by Roger Taylor
'Marna!'
The soft voice made her freeze.
'Marna,’ it came again.
Cautiously she peered around the trunk of the tree she had been leaning against. It was Gryss, gazing around fretfully.
'You frightened me to death,’ she hissed, stepping out from behind the tree.
Gryss started violently. ‘And you, me, Marna,’ he snapped back, banging his fist on his chest. ‘Jumping out like that. I didn't see you.'
Marna, still shaking a little, was about to argue the point when she recalled why she was there. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said, taking Gryss's arm. ‘Look.’ She pointed towards the castle. As Gryss leaned forward, the end of the column emerged from the gate, which slowly closed.
As Marna had done, Gryss frowned. ‘Where are they going?’ he asked.
Marna shrugged. ‘I haven't the faintest idea,’ she said. ‘But I think they've taken all the wagons, most of their horses and nearly all the men.'
'And Rannick, has he gone as well?’ Gryss asked.
As if in answer to that question, a light flared livid in the upper window of the tower. ‘No,’ Marna answered coldly.
Slowly the column disappeared from view around the shoulder of the hill. Gryss shook his head. ‘They must have learned about your friends,’ he said. ‘They're going hunting for them.'
Marna clenched her fists. ‘No, no,’ she said despairingly. ‘No one knew. No one knew. It can't be.'
Gryss did not reply. Marna turned on him. ‘You didn't tell anyone else, did you?’ she demanded.
Gryss shook his head. ‘Only Jeorg, that's all,’ he said. ‘And Jeorg'd have his tongue cut out before he'd give away such knowledge.'
Marna looked at him questioningly for a moment, then put her hand to her head. ‘Then what's happened?’ she said futilely. ‘And what can we do?'
Gryss reached out to put a supporting arm around her shoulder as he had done many times in the past. Then he lowered it. It seemed to be an inappropriate gesture now. This girl—woman—did not need that kind of support now. ‘What we set out to do,’ he said. ‘Watch and be ready for whatever happens. We've enough work down at the farm to keep us looking busy for some time if we take it easy. We mustn't be impatient. We've no idea what your ... friends ... are intending, for all they seem to think the matter's urgent.’ He nodded towards the castle. ‘And there's no point even conjecturing what's going on up there now. Perhaps they're looking for these people, perhaps not. We'll just have to wait and see.’ He let out a noisy breath. ‘I'll send our “official” watchers to that copse over there as we agreed, but I'll come back every now and then, to see if you're all right. Or I'll send Jeorg; it's a bit of a pull for me.’ He paused, then took out a kerchief. ‘If you see anything unusual, hang this ...’ He searched around for a moment. ‘... there, on that branch, and one of us will come up straight away. It'll take a little time as we're going round the back so that no one'll notice.’ He looked at her. ‘You're sure you're all right up here on your own?’ he asked uncertainly.
Marna smiled and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I've got a lot to think about.’ Then she lowered her eyes. ‘How's my father?’ she asked.
A look of reproach passed over Gryss's face, but there was none in his reply. ‘He's better for knowing you're well and still in the valley,’ he said. ‘But it wasn't easy refusing to tell him where you were.’ He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead he clenched his fist and waved it at the castle. ‘Damn you, Rannick,’ he said. ‘Damn you to hell.’ Then he turned and left.
* * * *
The day passed without anything else of note happening other than Gryss meticulously changing his ‘official’ watchers to lend credence to the ostensible purpose of the activity at the farmhouse. Marna spent the time thinking, with varying degrees of agitation, about everything that had happened since Dalmas. And, at times, daydreaming. And trying not to fall asleep.
She was more than thankful when Jeorg appeared towards evening and declared that he would watch through the night. Rather than risk being seen walking back to Gryss's cottage, she surreptitiously made her way back to the now-deserted farm, and made herself comfortable in a corner of the barn.
Ironically, unlike the previous night when she had been restless after an exhausting day, following her motionless day watching the castle she went to sleep almost the moment she lay down and scarcely moved during the night.
