The Return of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  They had suggested that he go with them to their own land. ‘There are people there who will understand your strange gift and what should be done with it,’ Yengar had said to him. ‘And people who can help to ease your deeper pain.’

  ‘Knew me better than I knew myself,’ Farnor said out loud to the dimming sky. He patted the gate and turned back to the farmhouse. The sight of the old building, still partly gutted from the fire that Rannick had set, and cluttered with the planks and ladders and general paraphernalia of repair work, jarred with his memories of how it should be and confirmed the rightness of the decision he had just made.

  He would go after them.

  * * * *

  A few days later he was well on his way.

  The parting had been harder than he had anticipated, especially parting from the stock, and particularly his dogs, but he had been able to shed such tears as he needed to shed as he rode alone, north towards the Great Forest. It had helped him that Gryss, the Senior Elder of the village, had agreed with his decision. It had helped him even further to note the almost sprightly air that was pervading the old man. He remarked on it.

  ‘The whole business has given me a shaking that I probably needed, young Farnor,’ Gryss said with a smile that was not without sadness. ‘Perhaps we all needed it, though, pity knows, I’d have wished it in a happier form; so many people have been so cruelly hurt. But what’s happened has happened and it’s up to each of us to make what we can of it.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘The very least we’ll have is a change of drinking stories. And it’ll be interesting to see how much they do change over the next few months – how many trembling legs and churning stomachs are conveniently forgotten.’ Then he looked at Farnor keenly, his mood sombre again. ‘You’ll be missed, Farnor, not least by me. But you’re right to go. Don’t have any doubts about that. To be honest, I was rather surprised you didn’t go with them right away.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There’s something very special about you, Farnor, and you must learn about it. There’s no one here who can help you, and if you stay, choose to ignore it . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Perhaps it might fester unseen . . . like Rannick’s. Who can say?’

  It was a dark thought, touching as it did on the knowledge hanging silent between them that, in so small and isolated a community, Farnor and Rannick must surely have some common ancestry, common blood. Hadn’t Rannick called him ‘cousin’ at the end? ‘All this time you’ve been the same as me and we never knew.’

  Scorching, frightening words. Perhaps more than anything else, it was these that disturbed Farnor and urged him forward.

  The rest of his conversation with Gryss had been full of the practical details of his intended journey – horses, food, clothes, and, not least, the tenanting of his farm during his absence. They parted with an unexpectedly long embrace and, after a day’s preparation, Farnor left the valley quietly, in the half-light before sunrise. He forced himself not to look back along the dark-stained trail he had made through the dew-sodden grass.

  His journey into the Great Forest was markedly different from the first time he had made it. Then he had been frantic with terror, clinging for his life to his equally terrified mount and heading towards a world about which he knew nothing save old fireside tales. Now, he was riding at ease and feeling the welcome that the trees were offering him. Yet even so, there was a hint of urgency about his journey that was due to something other than his need to catch Marna and the others.

  Before entering the Forest he had sought its permission, after the way of the Valderen.

  ‘You are ever welcome, Hearer,’ had come back the many-voiced reply. ‘Much has changed. The spawn of the Great Evil is gone from this place and the darkness in you is not as it was.’

  ‘I’m following my friends to a place where I might learn about that darkness.’

  The Forest had trouble with the idea of friends, of such strange togetherness and separateness, but he felt their approval. Yet he sensed also an unease beneath it.

  ‘What troubles you?’ he asked.

  Then had come the faint but recognizable voice of the heart of the Great Forest, reaching out to him from that vast and silent enclave of trees to the north where few were allowed to travel and which the Valderen knew as the place of the Most Ancient.

  ‘The worlds are troubled still, Far-nor. And the Great Evil still strives to return.’

  The worlds!

  As he heard the words he was almost overwhelmed by a flood of images. He had experienced them during this early contact with the Forest, yet still they meant nothing to him. And still they were deeply disturbing.

  For a moment he was tempted to seek an explanation but he knew that it would serve no purpose. Though the Forest trusted him, and though he could communicate with it as apparently no one had been able to do in generations, what they held in common was the merest flickering candle in the deep darkness of their differences.

  ‘I Hear your fears,’ he said. ‘I shall protect you if I can.’

  ‘And we, you, Far-nor. It is good that you seek the light.’

  ‘Good day to you, young sir.’

  The voice startled Farnor. Though it sounded loud and intrusive, even as he spun round Farnor knew that the speaker would have been whispering and this betokened both knowledge and respect.

  ‘Marken?’ he said, smiling and opening his arms in greeting. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The old man, narrow-faced and slightly built, swung down from his horse and gave Farnor a long look.

  ‘I live here, Farnor, if you recall. The question is, what are you doing here? Not that you’re other than welcome, of course.’ He took Farnor’s arms in the powerful grip that was a characteristic Valderen greeting.

  ‘I meant, how did you know I was here?’ Farnor said in some confusion, trying not to rub his arms.

