by Roger Taylor
Levrik cast her a brief, unreadable glance, the two women looked awkwardly at one another, and Engir nodded his head, genuinely chastened by this outburst. ‘You’re right, Marna,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to make allowances for our strange ways, and the strange times. The past couple of months might have been bad for you, but over the last few days we’ve had to come to terms with facing something – something truly awful – that we’d all thought finished and gone for ever years ago.’
Marna was in no mood to make concessions. ‘Shall we all go to the king, then?’ she demanded.
This time there was no debate amongst the four, silent or otherwise. ‘Your land has been very prosperous for a long time, Marna,’ Engir replied. ‘A peaceful place, as I imagine your own valley has been. Your king is a just and kindly man. But…’ He hesitated, as if what he had to say were deeply distasteful. ‘Because of the very peacefulness, there’s been no need, no inclination, for your people to bear arms, to maintain the military skills that helped your forebears to build and sustain this very peace. Whatever army the king ever had is little more than a ceremonial guard now.’ He leaned forward. ‘It was only fear of the pursuers they knew were following that kept Nilsson and his troop moving on.’
‘They fled from four of you?’ Marna said disbeliev-ingly.
Engir smiled weakly. ‘They fled from what they’d done and the accounting that they knew would be demanded of them sooner or later. Just a whiff of our very existence in the wind was enough to galvanize them. To rob them of any peace.’
‘And now?’ Marna asked.
Engir looked at the distant riders. ‘And now, some-how, they’ve regained their confidence, their morale, and the whole land… perhaps more… lies hostage to what’s happening here. Nilsson’s a military man, a capable and ambitious one. He can and will use terror as a weapon of power. He’s had a rare instructor. He knows that it’ll take very little to subdue this entire country. And with Rannick behind him he won’t hesitate to move even further afield.’ He had to force his final words out. ‘He understands those who can use the power better even than we do. And what we shake and tremble before, he’ll have opened his arms to and embraced.’
Chapter 20
Marna felt herself go cold at the almost fatalistic acceptance in Engir’s words. The mountains that had sheltered and held secure the only home she had ever known seemed now to be like the walls of a cruel prison, and the warm sunlight pervading the high lookout mocked her with its bright contrast to her dark fears. ‘We can’t just do… nothing,’ she said, more plaintively than she had intended.
For a long time no one answered, then, as if they had reached a conclusion after holding a prolonged debate, Levrik said, ‘We kill him then?’
Marna started at this unexpected and blunt an-nouncement, though none of the others showed any signs of surprise.
‘I can’t see any other alternative,’ Yehna said after a while. ‘If he wants… Marna… here, then he’s got plenty of down-to-earth appetites left. And that means he’s a long way short of being totally consumed by the power yet.’
‘And thus vulnerable,’ Aaren concluded, a knife appearing in her hand.
Marna suddenly felt herself the centre of attention again. It took her a little while to appreciate the message she was being given. When she did she waved her hands in denial. ‘No, no!’ she said emphatically. ‘I couldn’t do it. Last night I thought perhaps I could, but I was wrong.’
‘You’ve killed one man already,’ Aaren said starkly.
Marna’s mouth dropped open as she drew in a sharp breath. Her shocked reaction was reflected, albeit less visibly, in Levrik and Engir. They glanced at one another to confirm that they could play no part in what was to follow.
Marna blasted out her response in a voice full of both anger and reproach. ‘That was an accident, for mercy’s sake.’
Aaren shook her head. ‘It was your better judge-ment,’ she said calmly. ‘Your life was threatened and you did what was necessary, quickly and efficiently.’
‘No!’
‘You didn’t kill him?’ Aaren said, eyebrows raised.
The two men watched, helpless as Marna looked from side to side, as if for some way to escape this unexpected assault. ‘You know I did, you bitch,’ she snarled, finding none. ‘But it was an accident. I didn’t mean…’
‘That’s twice you’ve said that, and twice you’ve been wrong,’ Aaren interrupted, making no response to the abuse. ‘I’m not saying you enjoyed it, or that you weren’t sickened by it, but don’t keep blaming it on some chance happening. Face what you did, girl, you’ll survive it, and while it’s unlikely you’ll ever be happy about it, you’ll be the better for it. Just thank your ancestors for breeding wits enough into you to make sure you could do the right thing when you had to.’ She levelled a finger at Marna. ‘And you don’t need me to tell you that you did do the right thing, do you?’ she said. ‘Or that you’d do it again if you had to.’
The two women stared at one another. Levrik and Engir waited. Then Marna let out a noisy breath, and sagged. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ she said uncon-vincingly. ‘I… I couldn’t do it to Rannick, all the same.’
‘Fancy him, do you?’ Aaren asked.
Surprisingly, Marna replied without either hesita-tion or rancour. ‘Up here, no,’ she said. ‘But close to…’ She shook her head, and coloured a little. ‘I don’t know.’ She paused for a moment, then suddenly, she was once more on her back, fighting against a choking blackness and thrusting her hands up into the figure straddled over her. The vision, intense though it was, passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving her shivering and nauseous. A hand came forward to help her, but she brushed it aside almost angrily and forced herself to speak. ‘Anyway,’ she managed, ‘doing something in the heat of the moment is one thing. Doing it…’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Killing someone in cold blood is another. Even Rannick, and knowing what he’s done. I couldn’t do it. I’ve known him too long. Part of me still… feels sorry for him.’
