Farnor

by Roger Taylor

  Unable to leave to the north, unwilling for some reason to leave to the south, they've got to remain, he thought suddenly.

  He stared back at the castle, his concerns now doubled. Who were these men?

  He could turn his horse about and ask, of course, but the very thought made his stomach tighten with fear. Nilsson might simply produce some document of authorization.

  But he might not, and then what?

  A knife in his ribs? And, all pretence set aside, the village open and defenceless against whatever Nilsson and his men might then choose to do? Gryss knew the villagers could not stand against such a crew. Yet there was some comfort in this thought. If they were other than the King's gatherers, they wished it to remain unknown. They had reasons of their own for remaining quiet and secret. Gryss felt some relief. Such reasoning would legitimately excuse him from the direct approach he had just contemplated.

  Yet what was he to say to the Council?

  He wiped the rain from his face. His every instinct was to tell them of his doubts, but what end would be served by that? There would be a rare commotion as it was and, despite any pleas for discretion, the idea would not only be all over the valley within the day, it would be grievously misrepresented; quite stripped of any subtle reservations he might have included in his telling. And who could say what the consequences of that might be? And, too, he could not avoid the feeling that, Marna having voiced her doubts, the same thoughts might be lying unspoken in many hearts, just waiting for the slightest encouragement to bring them noisily to the fore.

  But he could not stay silent. Encouraging the people to submit to the will of these men who might be...

  Might be what?

  It was the word ‘might’ on which his thinking foundered.

  Apart from confronting Nilsson personally, the only other way to resolve this was for someone to go over the hill. To go to the capital and the King's palace and seek out some official who could confirm, or otherwise, the credentials of these men.

  But who could be sent on such an errand? Who, with sufficient wit to find the way, to contend with the difficult journey and to make the necessary inquiries, could be sent without their absence also being noticed about the village within the day?

  No one.

  Gryss clicked his horse forward again. He would compromise. He could do nothing else. He would give the Council a simple statement, without comment, relating what he had been told by Nilsson. But when the meeting was over he would voice his doubts to the few that he could rely on.

  Garren, certainly. Yakob too. And Jeorg? He pondered this. Jeorg was not a Councillor and he was pugnacious and outspoken when he chose, but he was reliable and trustworthy if handled correctly. Then there was Harlen, Marna's father. Again this was debatable. Harlen was good-natured and easy-going, a gentle man. Should he be burdened thus? Yet he was shrewd and patient, given to thinking before he spoke—a rare trait. And too, Marna had already been drawn into events more deeply than Gryss would willingly draw any of his other chosen confidants, and it was not inconceivable that she would be drawn in further. Harlen should be at least aware that matters were amiss. And though, like Jeorg, he was not a Councillor he could reasonably be invited to the meeting as an observer. Other names came to mind, equally appropriate. Reliable, sensible men. But too many, he realized. It would be best if his worries were shared by as few as possible. He would confine it to those four.

  And Farnor and Marna. It was more imperative than ever now that Marna be told to keep her doubts about Nilsson's men to herself. He would seek an opportunity to meet both Marna and Farnor soon. In fact today, he decided; before the Council meeting.

  Farnor, however, had made a prior decision of his own. Somewhat to his surprise, he had slept well and risen early. He had woken with a clear resolve in his mind and had finished his morning tasks with unwonted speed, though carefully avoiding his father's attention lest more be found.

  He had then slipped away and sought out Marna.

  Thus it was that the two of them ambushed Gryss as he returned from the castle.

  'You're soaked,’ were Marna's first words as she and Farnor stepped out of the shelter of a large tree. ‘Why on earth didn't you put your hood up?'

  Taken aback by her sternly maternal manner, Gryss found himself gaping. Reflexively he began an excuse, ‘I ...’ but it faltered before her gaze and other reflexes sent him running to another male for sanctuary.

  'What's the matter?’ he asked, turning to Farnor. ‘Has anything else happened?'

  'No,’ Farnor replied. ‘I told Marna about yesterday and last night and she insisted on coming to talk to you about it.'

