by Roger Taylor
Then Nilsson emerged from a nearby building and walked across to the cart. He had long, easy strides and the small crowd opened up before him like a flock of sheep before a dog.
'Har Grysstson,’ he said, smiling and holding out his hand to help the old man down. ‘And our guide, if I'm not mistaken.’ He nodded curtly at Farnor who, uncertain what to do, gave a hesitant nod in reply.
Nilsson peered into the cart. ‘Ah, food!’ he exclaimed. ‘That's most welcome. What do we owe you for this?'
Gryss waved his hands vaguely. ‘This, I think ...’ He hesitated as if deliberating. ‘Is a ... a Dalmas gift from the village. Some consolation for your bad journey.'
Farnor recognized the opening ploy of a long barter and wondered if Nilsson had noted the same. He doubted it somehow as the Captain, having thanked Gryss, began to shout orders to his men to unload the cart. He'd find out in due course, Farnor thought, when bargaining about the tithe began.
In the meantime the alacrity with which the cart was being unloaded gave Farnor the impression that if he was not careful, wheels, horse and even himself would be spirited away to some mysterious storeroom before Gryss would even notice that he was missing. He jumped down and moved the horse's head to steady it as men clambered noisily on and off the cart.
'Would you like me to look at your sick again?’ Gryss was saying.
'I would, yes,’ Nilsson replied. ‘They seem better just for the night's rest and your food should have them up and about again very soon.’ He shrugged. ‘But then, I'm no healer.'
'Shall I stay here?’ Farnor asked, stroking the horse's cheek.
'You might as well,’ Gryss said. ‘I shouldn't be too long.'
As Gryss and Nilsson walked off, Farnor led the horse round so that it was facing the gate. Muscled with ironwork, the gate looked even more formidable than it had from the outside. Under other circumstances Farnor could see that that would be a source of reassurance for the people sheltering within, but at the moment he would have preferred to see it standing open.
He gazed around.
He was inside the castle! Only now did the thought really impinge on him. It was only a week or so since he had come close to the castle for the first time, and now he was inside! He looked up at the enclosing walls and the various buildings that fringed the courtyard. Without exception, they were all larger than anything he had ever seen before, and his mind filled again with the wonder of how they could have been built, and, to a lesser extent, why.
He left the horse and began to walk towards the gate. Glancing down he saw that the stone slabs which formed the courtyard were as finely jointed as those of the buildings and that hardly anywhere could he see weeds or grasses forcing their way through.
'Where are you going?'
The questioner was Dessane. Farnor started.
'I was only going to look at the gates,’ he stammered.
'Why?'
'I've never seen anything like them before,’ Farnor replied simply.
Dessane's mouth curled uncertainly. ‘Don't wander about. Stay by your cart where I can see you,’ he said harshly.
A rebellious retort formed in Farnor's mind, but he managed not to speak it. He was helped in this by the menace in the man's solid presence.
Then Dessane seemed to recant. ‘It's dangerous round here,’ he said. ‘It's not been manned for years. We don't know how safe some of these buildings are.'
Farnor nodded slowly and turned studiously away from him to examine the horse's harness.
'What's to the north of here?'
The voice was close. Farnor jumped. He had not heard Dessane come up behind him. He gaped.
'What's to the north?’ Dessane repeated, indicating the direction with his eyes.
'I don't know,’ Farnor answered after a moment. ‘Just forest, I think.'
Dessane's thin veneer of friendliness buckled. ‘What do you mean, you don't know?’ he asked, his jawline working as he fought to be pleasant. ‘You live here, don't you?'
'I live there,’ Farnor pointed down the valley. ‘We don't come up here. There's no call to. The best grazing's down there, and what would anyone want to trail all the way up here for, let alone go further? All I've ever been told is that there's forest to the north. As far as the eye can see. A whole country full of trees. The Great Forest.'
Dessane gave him a penetrating look. ‘How old are you, boy?’ he asked.
Farnor told him.
'And you've never been up the valley in your whole life?’ Dessane made no effort to conceal his disbelief.
