by Roger Taylor
Still, that was wind through the tree: long, long, gone. He set the ring down. It rattled slightly against the wall of the cottage.
Gryss took a deep breath. The air was fresh, cool and still now. He looked up. Clouds, rich with blacks and dark blues, ominous with grey and sometimes silver edges, moved to the whim of a wind of their own against a moonlit sky.
He had mixed feelings about what had transpired. He was glad that he had shared at least part of his burden with his friends, but he felt some remorse that he had lied to Garren and Harlen about the involvement of their children. There was nothing else he could have done, of course, and he had promised both Farnor and Marna that he would try to clear the way for them to continue to be involved without bringing parental strictures down on them.
Even so, deceit went against the grain. It had the feeling of a bad omen. He reached up to strike the sunstone as he had done every night for as long as he could remember. Then he hesitated and lowered his hand. Not tonight, he thought. Not tonight.
He turned and went inside, closing the door gently behind him.
* * *
Chapter 24
Fortunately, the extensive debate that the Council had held and the final decision to watch and wait, had been well absorbed by the individual Councillors and thus, for the greater part, it pervaded the public breaking of the news about the intended garrison over the next few days.
Inevitably, though, the reaction of the villagers was mixed. Most naturally pondered the reasons for it, but in the absence of any great knowledge about the world over the hill their attempts foundered or became manifest flights of fancy such as Yonas the Teller might have retailed.
One or two, nodding wisely, announced that they had known all the time that something of the kind had been intended. ‘Why else would they arrive here, after all these years?’ Although it was well noted that these individuals had neglected to share this foreknowledge with their friends and neighbours prior to the public announcement.
No small number shrugged indifferently, regarding the matter as being one beyond their control and thus not worthy of serious concern.
A small minority—a very small minority—by some circuitous reasoning all their own declared that they felt reassured to have an armed force nearby because the fact that an armed force was needed nearby made them feel uneasy.
On the whole, the men expressed varying degrees of indignation—generally in the familiar security of the inn—while the women, wiser by far, fell silent or drew in sharp breaths and lifted their hands to their breasts to still the fluttering fear that rose from their inner depths to greet the news.
Few were really concerned about the positioning of a guard post down the valley. ‘Nobody ever goes down there anyway. Besides, it'll keep any undesirable outsiders out.’ Though quite when any undesirable outsiders had last visited the valley was a question not pursued.
Gryss and most of the other Councillors found themselves occupied at length in discussing the matter, but this time Gryss was happy to be repeating the same story. The feeling that gradually spread across the village chimed with the villagers’ natures.
'Don't rock the hay-cart.'
'Don't stir the pigswill if you don't want the smell.'
In short, leave them alone and they'll leave us alone. The funeral knell of many a society.
Despite his relief at the reception of the news, however, Gryss's concerns did not lessen. He looked at the complacency he was helping to engender and wondered if he were not once again failing the village as he had failed them when he accepted the arrivals as tithe gatherers without comment.
After a few days, he called another Council meeting and had himself confirmed in the duty that he had already assumed, namely official representative for the village at the castle.
Not that his services seemed to be needed. There was no activity from the castle other than the occasional group of men heading down the valley, or returning. Harlen reported that their guard post was only a few tents, although he remarked also that they were patrolling widely on horseback.
Gryss merely nodded at this intelligence, though he ensured that it was repeated in Jeorg's presence.
Marna and Farnor, now officially seconded to Gryss's command, as it were, found they had nothing to do except pursue their everyday tasks. Gryss would glance inquiringly at Farnor when they met, but the young man had no further strange contacts to report.
Increasingly, though, Farnor kept sensing the distant, unintelligible babbling that he had heard before his last contact with the creature. It tended to come to him when he was at the edge of sleep, yet it was unequivocally from beyond himself, he knew; it was no figment of his imagination.
For no reason that he could have given, he did not mention this to Gryss. Whatever it was, it had none of the malignity that he had felt so sharply in his contacts with the creature.