  Awkwardly Gryss dismounted. ‘How did you know where I was?’ he asked.

  'I saw you riding past earlier,’ Farnor replied off-handedly. Then, anxiously, he returned Gryss's own question. ‘Has anything happened during the night?'

  Gryss frowned. Marna was correct, he was soaked, and cold, and, insofar as he had thought about it at all, this was not how he would have preferred to meet these two to explain the latest developments. However, the chance having arisen, nothing was to be gained by delay. Besides, he could use the two of them to send out notice of the emergency Council meeting for tonight.

  'Walk with me to my cottage,’ he said. ‘I've a lot to tell you.'

  * * * *

  As Gryss had surmised, the Council meeting was indeed, ‘interesting'. Full Council meetings were rare affairs, and not noted for their strict formality at the best of times. This one, at what was probably the worst of times—certainly within anyone's memory—proved to be almost continuous uproar.

  Throughout, however, Gryss gave no indication of his doubts about Nilsson and his men, and was relieved when none was raised by anyone else. The discussion rambled freely and at length over a great many topics, all of which were repeated several times by different individuals and most of which were quite irrelevant. Deliberately, Gryss made no real effort to control the meeting, deeming it better that the effects of the first shock on the leaders of the community be well aired within the tiny Council Hall before being announced publicly. He was also anxious to avoid the development of any serious, coherent thought.

  It was thus some considerable time before any semblance of a conclusion appeared, though, inevitably, it was quite simple when it did.

  'Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do about it,’ they agreed.

  Gryss nodded sagely, hoping that he had at last finished repeating his tale. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It was announced to me and I've announced it to you.’ He sought finally to allay once again the predominant fear that had been expressed. ‘The Captain did say he'd no interest in our local affairs and that he expected us to continue as normal. I suppose as matters develop, he'll let us know what he wants in the way of supplies or helpers. I'm sure we'll be able to work together with a little goodwill and common sense.

  Eventually the meeting broke up and the Council members dispersed to their homes, carrying with them the last rumbling echoes of the debate. Discreetly, and separately, during this scattering, Gryss dispatched Garren, Yakob, Jeorg and Harlen to his cottage on one pretext or another.

  Thus, after being met at the door by his dog wearing the indignant expression of one sorely taxed, he was greeted by a puzzled quartet of friends waiting in his back room.

  'I'm sorry for the small deception,’ he said. ‘But I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I needed to talk to you away from the others.'

  The puzzled expressions turned to concern at this strange admission, and the concern in turn deepened as Gryss added his own doubts to the tale he had told and retold several times to the assembled Councillors.

  Unlike the full Council, his listeners were silent when he had finished speaking, with the exception of Jeorg who swore softly under his breath.

  'Grim thoughts, Gryss,’ Garren said at last. ‘What prompted them?'

  Gryss shrugged. He had made no mention of Farnor and the
creature, nor of Marna's involvement. His friends had enough to contend with as it was. ‘They've been brewing for some time, I think,’ he lied. ‘Treating those injured men last night and the shock of Nilsson's news suddenly seemed to bring them to the fore.’ He looked down. ‘I feel very responsible for not finding out who they were in the first place.'

  Yakob, a tall, dignified man, always smartly dressed and, in many ways the very antithesis of Gryss, laid his hand on Gryss's arm. ‘Don't reproach yourself,’ he said. ‘If there's blame to be allocated, then we're all at fault. We were so surprised to see them at first, then so concerned about our precious tithe, that it never occurred to any of us to ask them for credentials.'

  Nodding heads around the small circle confirmed this conclusion.

  'It's perhaps as well we didn't ask,’ Jeorg said. ‘If they're not what they seem they might have turned on us right away.'

  'I think Gryss is worrying unnecessarily,’ Yakob said. ‘They're a rough-looking crowd for sure, but if they're not soldiers, gatherers, then who could they be? Where could such a large armed troop have come from? How could it have come into being?'