Whirls of fear and anger twisted inside Farnor. ‘No,’ he said, firmly, the anger predominating. ‘I've never even been this far until we came here hunting a sheep-worrier the other week.'
Dessane pursed his lips. ‘A sheep-worrier, eh? That must have been exciting. Did you catch it?'
'No.'
Dessane's expression announced that he wasn't in the least surprised, but when he spoke he said, ‘And I suppose you've never been down the valley either, have you?'
'No, I haven't,’ Farnor replied with increasing heat at this belittling assault on his integrity and, he suspected, his whole world. ‘Not all the way, anyway. Why should I? Why should any of us? There's no need.'
Dessane did not seem disposed to debate the point.
'Hardly anyone ever bothers to go out of the valley,’ Farnor added, fearing a further rejoinder.
'Or come into it?'
Farnor shook his head. ‘Yonas the Teller, sometimes. And the odd pedlar now and then.'
'And ... gatherers?'
Farnor looked straight at him. ‘You're the first gatherers to come here within living memory,’ he said. ‘We presumed the King had sufficient and didn't want our small tithe.'
Dessane seemed to relax. ‘We must have frightened you turning up like we did.'
'Not frightened,’ Farnor lied. ‘It is Dalmas. No one was really expecting you to come for the tithe after all these years, so everyone was a bit put out. But not frightened. Why should we be frightened?'
'Why indeed?’ Dessane said after a long pause. Someone called his name.
'Go and have a look at the gate if you want,’ he said, almost friendly now. ‘But stay round here. Don't wander off.'
And he was gone.
Farnor frowned. He knew that he had told this stranger a great deal about something important, but he did not know what. He cast his mind back through the conversation and resolved to repeat it to Gryss as fully as possible.
A short time later Gryss reappeared and, after exchanging a few courtesies with Nilsson, he and Farnor were again on the cart, watching the great gates being hauled open.
As they drove out of the castle, two riders passed them, turning northwards as Farnor steered the cart towards the old road. He stared after them curiously.
He was not the only one watching. High on a tree-lined slope opposite, Rannick, thinner than he had been, watched them also, his narrowed eyes ablaze with some strange inner light.
* * *
Chapter 11
The room was empty of furniture save for a large wooden table and a few chairs. A cursory attempt had been made to clean it though this had consisted largely of brushing the dust into the air and allowing it to redistribute itself as it settled. As a result, swooping tangles of cobwebs that had been invisible for years across the high, curved ceiling were now weighted and thickened and all too visible, making the room look dingier than ever.
Dying daylight did little to improve the scene as it filtered in through two narrow windows and rendered pallid the light of two lamps, one on the stone mantelshelf which beetled over a cavernous and empty fireplace and one on the table.
This latter illuminated half of Nilsson's face as he sat sideways on to the table, his shoulders hunched, and stared at his lieutenant.
'Tell me again,’ he said.
Dessane made no effort to disguise his irritation at this request. ‘They rode north for half the day and foun
d nothing but forest,’ he said wearily. ‘Yeorson eventually climbed a tree but, he says, there was nothing to be seen except more trees. Trees filling the entire valley floor and disappearing north into the distance.'
'And they came back because the trees felt ... bad,’ Nilsson said, his voice heavy with anger and sarcasm.
Dessane gave a disclaiming shrug. ‘That's what Storran said, and Yeorson didn't disagree. Don't ask me what they meant. I'm just passing on the message.’ Then, remembering that it was he who had chosen them for the task, he rallied. ‘But they're good scouts, you know that,’ he said. ‘With noses that have got us out of trouble more than once before now.’ He tapped the side of his own nose with his forefinger in emphasis.
Nilsson, however, did not seem to be disposed to reminisce. ‘Get them in here,’ he snapped impatiently. He leaned heavily on the table and the lamp flame wavered. After a brief hesitation, Dessane gave another shrug then went to the door and shouted.