  Marken’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re not the only Hearer in the Forest you know. They told me you were coming, and that I – that all of us – should help you on your way. Incidentally, I’m Hearing much better than I used to – I don’t know whether it’s me or them, but it’s . . . a good feeling.’ Farnor smiled at his friend’s conspicuous pleasure. ‘I must confess to being surprised to see you again so soon, though. I thought you were going back to live on your farm.’

  Farnor explained what he was doing. Marken nodded sympathetically. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Many things other than my Hearing are different here, too. Quite possibly for the better, for all the pain we suffered. I don’t know. Time will doubtless tell.’ He became brisk. ‘Will you come to Derwyn’s lodge? Stay with us awhile?’

  ‘I can’t, Marken. I have to catch my friends. They won’t be hurrying but they’re several days ahead and I really don’t know where I’m going, except east. Besides, I’m still sore after fighting that creature of Rannick’s. I think I’d frighten you to death trying to climb one of your ladders.’

  ‘You always did,’ Marken said bluntly. ‘You’re a natural born Faller, without a doubt. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Derwyn’s? He’d be . . .’

  ‘He’d be annoyed if he thought I was idling in his lodge when I’d urgent matters to attend to.’

  Marken looked at him shrewdly.

  ‘Help me find my friends, Marken,’ Farnor pressed. ‘They came this way with your permission, and I’d be more than surprised if you didn’t know not only where they are, but every step they’ve taken.’

  Marken cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘We always watch . . . newcomers . . . in the Forest, naturally. They may need help, guidance – it’s easy to get lost.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘And, of course, we’re curious too,’ Marken conceded. ‘They did great service. We honour them.’

  ‘I know,’ Farnor said reassuringly.

  Marken leaned forward and became confidential. ‘The young girl – Marna – is awkward – like you – a Faller – though she tries hard and she’s learning quickly. But the others are remarkable. So light in thei
r touch. They’ve great respect for everything around them. Their passing leaves no sign. They could almost be Valderen.’

  It was a considerable compliment.

  ‘How far did you go with them?’ Farnor asked knowingly.

  ‘Just a day’s ride,’ Marken admitted, his manner indicating that he regretted it had not been for longer. ‘Then we had to get back to the lodge.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘There were . . . a few of us.’

  ‘That many, eh? Things are different.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better see you on your way, then, if you’re so anxious to be off. You’d like me to give your affection to Derwyn and his lodge, I imagine?’

  ‘Of course. You know that.’

  Marken rode with him for half a day and with his guidance the steady trot they were able to maintain carried them a long way.

  ‘Let the Forest guide your horse,’ Marken told him as they finally parted.

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,’ Farnor said, pointing to two riders approaching them.

  ‘Probably not,’ Marken said with a broad smile. ‘I’ve sent messages ahead. I think it’s unlikely you’ll be alone for long, if at all. You might have to tell your story a few times, but you’ll make good progress and you’ll save a lot of your supplies.’ He took Farnor’s arms again. ‘I don’t know if I’ve said this before, I don’t really have the words to say what I feel, but thank you for all that you’ve done – for me, and for the Forest.’ He released him. ‘Travel well, Hearer. And come back to us one day.’

  ‘I will.’

  The journey proved to be just as Marken had said. Farnor was accompanied all the way and he not only saved his supplies but had them supplemented, as lodge after lodge pressed gifts on him.

  Then, early one morning, he was at the edge of the Forest. The ground had been rising for some time and the trees ended abruptly, sweeping up the lower slopes of a range of mountains like a still and silent wave.

  ‘We must leave you now, Farnor,’ said the eldest of his latest companions. ‘This is not a place where we can guide you.’ He pointed to a col between two small peaks. ‘Up there. That’s the way your friends have gone.’ There followed the grip on his arms, then, ‘Go safely, it’s been an honour to ride with you . . . Faller.’ The familiar jibe was made both affectionately and tentatively and Farnor knew that he was giving more true thanks in his laughing at it than in his actual words. He spoke them nevertheless, then set off up the rocky slope.

  He turned when he reached the dip. The Valderen were still at the edge of the Forest. He waved to them, then led his horses over the top of the rise. The Valderen returned his salute and in their turn disappeared into the Forest.

  For a while, as he walked down the far side of the col, he could hear the horns of the Valderen speeding him on his way. It was a good sound, full of meaning for him. Gradually it faded.

  He looked along the valley. It was much narrower than his home valley but it was green and lush and although the mountains bounding it were high and stern they were not oppressive. He mounted and clicked his horse forward.

  For the first time since he had left home he felt alone. In the Forest he had been accompanied throughout not only by the Valderen but by the will of the Forest itself, unobtrusive but powerful. It reaffirmed for him that the Most Ancient were indeed watching him and that wherever their consciousness touched the lesser woods and forests beyond the Forest – the remnants of what they had once been – they would be watching him there also.

  But here there was nothing.

  He felt a little afraid.

  Had he made the right decision, leaving a home and the friends of a lifetime to go in search of . . .

  Of what?

  Doubts came to him more than once as he rode on, but each time, whenever they reached the point of making him draw in his horse, he realized again that he could do no other. He must go forward, find Marna and the others and go with them to the people who might understand what his gift was and what it meant. The fear that his gift, if ignored, might turn him into another Rannick persisted. In the end, the doubts, like the notes of the horns of the Valderen, faded into nothingness.