  Gryss found no reassurance in this. ‘It's a big world over the hill,’ he said bleakly. ‘I saw enough of it when I was younger to know that I hadn't seen a fraction of it. And I saw enough to learn the value of this place here. They could have come from anywhere, believe me. Deserters from some lord or king, mercenaries, just plain robbers and bandits. Anything. They are foreigners, after all. More to the point, I suspect, is not who are they but what do they want?'

  'Is there anything else you haven't told us?’ Garren asked.

  'I haven't told you anything,’ Gryss equivocated. ‘I just wanted to discuss these concerns with you, quietly and without fuss away from the Council. I might be fretting about nothing, but ...'

  He left the sentence unfinished and the room became silent.

  Jeorg blew out a noisy breath. ‘Well, we can talk ourselves hoarse here without being any the wiser,’ he said. ‘It seems to me, like you said, that the only way we'll find out for sure is for one of us to go to the capital and ask someone in authority. And to go quickly, before they put up their ... guard post or whatever it is.'

  Harlen made to speak, but Jeorg, gathering momentum, ploughed on, ‘You can tell me the way, Gryss, and I can get the wife to say that I'm sick with ...’ He shrugged. ‘Something. I'll leave that to you as well, you're the healer. Then ...'

  Harlen coughed and waved his hand. Jeorg scowled at the interruption.

  'It might be too late,’ Harlen said, his round, genial face, uncharacteristically lined. ‘I was some way down the valley this morning, early on, by the river, and about a dozen or so riders came through. They had pack horses with them.'

  Gryss swore.

  Jeorg bridled. ‘Only a dozen?’ he exclaimed. ‘I'll sneak past them. They can't watch the whole of the valley.'

  Gryss waved him silent. ‘No, no,’ he said determinedly. ‘It's too risky. You'll need a horse, amongst other things, and you're not going to be able to sneak anywhere with that.’ He frowned. ‘Whatever else he might be, our Captain knows his job. Makes sure we can't leave even before he tells us about it.’ He swore again.

  The others watched awkwardly. Gryss was not given to such outbursts.

  'I could say I hadn't heard about it,’ Jeorg said, still clinging to his idea.

  'Not if you're caught sneaking through,’ Gryss said a little petulantly. ‘And if you walk straight into them, they'll just turn you back anyway. And Nilsson did say there'd be punishment for anyone trying to leave without permission.'

  Jeorg's mouth worked briefly but no further protest came forth.

  'Over the tops?’ Gryss said, half to himself.

  All four shook their heads and Gryss himself dismissed the notion as soon as he spoke it. That would be far too dangerous; and no chance of taking a horse.

  'He's got us,’ he said, his jaw set. ‘We're trapped.'

  The room fell silent again. Gryss's dog made a snuffling noise and rolled over with a thud.

  'Then all we can do is watch and wait,’ Yakob said. ‘I agree with what you said before, Gryss. Whatever they are, Nilsson wants us to think they're King's men and if we behave as though they were then we'll probably find out more about them than if we start doing anything reckless.’ He looked significantly at Jeorg who, fortunately, was looking the other way.

  'It could be that I'm worrying about nothing,’ Gryss said, reverting unconvincingly to Yakob's first remark.

  'It could indeed,’ Garren said. ‘But equally you could be right. There's a lot we've taken for granted. Questions that we should've asked can't be asked now. It's a fair assumption that no one will be allowed to leave and it'll be too risky to try to sneak out, so there's nothing else we can do but watch and wait as we decided in the Council meeting.’ He leaned forward. ‘But we five must keep in touch. Meet regularly to discuss developments. And we must keep our ears open for the feeling in the village.'

  Jeorg scowled at this conclusion. ‘We should do something,’ he said heatedly. ‘Not just mope around waiting for something to happen. I'd still like to have a go at getting to the capital.'

  Gryss looked at him intently. Jeorg was a robustly practical man and inaction was against his nature. To forbid him to leave the valley would be to store up some future problem almost inevitably.

  Cautiously, he said, ‘No, Jeorg. Not yet at least. We must get more idea of what's actually going on.'

  'The longer we leave it, the worse it might get,’ Jeorg retorted. ‘If they've already set up a guard post it could be a small fort next.’ His eyes widened. ‘They might even ask us to build it,’ he added indignantly.