Eventually the two men appeared. Yeorson was tall and thin while Storran, by contrast, was short and stocky. An injudicious person might have been inclined to smile at the sight of them side by side, but as with all those who followed Halfvrin Nilsson it would have been a mistake to be seen doing it. Their characters had marked their faces: Yeorson wore a permanently peevish and supercilious expression, while Storran might have had a jovial look about him had it not been for a large, voluptuous mouth and small, mean eyes.
Nilsson gestured them towards two chairs set beside him. As Yeorson moved forward, a long hanging cobweb brushed his face, leaving a dusty scar. He flicked it away silently as he swept the chair away from the table and sat down. Storran ignored the chair and hoisted himself on to the table. They waited, eyes fixed on their leader.
Nilsson straightened. ‘What's this Dessane tells me about the trees frightening you?’ he asked, but with enough humour in his voice to temper the bluntness.
'The truth.’ Yeorson's equally blunt reply made Nilsson start, though he disguised the movement. He had expected some reproach to be levelled at his lieutenant for misrepresentation. Now it was he who waited.
'There's a bad feeling about the place, Captain,’ Storran added. ‘And the further north we went the worse it seemed to get.'
Nilsson allowed some exasperation to show. ‘The places we've been, things we've seen, things we've done ... I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to you two, of all people, telling me you were too frightened to go into the woods.'
Yeorson and Storran were an odd, cold-blooded pair, he knew, but again he was surprised that such a taunt produced so little response. Yeorson tilted his chair back and Storran began swinging his legs, but both continued looking at him.
'That's how it was, Captain,’ Yeorson said. ‘Nothing particular you could see or hear, but it was bad. As if we were being watched all the time.’ He paused and looked thoughtful. ‘Or perhaps more as if something knew we were there. I've no other words for it; there was just a feeling about the place.’ He glanced at his partner and his next words came as if reluctantly. ‘Something ... I ... we ... haven't felt since ...'
He stopped. In the silence, an errant draught caught some of the ancient cobwebs and motes of dust drifted down to join those already afloat, moving and hovering, dancing to the whims of a music beyond hearing.
'Since?’ Nilsson prompted, uneasy at this hesitation.
'Since we ... started our travels,’ Yeorson finished as awkwardly as he had begun.
Nilsson frowned and turned away. This he had not expected. Dark memories seemed to flood into the room and for a moment he found his thoughts paralysed.
Somehow he freed himself; the needs of the present were too pressing to allow inaction, and, though it had been brought here by his own questioning, Nilsson had no desire to pursue this unwanted revelation.
'We have to find out what lies to the north,’ he said, as if the previous question had never been asked and answered, and as if, by ignoring it, he erased it. ‘We need to leave this land as soon as we can and north is effectively our only way out. I'm not doubting what you felt,’ he continued, skirting as close to the topic as he dared, ‘but I think perhaps I was too hasty sending just the two of you out, scarcely rested.’ He pushed his chair back noisily. ‘Pick twenty men and try again ...’ He paused for a moment, reflectively. ‘The day after tomorrow, I think.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks to the generosity of our new ... neighbours ... we can spare ourselves a day or so to recuperate from our journeying, and to plan our next move.'
He signalled the end of the exchange and Dessane left with the two men. After they had gone, Nilsson looked round the room sourly. The memories were still there, stirred up and hovering like the dust. Making visible what had lain unseen for a long time.
* * * *
The following day Gryss arrived bringing more food, though not as much as on the first journey.
He saw none of the sick, however. ‘They're all fine now,’ Nilsson assured him as he signalled his men to begin unloading the cart. ‘It was as you said: fatigue, hunger. It's been a bad journey. The rest and your food has put everyone back on their feet. And we've managed to find better quarters for everyone. The place is in remarkably good order.'
Gryss pressed. ‘Are you sure? It's no hardship to look at them now I'm here.'
Nilsson waved his concerns aside. ‘These are soldiers, Gryss. They learned long ago that if they didn't recover quickly they died. Illness, exhaustion, what you will, is a luxury they can't afford.'
Gryss found himself torn. He had no great desire to keep visiting these people, as, indeed, not only were none of them truly sick but almost without exception they seemed to exude a quality which made it difficult for him to raise any feeling of the true goodwill towards them that was essential if he was to heal. It distressed him. They distressed him.