  Towards evening, he fancied he glimpsed a thin column of smoke rising through the still air. Briefly it caught the light of the setting sun shining along the valley, then it twisted and parted and was gone. He looked at the lengthening shadows around him and did his best to estimate the distance to where it had been.

  He could do it, he decided, urging his horse forward.

  It was a mistake, as he discovered shortly afterwards when the sun finally dipped behind the head of the valley and the gloaming deepened abruptly. He glanced upwards. The tops of the mountains, some still dull red against the darkening sky, were becoming shadows, wrapping themselves about with wisps of dull grey cloud. A solitary silver star shone clear and bright in the east, like a guiding beacon, but, beautiful as it was, he realized that its light was treacherous and deceptive, serving only to deepen the darkness in the valley ahead.

  Reluctantly he reined his horse to a halt and, after a final glance towards where the smoke had been, he began hurriedly preparing a camp in what was left of the light.

  As had been the case since he left home, he slept well.

  He woke to rain, fine and vertical. It hid much of the valley while the peaks above were completely hidden by cloud. Oddly enough, the cold greeting roused Farnor to action more than sunlight streaming through the entrance to his tent would have done. Years of living on a farm had made him an early waker and comparatively brisk and orderly in the execution of morning duties, but sunlight always seemed to fan his idleness while a colder kiss made him resolute, if a touch grim. And today, of course, there was the added incentive that he was now very near to catching Marna and the others.

  Thus he had tended the horses and broken both the camp and his fast – albeit with cold fare – within a very short time of waking. Bearing in mind the implicit strictures of Marken, he examined his camp site carefully to ensure that he too would ‘leave no sign’.

  As he mounted his horse and pulled his hood forward he began to plan the pending meeting. It was very early and it was unlikely his prey would be choosing to break their camp with the same alacrity as he had. With luck he might be able to surprise them before they even woke. He did not hurry however. The valley floor rose a little and he could see sheets of rock jutting through. He would have to walk over these. Whatever the rights and wrongs of his journey, it would become a disaster if he or one of his horses were injured trying to negotiate such terrain too quickly.

  Nevertheless, for a while he was buoyed up at the prospect of at least reaching his goal. He tried to envisage their reactions. Marna almost certainly would be abusive, but he found that he could not begin to guess how the others would respond. Yengar would probably greet him with a smile, Olvric would be as silent and enigmatic as ever. As for the two women, he had no idea.

  He was still thinking about this when he came to the top of a rise and found himself looking down on their camp. It was nestling discreetly between two rocky shoulders and he did not notice it at first. Suddenly, and chillingly, it occurred to him that perhaps this camp might not be the one he was seeking. There was no reason why there should be only him and them in the valley. Had not Nilsson and his men roamed all over before stumbling on the village? What if this was the camp of others of his ilk? It was a bad thought.

  Then, between two tents of an unusual design, he saw a smaller one that he recognized as Marna’s. He let out a sigh of relief and his previous excitement returned. It was mixed with smugness as he surveyed the still and silent scene. Whatever their reactions were going to be, they would be surprised at least. Perhaps he could start a fire for them. That would be a welcoming gesture for them. On the other hand, he might be left looking extremely foolish as they woke to find him wet and dismal as he struggled to light one in this rain.

  He decided against any firm
plans and, carefully leading his horses, began to make his way down the slope.

  He reached the bottom without incident and was again debating how he should announce himself when a hooded figure emerged silently from behind a rock, sword in hand.

  Chapter 12

  The thoughts he had had when he first sighted the camp tumbled into Farnor’s mind. What if Marna and her companions had been waylaid by a group such as Nilsson’s? Was he walking into the aftermath of a new horror, into a new danger?

  ‘An ill way to approach a camp, my friend.’ The figure’s voice cut across his sudden alarm. It was a man’s, soft and calm, but with a quality in it that, while not directly menacing, nevertheless made Farnor feel cold and defenceless.

  Even so, he had to make a deliberate effort to stop his hand flicking towards the knife in his belt. It was not a gesture he would even have contemplated making a few weeks ago, but then he had not been the person he was now. He made the movement into an adjustment of his robe and took a slow, unobtrusive pace backwards. If necessary he should be able to mount and flee.

  The man seemed to be aware of this brief inner conflict for his sword moved slightly as if it too were debating. Then his head tilted to one side and he leaned forward a little.

  ‘Farnor?’

  Awkwardly, and taking another discreet step backwards, Farnor yanked back his hood. Slowly, the figure did the same, to reveal Olvric. He gave a hint of a smile, sheathed his sword, and offered his hand. ‘Whatever’s brought you here, it’s good to see you, young man. But for the future you’d be advised to give a hail when you approach a camp if your intentions are friendly.’ An eyebrow was raised to accompany the faint smile. ‘And if they’re not friendly, you’ll need to go more quietly.’

  ‘I was going quietly,’ Farnor protested.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Farnor, what are you doing here?’

  This voice and its cross-examining tone were unmistakable and an old relationship re-established itself immediately.