Engir interrupted. ‘He killed your friend’s parents and was quite prepared to take you as his woman by force…’
‘I know that,’ Marna snapped, rounding on him viciously. ‘I didn’t say it wouldn’t be the best thing for us all if he were dead, or even that I’d be particularly unhappy about it. But I couldn’t do it. Least of all, posing as his… lover.’ She waved her hand towards Aaren and Yehna as she turned away from him. ‘They understand,’ she said, adding under her breath, ‘You stupid man!’
There was a long silence, during which only Levrik seemed to be watching the distant riders. His three companions sat in silent preoccupation.
As the heat of her unexpected confrontation faded, other thoughts came to Marna. ‘Is there nothing else that can be done?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Four of you can’t do anything against him. He’s got men, his own powers – and perhaps this creature.’
Engir shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You said it yourself in all innocence. There isn’t time. We’re too far from any kind of help, and this place is like a festering boil. If we don’t lance it, and fast, what you’ve seen so far will seem like a pleasant dream compared to what will happen next.’
‘You seem very sure about it,’ Marna retorted.
Engir looked at her. ‘I’m afraid I am,’ he said. ‘Abso-lutely sure.’
Marna turned to the others. ‘But you’ll be killed if you try to attack him,’ she protested, her voice a mixture of exasperation and distress.
‘We’re soldiers, that’s always a risk,’ Engir replied.
‘But…’
‘No buts,’ Engir said, before Marna could continue. ‘It’s the way it is. We none of us wanted to walk into this, I can assure you. But we’re trapped here now, just like everyone in your village.’
‘You sneaked in, you can sneak out,’ Marna said. ‘Surely the king has some semblance of an army. What about people in nearby towns and villages, can’t they…?’
Engir’s words dropped into Marna’s tumbling thoughts like shards of ice. Her doubts and fears tossed to and fro, but beat themselves to nothing against both his reasoning and his resolution. She looked at the others, but saw that they were only waiting for her to understand. Until she did, she realized, she was a burden; just another risk to them.
She put her hand to her head. How long ago was it since she had stood by her father as he stripped the willow poles last night? Ten years? Twenty? A lifetime? Her eyes suddenly filled with tears of rage at the rape of her life. She swore violently, and dashed the tears away angrily with her hand. ‘I’m not a soldier,’ she said, sobbing and hoarse. ‘I can’t fight.’ She shot a savage look at Aaren. ‘For all I killed someone. But it’s my valley, my village; my country, I suppose; and certainly my friends. Just tell me what to do to help.’
* * * *
Nilsson quailed inwardly. Rannick must surely return soon. And when he did…? He breathed slowly and deeply to ease the griping in his stomach. Once again, he wished that damned girl into every hall of hell. Talk about an empire lost for want of a nail!
He brought his fist down on the table, then stood up and arched his back in an attempt to ease his discom-fort. Not for the first time his ambitions – not to mention his life – were balanced on an unsteady and precarious edge, and there was nothing he could do but watch and wait and hope that he could ride out the avalanche that must inevitably be coming. His thoughts oscillated between a profound wish for a quiet, simple existence somewhere far away from all this turbulence, and a driving desire for the kind of life that only Rannick’s power, coupled to his own military skill, could give. Invariably, he kept returning to his oft reached conclusion that only the latter could now give him the former. It did nothing however, to stop his thoughts from setting off on the entire cycle again.
He swore at the recurrent vision of Marna. That surly bitch! There’d been not a sign of her after she’d reached those rocks. Even Storran and Yeorson had shaken their heads, though he could tell they’d been unhappy about the tracks in some way. But he’d had no time for niceties, they’d had to press on, search as far as they could as quickly as they could.
In the end he had had to give up. She could be any-where up there. She probably knew the area as well as she knew her own miserable little cottage, for all these villagers affected never to travel so far downland, or whatever it was they called it. He sneered to himself at the ludicrously restricted vision of these pathetic little people.
Not that those who were being drawn to join his growing army were much better, he reflected, as he thought again about the two bodies they had found. Imbeciles! Killing one another. Ye gods, the materials he had to work with! They were never going to be more than arrow fodder, but on the whole they would be of greater value if they waited for their opponents to kill them rather than doing it themselves.
He shook the thoughts from his head. They were an irrelevant distraction. He must, above all, concentrate on composing himself to face his Lord when he returned. And where the devil was he anyway? It had been hours since sundown. Hours since the time appointed for the bringing of this girl to him. Nilsson sat down again, as other thoughts returned to plague him. Had Rannick had an accident? Had he fled for some reason?
He scowled. He could not envisage either possibility, not with Rannick’s power growing as it was, and with their plans moving forward so well. Besides, he had read his Lord well enough to know that he had been hot for this girl when he had ridden out of the castle earlier that day.