Some instinct woke her before dawn again and, after splashing herself into shivering wakefulness at one of the water butts, she returned up the hill through the cold morning darkness to take up her vigil.
Jeorg, unshaven, stiff and surly, relinquished his post without any expression of regret.
'Anything happened?’ Marna asked.
Jeorg shook his head. ‘Only lights coming and going at that tower window,’ he replied.
'Rannick,’ Marna said.
Jeorg glowered at the tower. ‘They felt bad,’ he said. ‘Unnatural, somehow. I've never seen a lantern that could make light like that.'
Marna confined herself to nodding at this observation. There was nothing to be gained by adding her own comments about the possible nature of that light. Jeorg needed no further incentive to focus his anger against Rannick. She commandeered some food that he had left.
'If you're not going home, don't sleep in the barn,’ she said, with a mocking smile, as Jeorg yawned noisily and picked up his bag. ‘That's my room.'
Jeorg pulled the brim of her hat down over her face and left with a grunt. He was soon lost in the gloom and, straightening her hat, Marna turned her attention once again to the castle. It was barely visible against the bulk of the mountains, although a few torches in the courtyard illuminated its interior dully and threw a feeble and sickly yellow light part way up the walls of the towers, making them look jagged and incomplete. The upper window of the highest tower continued to flicker alive with light from time to time, however; waxing and waning to an unheard rhythm and giving the impression of a malevolent, watching and inconstant star floating above the tainted remains of some noxious pit. Marna stared at it fixedly for a while then deliberately pulled her gaze away from it. There was a quality in it that stirred something deep within her, which she knew, instinctively, would only serve to hinder her, though whether it repelled or attracted her she could not have said.
The day passed largely as had the previous one. Figures appeared down in the farmyard, and pairs of lookouts began their own observation of the castle at Gryss's command. Marna watched and waited fretfully, her mood more uncertain than before, but still dominated by a feeling of urgent expectation. Yet nothing happened. The mysterious column that had moved off to the north did not return, and there was little or no activity around the castle itself. ‘Where are you? What are you doing?’ she began to mutter to herself from time to time.
Towards midday, sheets of fine rain began to blow across the valley. Shifting and changing like a thin grey mist, they now revealed the castle, now obscured it. Marna swore softly. The tree under which she had lodged herself would keep the rain off her for some time, but eventually it would come seeping through the canopy and she could look forward to a damp and chilly afternoon.
Her enthusiasm drained to its lowest point as the thought of a warm haven at home rose to tempt her. Then she swore loudly and angrily into the damp air and banged her fist against the rough bark of the tree until it hurt. There was no haven in this valley for her now. Her father's house could no longer protect her, nor could anyone else's. She had taken herself beyond the pale with her defiance and flight. Her place was here, no matter how grim and dismal it became. She had chosen sides. Chosen the side of those who had come in pursuit of Nilsson but who stayed now in order to make an attempt to slay Rannick and free the valley. They would be as cold and miserable as she, but she knew that they would stay here, in this alien valley, far from their own homes, until that attempt had been made and they were either successful or dead.
Her li
p curled back and exposed her clenched teeth in unconscious mimicry of Nilsson's familiar tic as her resolve renewed itself. She stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together, not so much because they were cold, but to remind herself to be alert, to let no part of her fall asleep.
And the action did indeed seem to clear her mind. The scents in the air became sharper, the noises of the dripping trees about her more distinct. As she took a deep breath she caught a slight movement in the corner of her eye. She turned towards it. A powerful hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her cry.
* * * *
Nilsson looked around sourly as he emerged from his tent into the dull morning. He would have preferred to leave this task to Saddre or Dessane but Rannick had insisted that he oversee it personally, so he could look forward to at least the next few days under canvas and living off camp fare.