* * * *
While the momentum of the villagers’ age-old ways began to reassert itself, matters at the castle were less serene.
Rannick came and went to a rhythm of his own, just as he always had, accounting to no one for anything. But each time he returned he was peculiarly elated. The men, however, were less so. They had turned to him partly out of fear, but also because he had given them a vision of the future which they had had once before, and the destruction of which had sent them out from their homeland into their present fruitless and futile wandering.
Now however, apart from manning the guard post down the valley, they found themselves without much to do. When they had stumbled on this castle, they had been exhausted, hungry and almost totally demoralized, their will sapped by the ever-present fear of retribution from the past. Now they were more secure than they had been since they began their travels, and the bonding that a common privation had given them began to weaken.
It needed no great sensitivity on Nilsson's part to detect the growing discontent, but he was at a loss to know what to do. Rannick had bound them to the valley and, to ensure peace, Nilsson himself had effectively bound them to the castle and its immediate environs.
He taxed Rannick. ‘The men need to be occupied, Lord,’ he said. ‘They'll go sour on us left to their own devices for too long. Sour and quarrelsome.'
Rannick, recently returned from one of his absences, was sitting staring into space. He gave no indication that he had heard anything and Nilsson made to speak again, but as he opened his mouth Rannick lifted his hand.
'Every day,’ he said softly.
'Lord?'
'Every day,’ Rannick said again. He looked at his hands. ‘Such things I find.'
Some inner voice told Nilsson not to inquire further. A long silence elapsed. Then Rannick stood up and turned to face Nilsson. ‘Yes, you're right,’ he said. ‘The men will not only become sour and quarrelsome, they'll become soft and useless if they're allowed to continue thus.’ His face hardened. ‘And they're of no value if they can't fight, and fight well.'
'Yes, Lord,’ Nilsson agreed. ‘But what...?'
'We ride,’ Rannick said, cutting across his question. ‘We ride downland, out of the valley. Begin our journey along the golden road.'
The last remark made no sense to Nilsson, but the import of Rannick's intention did. ‘Leave here, Lord?’ he exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘Why?'
Rannick smiled unpleasantly. ‘To get them used to the field again, Captain. The better to appreciate this haven. And to search, to find, to take, to learn, to test our strength. Many things.'
Still little the wiser, Nilsson turned quickly to practicalities.
'As you command, Lord,’ he said. ‘How many do you wish to go, and for how long?'
'All of us, Captain,’ Rannick replied. ‘All of us.’ He looked round at the plain stone walls and arched ceiling. ‘But not for long. There's much to be done here when we return. This place must be made fit for our presence.'
'All of us, Lord?’ Nilsson echoed cautiously. ‘We must leave a dozen o
r so to guard the place.'
'Against what, Captain?’ Rannick said with a flicker of a malevolent laugh that chilled Nilsson. ‘The villagers? They're less likely than ever to come up here now. And what would they do if they did? Nibble at their stolen tithe like mice?'
Nilsson had no answer. ‘Old habits, Lord,’ he said after a moment.
Rannick turned his attention back to his hands, flexing each of them in turn, then he nodded slowly. ‘Besides, I will leave a guard here that none will defy.'
Thus it was that, early the following day, the villagers found themselves watching the entire troop trotting noisily through the village. There was some elation at first, but it soon vanished as, in their wake, came the cold-eyed message that Nilsson had left with Gryss:
'We'll be back.'
Nevertheless, their departure opened up opportunities for some, as Nilsson, for some reason, had chosen to tell Gryss that the entire troop was leaving on an exercise, and that nothing would be required at the castle until they returned in a few days.
'Harlen says they've gone all the way downland,’ Jeorg said. ‘And left no guard posted. We mightn't get another chance. I can leave for the capital right now, and you and the others can go to the castle and see if there are any documents there saying who they are.'