On the other hand, he did not wholly believe Nilsson. Despite the Captain's flashes of pleasant, even charming, behaviour, there was a cold menace about him that cut through the old healer. And more than a few of the men he had examined bore signs of physical brutality about their persons.
Still, he thought resignedly, there was nothing he could do if he wasn't asked. Like Nilsson, he must look to his own, and their ends would best be served by getting rid of these unwanted newcomers as soon as possible.
'Whatever you say, Captain,’ he replied. ‘If you need any further help, you can always send for me.’ He looked towards his now empty cart and then back at Nilsson. ‘Incidentally, while I'm here can you tell me what we need to do about the tithe-gathering ceremony? It's been so long since there's been one that no one knows anything about it.'
'The tithe ceremony,’ Nilsson echoed, nodding his head slowly and purposefully while he tried to think what to say. Inspiration came. Taking on as sage an expression as he could, he said, ‘In a ... garrisoned region ... like this, albeit abandoned for the time being, the practice ... indeed, the requirement ... is that the tithe be brought to the garrison headquarters for checking, prior to being taken to the capital.'
Gryss frowned. ‘That's a deal of trouble—bringing everything all the way up here when you have to go back past where it's being stored on your way home.'
Nilsson shrugged. He was warming to his idea. ‘It's not something I've any authority over, I'm afraid,’ he said. ‘I'm sure you've realized by now that many things have changed of late, and I would be answerable to my superiors if one of the ... King's examiners ... were suddenly to appear and find me blatantly ignoring the procedures that the King himself has authorized.'
Gryss pulled a wry face. He was about to say that hardly anyone ever came to the valley, but the very fact that Nilsson and his men were there destroyed that as an effective argument. He could offer to have people sent downland to act as look-outs, but he was far from certain as to how Nilsson might react to such a suggestion with its hint of collusion. Besides, whatever the final reckoning of the tithe there would be a lot of produce to be loaded, and who was to say
that one of these ... examiners ... might not suddenly arrive at full gallop? More than a few certainties had disappeared with the arrival of these gatherers.
'Very well,’ he conceded with a sigh. ‘If that's the way it has to be then I suppose that's the way it has to be. But it does seem to be remarkably foolish in this instance.'
Nilsson agreed. ‘I'll mention it when I get back,’ he said, continuing his extemporization. ‘Perhaps they'll allow some other arrangement next year.'
Gryss gave a resigned nod of acknowledgement and turned to matters practical. ‘When shall we start bringing the produce up, then?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to be present when the barn is opened?'
Nilsson faltered. He did not want to leave this place with its strong walls and gate, other than to move northwards and away from this country for ever. But having stumbled upon this unexpected supply of free food it would be madness to jeopardize it for what must be, in reality, a small risk.
'Oh yes,’ he said firmly. ‘That's most important.’ He paused as if considering many tasks ahead. ‘I'll be along tomorrow. Three hours after daybreak.'
'Should there be anyone special from the village?’ Gryss persisted.
Nilsson shrugged. ‘Anyone,’ he said simply. ‘Providing one of them has the key.’ He smiled, but he was becoming increasingly anxious to end this business before he said something that might expose him. He changed the direction of the conversation abruptly. ‘Tell me, Gryss, what lies to the north of here?'
'As far as I know, the Great Forest,’ Gryss said.
'As far as you know?’ Nilsson queried.
'I haven't actually visited the place myself,’ Gryss replied. ‘In fact, no one's ever been further up the valley than the castle. There's no cause to, is there?'
'Then how can you know what's up there?’ Nilsson asked, an exasperated edge creeping into his voice.
Gryss laughed. ‘I can't, I suppose, if you put it like that,’ he said. ‘But the existence of the Great Forest has been accepted by countless generations of families here, and I've no special reason to doubt it. Don't forget that most people here haven't seen the capital, or for that matter even any of the nearer towns and villages, but that doesn't mean they don't believe in them.'