He smiled grimly to himself. Had he really adjusted to his changed circumstances so quickly? Only a few weeks ago, such a life had been all that he had known in years, and was all that he could look forward to until some random fortune favoured him, or one of his own men ended his concerns with a silent knife blade. And while that prospect had lain ahead of him, behind him had lurked the will of those against whom he and his men had fought. Fought cruelly, treacherously, and treasonably. And that will would be seeking for them always, he knew. It was the way of his people. All must account for their misdeeds, and neither distance, time, nor the shielding hand of others would diminish the demand for that accounting, or the resolution with which it would be sought.
The reflection made him feel better. No one would dare to test his right to leadership now; he had brought his men prosperity, and, too, as he had been before, he was the only one who truly had the ear of the power that underwrote their ambitions. And as for those who pursued him, let them come. They were as naught now. They would soon discover that events had come full circle and that what they had thought conquered was risen to challenge them again.
He looked up at the trees. These would do splendidly. Tall, large-girthed and straight, they would provide ideal timbers for the siege machines, the wagons, the barracks, the fortifications, and all the other paraphernalia that would be needed for the army that was already forming about the nucleus of his own men. The army which, with him at its head and Rannick at its heart, would strike out from the valley to sweep aside the distant king and his feeble rump of an army and thence use the entire land as a base for the conquest of its neighbours and beyond.
The camp was already alive with noise and clamour, not to mention the smoke and smell of cooking fires.
'A good site, Captain.’ Nilsson turned. The speaker was Yeorson, his naturally supercilious expression heightened by a crooked smile. ‘Plenty of fine trees here. It'll be some time before we've stripped this place bare. And it'll only take a week or so to cut a decent road back to the castle.'
Nilsson nodded. ‘We'll use our new recruits to do most of the dirty work. We can make it part of their ... initial training. It'll also get the men used to command again. We've a long way to go in every sense and we've been neglectful of discipline lately. These new people need to learn our ways if they're going to be any use to us.'
Yeorson's smiled broadened. ‘I'll set them to making a gallows, then,’ he said. Nilsson chuckled darkly. This was going to be a good day.
There being nothing to be gained by delay, working parties were busy clearing the camp site and preparing it for more permanent occupation within the hour, while others were set to work on removing the trees that stood in the way of an easier route back to the castle. The woods rang to the sounds of axes and saws, the groaning crashes of falling trees, and the cries of raucous, commanding voices. The smoke of a dozen or more fires blowing hither and thither, like frightened animals, before finally finding escape out into the dull morning air, gave testimony to the destruction of undergrowth and leafy branches and other unwanted timbers.
Within that same hour, Nilsson also casually stretched two of the new ‘recruits’ full length on the ground as that part of their ‘initial training’ that related to injudicious remarks about the distribution of labour within the hierarchy he was beginning to build.
He breathed in the smoky air, listened to the ringing din about him, and pensively rubbed his bruised knuckles. It was going to be a good day, indeed.
* * *
Chapter 23
'Don't scream,’ a voice whispered commandingly in Marna's ear. ‘It's me, Aaren. Do you understand?'
Marna nodded and mumbled behind the hand clamped over her mouth. Aaren slowly released her. Marna turned on her. ‘What did you do that for?’ she demanded. ‘You frightened me to death.’ She held out her hands; they were trembling. ‘And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were up past the castle somewhere. Did Nilsson's men find you?'
Aaren offered no apology and answered only one of the questions. ‘I didn't know it was you until I was on top of you,’ she said. ‘It's the old man, Gryss, I wanted to see. He's on his way up now and I couldn't risk you—whoever you were—raising an alarm if I suddenly appeared. It is Gryss coming, isn't it?'
'Yes, probably, but ...'
Aaren waved her silent. ‘Answers when he arrives,’ she said curtly, lifting a finger to her lips. ‘Right now, I need a little rest. That charade at the farm cost me some heart-searching before I saw what you were up to, I can tell you. It was well done.’ She crouched down and leaned back against the tree. She closed her eyes, and Marna saw her wilfully relaxing. ‘Keep watch,’ she said.
'But ...'
'Ssh.'