Gryss was unhappy about both ideas, not least because, in an attempt to prevent Jeorg from doing anything impetuous, he had been fulfilling his promise to instruct him in the route to the capital. He had made the instruction quite leisurely, affecting to forget certain parts and spending a great deal of time referring to some very old journals that he had kept during youthful journeyings. Despite Gryss's delaying tactics, though, Jeorg had been attentive, thorough and uncharacteristically patient. And now his reasoning was sound: who could say when the valley would be left unguarded again?
'I suppose so,’ Gryss agreed, after some protracted badgering. ‘But in the name of pity, Jeorg, take care.'
'I'll keep my eyes open obviously, but I'll tell them I was coming after them to ask permission if I bump into them,’ Jeorg said confidently.
His confidence, however, was not contagious, and Gryss could not keep his anxiety from his face as he bade farewell to his friend later that day.
'Don't look so miserable, Gryss,’ Jeorg said. ‘We've planned it as well as we could. I'm no tracker, but they're a big crowd and I don't think I'm going to run into them by accident.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Anyway, it's a fine day for a ride.'
Gryss ignored the false heartiness. ‘Are you sure your wife's agreeable to this?’ he asked, in a final attempt to deter him.
Jeorg's confidence faltered. ‘Yes,’ he said, followed immediately by, ‘Well, no. Not really. But ... it's got to be done, hasn't it? She's with me.'
And that was that. Gryss stood motionless, his head forward and his shoulders hunched in tension as he watched Jeorg ride off. The sun was warm on his face and the air was filled with the scents and sounds of burgeoning summer, but inside, Gryss roared with anger. Anger at himself for what seemed to be his continuing folly in placating the villagers and allowing Jeorg to undertake this risky journey. Anger at Nilsson for being whatever he was and for bringing such dismay to this quiet and beautiful place. Anger at Jeorg for being so capable, so naive, so...
He swore to himself to dash aside such indulgence and began walking back to his cottage. It was time to move on to his next folly.
But he would do this on his own. With the vision of Jeorg's retreating figure etched into his mind, he knew that he did not have it in him to risk any more of his friends, for whatever cause.
The searching of the castle had been hastily arranged for the following day and involved Gryss, Yakob and Garren visiting the castle while Harlen, Farnor and Marna kept look-out along the valley. He squinted up at the sun to judge the time. If he set off now and rode, there would be time enough to be there and back before the light failed.
He would go to the castle now, and if he found it empty he would search it on his own.
* * * *
He had reckoned without Farnor, however. More excited than he chose to admit by the prospect of the venture planned for the morrow, he had spent the afternoon watching the castle closely. He had selected a vantage point on a grassy hillock which gave him a good view and from which he could also see much of the village. Aware of his duties for the next day, he kept glancing back down the valley to the place from where it had been agreed that Marna would signal if Nilsson's troop unexpectedly reappeared. So it happened that he saw Gryss riding along the road when he was only a few minutes out of the village.
Presuming that Gryss was intending to visit Garren, perhaps to make further arrangements for the next day, he paid little heed to him until he saw him pass by the end of the path that led to the farm. Farnor frowned. Where was he going?
Without pondering the question further, and anxious to impart his own new information, Farnor began a cautious descent of the steep knoll. At the bottom the slope eased and he finished the last part at some speed, startling Gryss's horse as he burst out of the bushes in front of it.
Gryss leaned forward and seized its neck anxiously.
'I'm sorry,’ Farnor blurted out as the look in Gryss's eyes heralded a particularly fulminating reproach. He took the horse's head and patted it gently.
'I'm sorry,’ he said again.
Caught between concern for the fright he had received, the loss of dignity he had suffered and Farnor's swift apology, Gryss was only able to splutter.
'It is empty,’ Farnor said, capitalizing on this hiatus.
'What?’ Gryss managed as the statement cut through his confused indignation.
'It is empty,’ Farnor repeated. ‘The castle. I've been watching it all afternoon and I haven't seen a sign of anyone. Nilsson was telling the truth. They've all gone.'