A clamorous banging brought him to his feet again with a heart-stopping jerk. ‘What?’ he bellowed furiously, as he tore the door open.
‘The Lord, Captain,’ stammered a figure, stepping back hastily from this blast. ‘He’s returning.’
Nilsson sent the man reeling against the opposite wall of the passage as he stormed past him. Whatever was going to happen, his every instinct told him that it was better that he go out to meet it. As he strode along passageways and clattered down stairs, his mind became completely clear. Now, he must respond heartbeat by heartbeat to events as they unfolded. If anyone could survive the coming storm, it was he, but he must not burden his thinking with a teetering pile of possibilities.
The castle gates were swinging open as he emerged into the torchlit courtyard. He noticed the gate guards standing well back as Rannick entered. He was mounted on the horse that he invariably used, and which was becoming increasingly like him in its vicious, erratic temperament. As Nilsson walked forward to greet him, it seemed to him that Rannick and his sinister mount were not simply moving towards him through the long, wavering shadows of the torchlight but were entering into this world from some other place, alien and frightful. He stopped, as if to go further forward would be to plunge himself into that world and be lost forever.
Rannick came slowly but relentlessly nearer. His horse stared at Nilsson, its eyes glittering red in the torchlight and its head and neck moving from side to side. It was an unnatural, serpentine movement, and it chilled Nilsson. He prepared to step to one side, but the horse halted without command, and Rannick dis-mounted. A nervous groom came forward and took the reins of the horse, which stared at him balefully as he hesitantly tugged at it. Rannick laid a hand on its neck, and it loped off after the groom, its head bowed close to the ground but still swaying, this way, that way, as if searching for something.
Rannick had the hood of his cloak pulled forward and Nilsson could see nothing of his face, while being all too aware that his own face was clearly visible in the torchlight. Slowly, however, Rannick pulled back the hood. Though he could not have identified any specific change, Nilsson knew that his master was not the same as he had been when he left the castle the previous evening. He risked the initiative. ‘Are you well, Lord?’ he asked, not without some genuine concern.
Rannick nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Captain,’ he replied. ‘I am well. Why do you ask?’
His voice was subtly different too; distant, more sonorous. Nilsson’s mind was drawn inexorably back to the Lord that he had followed in the past. Rannick was still but a pale shadow of what he had been, but he was beyond dispute, following in his steps. For no reason that he could immediately discern, Nilsson felt the balance of his concerns shift favourably. He reaffirmed his ambition. He must survive this coming danger, and then…?
‘You seem… different, Lord,’ he said, keeping from his voice any hint of either concern or criticism.
Rannick’s gaze seemed to pass straight through him. ‘You are a shrewd and ambitious man, Captain,’ he said, his voice leisurely, yet, like his eyes, penetrating. Nilsson felt as though every part of his body were being spoken to. ‘It makes you an attentive as well as a loyal servant. You, above all, have the vision to see… to know… that I change each day, that my skill in the use of the power
grows each day. But you are right. This day has been a day beyond all others.’ Then, out of the shadows, like an assassin’s knife: ‘Where is the girl?’
Despite himself, Nilsson flinched a little at the sud-denness of the question. He steeled himself. ‘She is not here, Lord. She has fled.’
Rannick inclined his head slightly, as if he were listening to a voice speaking very softly, or at a great distance. Nilsson felt his own body’s defences marshal-ling themselves. He became aware of every movement, every sound, in the entire courtyard, yet it was as though he were alone in a silent, motionless world that existed only for him and for this moment. And from this world he saw his Lord’s face slowly change. His reactions, racing, followed the change, nuance within nuance, as they searched for the probable outcome of his message.
There was anger there. That he had expected, of course; and feared. Feared deeply. He had had enough experience of men thus stricken to know the murderous insanity that could follow such rejection. And with Rannick’s power…
In the blink of an eye he oversaw the alternatives before him. They ranged from prostrating himself and begging for mercy, to a sudden knife thrust that would slay at once both his lord and the future that his rekindled ambition had built for him.
And yet there was something else vying with the anger, something deeper, yet in a way pettier. Irritation? Annoyance at an unwelcome distraction?
Nilsson watched. And waited.
‘Fled?’ Rannick echoed, after an interminable inter-val.
‘Yes, Lord,’ Nilsson heard himself replying.
The subtle battle for control within Rannick was perceptible only to Nilsson’s heightened awareness. The anger came and went until, abruptly, it was transmuted, and when it eventually came to rest in Rannick’s eyes it was cold and malevolent but quite free from the wild dementia that Nilsson had expected. It was no less terrible for that.
‘That is not acceptable, is it, Captain?’ Rannick said, his voice eerily distant. ‘But I shall deal with it in due course.’ He closed his eyes and turned his face upwards. Slowly, his flame-shadowed expression became ecstatic, then he smiled slightly as he opened his eyes again and looked at Nilsson. He reached out and clasped his hand around Nilsson’s shoulder. ‘You seem abstracted, Captain,’ he said, the concern in his voice set at naught by the coldness in his eyes. ‘Doubtless you feared my return?’
