by Roger Taylor
Experience had taught Nilsson many years ago that at such times, telling the truth was invariably the wisest course. ‘I was concerned when I heard of the girl’s flight,’ he replied. He was about to begin describing the search that he had mounted, and the plans he had made for further, more thorough searches beyond the valley the next day, but Rannick was nodding and the grip was tightening about his shoulder. Rannick began walking across the courtyard, moving Nilsson ahead of him.
‘A wise concern,’ Rannick conceded. ‘And an under-standable one. But as I went in exultation to commune with… myself… in the silence of the woods – to prepare myself – it was revealed to me that this could not be. To squander myself on such transient pleasure – to spend my greatness on a single female – especially one who was, in truth, unsuitable – would be to jeopardize my greater destiny, and with it the true pleasures that lie ahead.’
Nilsson moved forward under the pressure of the guiding hand, still uncertain about the outcome of this unexpected turn of events. ‘A hard decision, Lord,’ he risked.
The hand tightened further about his shoulder until, his knees almost buckling, he was obliged to gasp in pain.
Rannick’s grip eased, though he did not remove his hand. ‘You can have no conception how hard, Captain,’ he replied. ‘For my appetites are great.’
They reached a door which a guard threw open for them. As Rannick’s hand left his shoulder, Nilsson felt suddenly so light and disorientated that for a moment he thought that the least breeze might have lifted him off his feet.
Rannick looked around the circular hallway that they had entered. He nodded to himself several times, and very slowly.
Then he straightened up. ‘I must meditate further on what has happened today, Captain,’ he said. ‘For it is much more than it seems. But the time is come. We begin the preparations for our conquest of this land in earnest.’ He paused. ‘Tomorrow. See that everyone is ready to move, as we planned.’
Even as he was speaking this last, terse order, he was walking away. Nilsson saluted. He stood motionless until his Lord was out of sight, and for some time after that. Elation filled him. He had flown close to the flame again, closer than ever before. And he had survived! Nothing, nothing, could stand in his way now.
Rannick’s dangerous aberration had passed. And he would turn to no other woman in the future; his obsession with his skills was total and all-consuming, now. Nilsson could not begin to surmise what unholy communion had passed between Rannick and his creature that day, but he knew intuitively that Rannick had felt a lessening of his power when he had turned his mind to someone other than himself. And it was the essence of the power that it could not see itself depleted; it could only lust to grow greater and greater. Rannick was trapped utterly.
Chapter 21
Farnor’s homeward journey continued to be both quicker and easier than his outward one. But though he was more at ease with himself, many thoughts about the future disturbed him. Not least among these were the practicalities of what he was intending to do.
How should he confront Rannick? He couldn’t sim-ply ride up to the castle and announce himself. Whatever power he might possess, he had learned nothing about either its nature or its use from the Forest, despite his original intentions, and he was loath to assume that it would suddenly manifest itself as need required.
And, mementoes of beating, climbing, and riding – the intermittent aches and pains in his body – reminded him that, power or no, he was not proof against fleshly distress. He could thus not sensibly oppose himself against point and edge, still less bone-crushing teeth. The memory of the creature’s malevolent and powerful presence chilled him.
Gradually he came to the conclusion he had reached before he had been drawn on his strange journey through the Great Forest. He would hide in the woods beyond the castle, watching and listening silently, until he could encounter Rannick alone. He had little doubt that, given the element of surprise, he could seize and overpower him. His darker vision of the future might have turned from Rannick’s death but he would nevertheless relish subduing him by main force. And this time he would sound no challenge that might bring the creature down on him. And too, he was no longer alone. The trees would be watching and listening with him.