'Oh,’ said Gryss flatly.
'Where are you going?’ Farnor asked, abruptly.
Still unsettled by Farnor's sudden appearance, Gryss blurted out the truth. ‘To the castle,’ he said.
Farnor's eyes widened. ‘Why? I thought you were going tomorrow.’ He looked around. ‘Where are the others?'
Gryss stayed with the truth. ‘I decided I didn't want anyone else involved,’ he replied.
Farnor frowned. How could anyone not be involved in discovering the truth about these people? he thought.
'I'll come with you,’ he said.
'No, I don't think so,’ Gryss began, but Farnor was already leading the horse forward. Gryss reined it to a halt.
'No, Farnor. This is my responsibility, and I'll carry it by myself. You stay here and keep watch for me.'
Farnor stared at him blankly. ‘If that's what you want,’ he said after a moment. ‘But why...?'
'That's what I want,’ Gryss said.
Uncertain, Farnor remained standing in the middle of the road as Gryss rode off. Then he began walking after him.
A little later Gryss approached the castle gate and found a red-faced and panting Farnor waiting for him.
'It's much quicker over the fields,’ Farnor explained before he was asked.
Gryss looked at him pensively, surprised at the mixture of emotions he was experiencing. He was concerned that the boy—young man, he reminded himself yet again—was about to involve himself in something the significance of which he could not begin to appreciate. He was a little angry, too, that his categorical instruction to Farnor had been so blatantly disregarded. And yet he was glad to see him there, young, strong and fit, free of the bodily reluctance and emotional hesitancy with which old age had hemmed in his own true self. It was strange, he thought, how he found Farnor to be such a powerful support, for he had no illusions that he would be of any value against such as Nilsson in any form of combat, mental or physical.
'For your legs, maybe,’ he replied, sourly, setting aside his musings. ‘But I thought I told you to stay behind,’ he said.
'You did,’ Farnor admitted. ‘But there's
no point me keeping watch if you can't hear me shouting, is there?'
Gryss raised his eyebrows significantly at this attempt to hold what he regarded as an indefensible position.
'Anyway, I'm here now,’ Farnor went on. ‘Let's go inside.'
'I'll go inside, young man,’ Gryss said firmly. ‘You can do as you're told for once, and wait out here with the horse.’ He gave Farnor a look that forbade any defiance then swung down gracelessly from the horse, which skittered slightly as he jostled against it to recover his balance. Farnor took the bridle and murmured softly to the horse.
Gryss gave a terse grunt of thanks and marched over to the wicket door.
The damage that had been done to the lock when Nilsson and his men had first arrived had been crudely repaired. Gryss smiled to himself. Unused to locked doors, it occurred to him only now that all the heart-searching about coming here might well have been pointless. Was it likely, after all, he reflected, that such people as these would have left the place unlocked?
Tentatively he pushed it. To his surprise, it swung open easily.
Farnor, holding the horse and strolling slowly after him, watched his cautious approach. As the door opened and a small part of the courtyard, beyond the dark shade under the archway, came into view it seemed to him that there was something unreal about it; unnatural, even. Without knowing why, he stepped forward urgently.
'Gryss, don't go in!’ he shouted.
But it was too late. Gryss, after leaning in and looking round for any signs of life, had, almost incongruously, tiptoed in.
Immediately, the door slammed shut. The sound filled Farnor's head like the tolling of a great bell. He clapped his hands to his ears.
The horse whinnied and reared, tearing itself free from Farnor's loose grip. It galloped away, but Farnor did not notice. He was running towards the wicket door, drawn on desperately by the sounds which were beginning to emanate from behind it.
Then the sound of a roaring wind began to fill the air, rising and falling like some demented creature. And through it came the sound of powerful blows being struck: echoing, booming sounds, as if a giant smith were forging a huge shield. And, threading through the whole, a high-pitched shrieking.
