Hakon laughed. ‘No, we do not still treat people with leeches around here. As with everywhere else, that went out long ago. We use herbs and potions and the gods know what, the same as your people probably do. No, we only call him that because he is so old we joke that he must remember using leeches himself.’ Brann smiled in relief and returned to his food. That was the trouble with sleeping so long: everybody else seemed to know so much more about what was going on. His eyes narrowed.
‘How do you know so much? Have you been up longer than you said?’
Hakon smiled. ‘No, just long enough to catch Valdis in here before she took the lords’ lunch upstairs. Take it from me: if you want to know what is happening in a place like this, ask the servants – they know more than the lords.’
Brann helped himself to a corner of cheese. ‘That is certainly true. They seem to get everywhere. I suppose if Valdis is doing everything from serving food to chamber duties, then she will hear things all over the place.’
‘You are half right,’ Hakon said, pouring water for each of them. ‘As one of the kitchen maids, she delivers food to all parts – the nobles, the main hall, the infirmary, the barracks, wherever it may be needed at any given time – and between that and talking to the other servants, the news gets passed around. But as for tending to the chambers: believe it or not, we do have separate staff for that. We are not such uncivilised monsters that we work the same few girls to death with every job in the building.’
Brann was confused. ‘But she said she left out fresh clothes and washing water for me, and that last night she…’ Hakon lifted an eyebrow in interest and insinuation. Brann coughed embarrassedly at the thought. ‘And that last night she took my boots off,’ he said, hoping that this minimal version of the assistance given to him would suffice.
‘Oh, she did, did she? That is not quite the treatment the rest of us received. Personally, I woke halfway up the stairs over the shoulder of a large hairy warrior. I assured him I could make it the rest of the way to my room by myself, and I,’ he grinned, ‘took my own boots off. I also, by the way, found my own fresh clothes and fetched my own water for washing.’
He pushed across more food towards Brann. ‘I would eat plenty. It looks like our Valdis has got her eye on you. You will need to keep your strength up.’
As Brann blushed violently (again), they heard the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs and Valdis returned with a bundle of blankets and clothes in her arms.
‘Ah, we were just talking about you,’ Hakon said mischievously.
Valdis smiled and fluttered her eyelashes extravagantly. ‘Oh yes? And what would you two boys be saying about me, then?’
‘Oh, Brann was just…’ Hakon cried in pain as he was cut short by Brann’s kick under the table. ‘I seem to have b
anged my shin on the table leg,’ he exclaimed, with a look of exaggerated innocence.
‘Which is around four feet away from your foot,’ Valdis pointed out, her hands on her hips.
‘I have long legs,’ Hakon said simply, before continuing, ‘anyway, as I was saying before I banged my leg on that distant part of the table, Brann was merely expressing his…’ (he ignored the mix of horror and outrage that Brann was managing to convey in a single glance) ‘…his amazement at how much information you manage to amass because of your duties.’
Brann slumped back in relief that Hakon had not revealed any more – then remembered at the last moment that he was sitting on a bench that had no back to it. Frantically grabbing at the table-edge, he just managed to stop overbalancing backwards in a fall that would probably have constituted the most humiliating experience of his life. Hakon grinned. ‘Oh yes, and that he thinks you are astoundingly gorgeous.’
Valdis giggled and, with a groan, Brann fell forward and let his forehead thump off the heavy wooden tabletop. Valdis patted him on the shoulder as she passed. ‘As my mother would say: “At least you have got good taste.”’ She paused in the doorway. ‘And you are going to love me even more when you realise what I have got here is your bedding and clothes for washing.’
‘Now that is definitely not fair!’ Hakon objected. ‘I notice you did not bring mine down.’
‘You, Hakon, son of Ulfar, know perfectly well where to take yours. Brann, on the other hand, is a guest who does not.’ She tossed her head haughtily. ‘And a nice polite guest at that.’ She disappeared through the doorway, but her voice called back from the passageway. ‘With excellent taste in women!’
‘You are going to die!’ Brann cried at Hakon, throwing an apple and missing the boy’s head by the span of at least a couple of hands.
His target watched with interest at the fruit bounced against the far wall. ‘Konall was right about your aim,’ he mused. ‘Anyway, you should not be filling your head with such thoughts of violence. Your heart should be singing with thoughts of love and you should be dancing with joy at the thought of having Ulfar as a father-in-law.’
Hero Born Page 33