His mood was unsettled, however. Despite all his plans, confronting Rannick was still a stomach-turning prospect which became more frightening with each southbound stride. Yet, it also had a familiar quality of inevitability about it, not unlike that which preceded a trip to Gryss with toothache, though worse by far. What was upsetting him more were his thoughts about Derwyn and his family. True, he had advised Derwyn simply to search for the valley and prepare to defend his people against what might come from there. But he had been vague; he had not warned him as he should other than to tell him to take his best men. He cursed himself roundly for his dark folly every time he thought of his last meeting with Derwyn. It gave him no consolation that not for a moment had it occurred to him at the time that Derwyn would undertake such an expedition with a small family hunting party.
That, through his neglect, he might have brought to Derwyn’s kin the pain of loss that he himself had suffered, troubled him greatly. And the trees could not help. He had asked about Derwyn’s fate only once.
‘We are frightened where we are near your home, Far-nor. The power there grows apace. It is terrible. And the fear clouds all. Mar-ken and his company passed into the spreading nightfall and I could not Hear him further.’
Farnor did not need to be told this last; fear and confusion permeated the words, jagged and frightful, and layered through with apologies and regret – and shame.
‘I understand,’ he said, though he added sternly, ‘But we must both of us struggle to face our fears if they’re not to bring us down.’ Then he had tried another approach. ‘Are Marken or the others back at their lodge?’
The answer was starkly clear. ‘No.’
Farnor swore to himself, and unthinkingly urged his horse forward. It took no notice, however, continuing resolutely at the pace that it presumably found most suitable.
There had been such distress in the voice of the trees that, despite his concern, he had not been able to bring himself to pursue the matter. ‘They’re none of them foolish or reckless people,’ Uldaneth had said, but that too gave him little consolation. Though as the words came back to him he heard her saying again, ‘What’s done is done, Farnor. Neither of us can do anything from here.’ Oddly, that had helped. Some quality in her voice had told him that destroying himself with gnawing anxieties about matters beyond his control was to compound one folly with another. He began trying to quieten himself by becoming absorbed in the gentle, drumming rhythm of his journey, and the tranquillity of the Forest about him.
And tranquil it was. The nights were cool, scented and dreamless, and each morning he was awake, refreshed and alive, before the sound of the dawn horns floated over the treetops to greet him. He found streams to drink from and to bathe in, and the food from Marrin’s lodge left him no need either to economize or to hunt.
And sometimes, the trees sang.
Though he met no other Valderen on the way, he noted now their presence in many things to which previously he had been oblivious. He came upon carvings unexpectedly. One in particular struck him forcibly: a great bird, twice his own height, wings widespread, had been carved from the crown of a dead tree in the middle of a clearing. Its glistening, varnished eye fixed itself on him so realistically as he dismounted and walked around it in wonder, that he was almost afraid to go near it for fear it would suddenly lunge down at him. And there were many others: strange man-like creatures with comical faces squatted in families on low branches; large insects peered at him from the undergrowth; faces were carved into trunks, and sometimes he came across shapes, polished and smooth and resembling nothing, yet beautiful both to look at and to touch. And too there were trees whose branches had been shaped and formed in ways that could not have been natural but
which yet celebrated life and nature.
Frequently he touched individual trees and talked to them. It was a strange experience, quite different from his contact with their collective voice. They were at once prosaic and intriguing, full of local gossip about matters that he could not begin to understand – subtle images involving branches and roots, sunlight and warm darkness, and, with unmistakable and quite disconcert-ing delight, seeds!
And yet they were full of tales of distant places and distant times as well. ‘They made a magical carving of me in a great castle far away from here, once,’ was a common tale, though he could make little sense of that either except that it was obviously a source of some pride.
Then, quite unexpectedly, one bright morning, he was riding into Derwyn’s lodge. Voices called out to him from above and people began to appear; some walking and running towards him, others bouncing perilously down ladders, touching scarcely one rung in ten. He reined his horse back to a walk as his worries crashed in upon him. ‘Is Derwyn here?’ he asked the first person he came to.