  'No, Jeorg,’ Gryss said. ‘We none of us here must do anything without telling the others.’ He did not wait for any agreement to this idea. ‘By all means think about leaving, Jeorg. I'll tell you the way to the capital, such as I can remember of it, and we can decide what you'll need, and what tale you'll have to tell, so that everything will be ready if you get the opportunity to go. But don't do anything without discussing it with us first. Is that agreed?'

  Taken aback by this sudden vigour on Gryss's part, Jeorg gaped. ‘I ... I suppose so,’ he stammered.

  Gryss looked at the others. They all nodded, Garren smiling a little at Jeorg's discomfiture.

  'And we keep this discussion, all our discussions and ideas, to ourselves,’ Gryss declared with an air of finality.

  No one disagreed, and the meeting broke up. Before they parted, Gryss spoke to Harlen and Garren.

  'I'd like to take Farnor and Marna partly into our confidence,’ he said. ‘They're both sensible children ...’ He gave a guilty shrug. ‘Young people, I suppose I should say, these days. And they can wander about—run messages more inconspicuously than we can. And they'll pick up more things than we would—gossip and the like.'

  Garren gave him an arch look. ‘Well, Farnor's been spending more time here than on the farm of late, so I suppose it'd hardly constitute a change,’ he said.

  Gryss's hands fluttered apologetically at this bluntness, then he decided to let out at least part of the truth.

  'Farnor and I have spent a lot of time talking about Nilsson and his men,’ he admitted. ‘He came to me of his own accord with his doubts about them after we'd been up there the first time. He'll work things out for himself when he hears the news, and I think he'd be better off knowing he could turn to you as well as to me.'

  Garren looked hurt. ‘He can turn to me any time about anything,’ he said. ‘He didn't have to come running to you.'

  'He didn't come running to me,’ Gryss said reassuringly. ‘It just happened in the course of conversation, as it were. Don't reproach him for it. I've always been a bit of a grandfather to him, and there's things you can tell your grandparents that you can't tell your parents.'

  'I suppose so,’ Garren conceded, colouring slightly. ‘And if he's already bothering about wha
t's happening, then I've no objection to him knowing what we think. To be honest, it'll make things easier at home. He's become rather elusive recently.'

  Gryss turned his attention to Harlen. Getting a young man involved was one thing, a girl—a young woman—was another...

  But Harlen was, if anything, relieved. ‘I can't pretend to be happy about it,’ he said. ‘But Marna's been talking along the same lines as you almost since these people arrived. I think it'd be a good thing if she knew you thought the same. I've been concerned that she might end up doing something foolish.’ He hesitated. ‘We get on well together, but ... we don't always talk as well as we should about some things. It's difficult ... she needs a woman about the house, really. Someone she can talk to properly.'

  'I understand,’ Gryss said. ‘At least I think I do. On the whole I think I understand women less now than I did fifty years ago, but I know she loves you as much as you love her.'

  Harlen nodded. ‘She's also headstrong and stubborn,’ he said. ‘If it came into her mind to do so, she wouldn't think twice about marching up to the castle and demanding to see some letter of authority from the King.'

  Gryss could not help but laugh, albeit self-consciously, at Harlen's manner. ‘So you don't mind her helping?’ he asked.

  'Yes, I do,’ Harlen replied with some force. ‘But, no, tell her what you want and with my blessing. She'll go her own way anyway.'

  A little later, Gryss stood at his front door and watched his visitors departing. Idly he fingered the iron ring, feeling the lines of the etched figures sharp beneath his touch. The bell tinkled as he tugged the chain, and a faint, sleepy bark drifted down the hallway. Handling the ring reminded him of Nilsson's almost angry question when he had visited him a few days earlier. No preamble, no subtle introduction to the subject, just, ‘Where did you get this ring from, old man?'

  Gryss looked at it. ‘You know more about these people than we do, don't you?’ he said out loud. Then he sighed. He wished he had asked more of the man from whom he had bought it all those years ago. Now he couldn't even remember what he looked like.