Marna snorted and, still trembling a little, leaned back against the tree next to the resting figure. After a moment, she realized that she was pouting and made a deliberate effort to compose her features. Then all was quiet for a while save for the splashing of the rain through the trees.
Aaren's eyes opened abruptly. ‘Someone's coming,’ she said, cocking her head on one side. ‘It'll be the old man.’ She stood up. ‘Introduce me to him.’ A gentle but definite push propelled Marna from the shelter of the tree.
'Ah. You won't make me jump this time, young woman,’ Gryss said, smiling.
Marna held out her arm towards the emerging Aaren. ‘This is Aaren, one of the four soldiers from Nilsson's country,’ she blurted out, without preamble. ‘She wants to meet you.'
Gryss gaped while he took in this unexpected development, then his natural courtesy carried him forward. He extended his hand and smiled.
Aaren stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers. She bowed slightly. ‘We need your help, sir,’ she said, before Gryss could speak.
Gryss, still recovering himself, stammered slightly. ‘Of course,’ he said unthinkingly. ‘Marna's told me everything about you. But I thought—Marna thought—you'd gone up past the castle to catch Rannick alone.'
Aaren gave a little smile and nodded an acknowledgement to Marna. Then she flicked an inquiring glance towards one of the knives visible in Marna's belt. ‘Everything?’ her eyes inquired. Marna gave a slight, fearful, shake of her head. No, not everything. Not that she was a murderer. Aaren understood.
'So we had, sir,’ she said, turning back to Gryss. ‘But matters have ...'
Gryss wrapped his other hand about both of hers. ‘Please don't call me sir,’ he said. ‘I feel old enough as it is. Just call me Gryss, like everyone else.'
Aaren's smile broadened, but, if anything, it highlighted the strain on her face. ‘As you wish,’ she said.
Gryss released her. ‘We're none of us fighters ... Aaren ... but we'll help you if we can,’ he said.
Aaren looked back towards the castle as she spoke. ‘Marna was right,’ she began. ‘We were going to wait for Rannick to make one of his lone trips to the north. But circumstances have changed. Nilsson and almost all of the troop have moved out and are setting up a work camp in the woods.'
'A work camp?’ Marna echoed, puzzled.
Aaren nodded. ‘They're felling tr
ees.’ She gesticulated vaguely. ‘Almost certainly it's for the equipment and machinery that they'll need as an army on the move. It means that they're getting ready to move out on a major expedition.'
'And you want to get Rannick before they start?’ Marna interjected excitedly.
'Yes,’ Aaren replied coldly. ‘But mainly we want to kill him while we can.'
Her blunt, but casual use of the word, kill, cut through Marna's momentary exhilaration. The proprietorial glow she had felt in presenting this strange woman to Gryss evaporated, and she was brought back brutally to her damp look-out post and the cruel circumstances of the valley.
'What do you mean?’ Gryss asked unhappily.
Aaren hesitated. ‘We have some experience of the power that Rannick uses,’ she said eventually. ‘A great deal, unfortunately. Having seen what we've seen these last couple of nights, and ... felt ... what we've felt, we think that Rannick may be reaching a stage where his skill will render him almost invulnerable to a normal physical assault.'
She looked into Gryss's openly doubting face. ‘It's true,’ she said. ‘Marna's told me what you've seen yourself: the wind that was guarding the castle yard, the fire that he conjured out of nothingness. We think that by now he's probably passed far beyond such tricks. And the greater his skill becomes, the faster it will grow.’ She paused, as if she did not want to continue. ‘Soon, he'll be scarcely human, and beyond anything we might be able to do to him.’ She turned to Marna. ‘I think you've got some measure of this in that he didn't come looking for you particularly hard after you rejected him.'
Marna tried to meet her gaze with studied indifference, but she had to turn away from the pain in it. ‘I was ... surprised,’ she conceded uncomfortably. ‘He was all too ... human ... when I parted from him.’ She felt herself colouring at the memory of Rannick's last gentle kiss and the promise that had lain behind it. ‘But he was like two people when he drew that strange fire out of nowhere.'