Before he received any answer, EmRan appeared by his side. ‘What have you come back for?’ he demanded. ‘You caused enough trouble the first time ‘
Farnor’s mood curdled into violence at this greeting. He rounded on EmRan angrily. ‘Why did you prevent the Congress from helping Derwyn when he wanted to go south and find the route to my valley?’
EmRan started at this unexpected response, then bridled, but Farnor gave him no opportunity to speak. ‘I told him it was dangerous,’ he went on. ‘And that he should take the best men he could. And travel carefully and quietly.’ He leaned down towards EmRan and his pent-up concerns of the last few days hissed out. ‘It was no expedition for old men, women and girls, you meddling buffoon…’
‘Don’t let Marken, Angwen and least of all Edrien hear you say that.’
Farnor spun round. Standing on the other side of his horse was Derwyn, his arms extended. Farnor almost tumbled out of his saddle in his relief. He took his erstwhile host’s arms in the Valderen manner.
Derwyn smiled. ‘You still have a faller’s grip, Farnor, but it’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you, Derwyn,’ Farnor replied. ‘I was so afraid for you when Uldaneth told me what EmRan had done.’
Derwyn chuckled. ‘EmRan did nothing I shouldn’t have expected,’ he said. ‘It was my fault. I was so preoccupied with you and Marken and everything that I just didn’t look what I was doing.’ He put his arm around Farnor’s shoulder. ‘Besides, did you take us for fools, young man?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Did you think we’d go charging around blindly like fleeing deer? You told me clearly enough that it was dangerous.’
Farnor waved his arms vaguely. ‘No… of course not,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘But…’
Derwyn released him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I un-derstand, and I thank you for your concern.’
A little later however, having exchanged the crowd gathering on the Forest floor for the smaller one which had gathered in Derwyn’s lodge, Farnor told his hosts of the events that had driven him from the valley. And, predominantly at Marken’s pressing, he told something of his encounter with the most ancient amid the great trees around the central mountains.
There was an almost reverent silence when he had finished. ‘Your story answers many questions, Farnor,’ Derwyn said. ‘I’m glad you felt able to tell us now.’ He nodded towards Marken. ‘We’d been told that you’d changed greatly. I hope you’ll not be offended if I say it’s a considerable improvement.’
Farnor smiled, a little sadly. ‘No,’ he replied simply. ‘I met some rare teachers on my journey.’ He leaned forward and, massaging his legs, added ruefully, ‘But none who could teach me to climb your ladders easily.’
The atmosphere in the room lightened. ‘But what did you find on your journey?’ he asked.
‘Well, we’d very little trouble finding the trail you’d made,’ Derwyn replied, to some laughter. ‘And we were able to follow it until we came to the entrance to your valley.’
‘And?’ Farnor prompted.
‘And nothing,’ Derwyn replied, with an unhappy frown.
‘Marken said that all he could Hear was alarm and confusion, and that it was getting worse. And I wasn’t happy about the place, anyway. There was a bad feeling about it. Really bad.’ He hesitated. ‘And we heard something – your creature, probably – howling one night. Only the once. But it was horrible. It seemed to cut right through me.’ He shivered and finished his tale rapidly. ‘So we just marked the trail and left.’
‘Can you take me there?’ Farnor asked.
Derwyn looked at him carefully. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But do you really want to go? Are you still intent upon vengeance for your parents?’
Farnor lowered his eyes. The room darkened as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. ‘A little,’ he said eventually, looking up again. ‘But not like before. I’ve better ways to honour my parents now. I want to live. But if I’m going to have a life, then I have to go back. I have to do something to free the valley of Rannick and Nilsson and the creature.’ He paused and looked round at the other watching faces: Angwen, Edrien, Marken, Bildar, and a yellow-haired young man he had seen at the Synehal but whose name he did not know. ‘I don’t want to. To be honest, I’m very frightened. But it seems… that I have…’ He looked at his hands, ‘the same… gift…’ He almost spat the word, ‘as Rannick, and that I’m perhaps the only person who can stop him.’ He looked up at Derwyn. ‘And if I don’t, if someone doesn’t, then he’ll go on to hurt more and more people.’
Derwyn reached out and took Farnor’s arm. ‘You’ll have all the help we can give you,’ he said quietly.
Farnor smiled ruefully. ‘I’d like to ask you for a few score armed men,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be help enough if you’ll show me the way.’
Derwyn leaned back in his chair and looked a little smug.
‘You’ll have plenty of hunters at your back, Farnor,’ he said. ‘There’s well over a score of them just come down from Marrin’s lodge alone. They were travelling close behind you all the way.’
Farnor looked at him in disbelief. ‘Close behind? No. I heard no riders,’ he said.
‘I should think not,’ Derwyn exclaimed.
Farnor frowned. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘If they were coming here, why didn’t they ride with me?’
Derwyn looked away from him a little uncomforta-bly. ‘We hear what we hear from our Hearers. And we listen carefully. But we’re responsible for our own actions and we’re a cautious people. We like to find things out for ourselves, as well.’ His eyes were full of concern. ‘And there was such darkness in you when you left, Farnor. Such anger, such hatred. After what I – we all – felt in your valley, I had the same fear as they did about you, despite what they’d told Marken about their judgement. I couldn’t know whether you were a victim of some evil – or its vanguard. So I asked Marrin’s people to give you every courtesy and help, but otherwise to keep away from you until we’d spoken.’
Farnor felt a spasm of anger forming, but it faltered and he gave it no voice. ‘And now?’ he asked.
‘Now we’ve spoken, and the doubts are gone,’ Der-wyn replied.
‘All of them?’ Farnor twitched inwardly as he tried to snatch back the question.
Derwyn laughed softly and shook his head. ‘To be without all doubt is not to be human, Farnor,’ he said. ‘But I’m as free of them as I can expect to be.’ He glanced at Angwen and patted his stomach. ‘And apart from what my stomach tells me, the difference in you when you rode back into the lodge was visible to everyone.’
‘Not to EmRan,’ Farnor retorted.
‘EmRan’s EmRan,’ Derwyn said. ‘He invariably stands in his own light. And he did himself no favours by denying me the lodge hunt. A lot of people were very angry with him when they found we’d gone as family.’ He chuckled to himself then waved a dismissive hand. ‘But that’s by the by. It’s just…’
Farnor however, was not listening. The reference to the hunt had thrust an ominous thought into his mind. His eyes widened in alarm. ‘Why were Marrin’s hunters coming here?’ he asked. He gripped the arms of his chair and his voice became urgent. ‘It’s not been here, has it? Into the Forest, hunting?’
Derwyn shook his head reassuringly. ‘No,’ he re-plied. ‘But we’re Valderen, Farnor. We protect and provide for the Forest, as it protects and provides for us. Now we know for certain that some menace lies to the south, we must seek it out. Hunters have come from all over to join us.’ He laughed. ‘Even EmRan’s not spoken out against it.’
Farnor, however, was gazing about him anxiously. There was a self-satisfied – excited, even – quality in Derwyn’s manner that disturbed him in some way. ‘But you can’t just hunt the creature,’ he said. ‘It’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined.’ Memories flooded over him and his words began to tumble out. ‘Why do you think the trees themselves are frightened? You mustn’t go after it as if it were just another – fierce animal.’ He tapped his head. ‘In all its evil traits, it’s human. It thinks. If you enter its territory – my land – then it will hunt you. It attacked and routed a column of Nilsson’s men. Hard fighting men, all armed. It…’
Unsettled by Farnor’s passion, Derwyn held up his hand to stop the flow. ‘We’re in the same position as you are,’ he said forcefully. ‘We can’t do otherwise. We must protect the Forest or we’re nothing.’ He became defensive. ‘Besides, we’re not children. We’ve experience in hunting every kind of…’
