by Roger Taylor
Her embrace fell away. Marna straightened up and looked at her erstwhile antagonist. Her anger vanished at what she saw. ‘You’re a long way from home, and frightened, aren’t you?’ she said with a sudden, heart-breaking insight.
Aaren’s lips tightened briefly, then her features composed themselves and she raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘And you, young woman, are too much like I used to be.’ She became purposeful. ‘But understand, as we told you before, if you come with us you keep quiet and do exactly what you’re told, immediately and without question.’ She looked at Marna uncertainly. ‘I hope I’m not going to regret this. Let’s hope your luck holds.’
The next few hours saw the two women making a stealthy journey through the woods and across the rainswept landscape until they were in the woods to the north of the castle. There they were met by Engir, Levrik and Yehna.
Engir threw a quick glance at Marna and spoke sharply to Aaren in their own language.
‘I’ve come to help,’ Marna said, before Aaren could reply. Engir started in surprise. ‘I don’t need to know your language to understand that remark,’ Marna went on. ‘And I’ve had this argument once. I mightn’t be trained but I’m not stupid. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, because I’m not leaving.’
There was an awkward pause, then Levrik said to her, ‘You can mind the horses. We might need them quickly when we come out and it’ll be pitch dark then. It could save a lot of time, not to mention our necks.’
Marna was both surprised and pleased by this inter-vention from the most silent of the group, but despite this feeling of gratitude there was still a quality about the man that disturbed her.
His suggestion was accepted however, and some time was spent introducing Marna to the horses and giving her detailed instructions for their tending, followed by further instructions on how to respond to the different signals that she might hear once the attack had begun. For the remainder of the day the four continued their own preparations: checking and rechecking their weapons and equipment, and repeat-edly going over their plan and its various contingencies. Then there was a strange, tense interlude when all was completed and there was nothing to do but wait until the night came and they could venture forth.
It stopped raining, and the air filled with rich, damp forest perfumes and the sound of the soft irregular dripping of the rain still held in the leaves above. As she watched her new companions, Marna wondered at their quietness and stillness, though she sensed that only Levrik was truly relaxed, truly here. Some part, at least, of each of the others was elsewhere. She herself felt as though she were holding her breath continuously.
Unable to cope with the waiting, she wandered over to Aaren and spoke to her softly, asking about the attack they planned, even though she had heard it described a dozen or more times. Aaren seemed quite willing, even anxious, to speak about it yet again. She concluded almost in a whisper, ‘You know what you’ve got to do, but if things don’t appear to be working out as we intend, don’t be afraid to use your own judgement.’ She paused and looked straight at Marna. ‘I trust it. And so does Levrik.’
Marna had no reply. She glanced over at the mo-tionless figure of her other sponsor into this mysterious group. ‘He frightens me,’ she heard herself whispering. Then she was clamping her hand over her mouth as her mind raced to find an apology.
Aaren looked at her. ‘So he should,’ she said, a strange flatness in her tone. ‘As should I. As should all of us.’ The light caught her eyes, making them glint as she peered through the leafy shade, and Marna’s hands began to shake. Aaren reached out and took them. ‘Above all, Levrik should frighten you. But in what we do, believe me, Levrik guarding your back is worth a score of the rest of us.’
Unnerved by the turn of the conversation and anx-ious to end it, Marna staggered into another blunder. ‘How did you lose the end of your finger?’ she asked.
There was a slight pause, and then Aaren’s noiseless laugh reached her. A maternal hand patted her face. ‘A friend bit it off,’ came the reply, and the soft laughter renewed itself.
‘A friend!’ Marna exclaimed softly.
‘There are times when you get to know who your real friends are, Marna,’ Aaren said, still laughing. ‘But that’s enough. I’ll tell you some other time. When this day’s behind us as well.’
Marna held her peace, far from certain what folly she might commit next. For some time she heard Aaren chuckling to herself, but even in the failing light she could see that the woman was nervously squeezing the end of her damaged finger.
Then, unseen behind the grey clouds, the sun dipped behind the mountains and darkness began to seep into the valley. There was a terse command from Engir, and with a last-minute check that Marna knew her signals and what she was to do, the four were gone, soft and silent as shadows.
Marna stood for some time in the deepening gloom, then, carefully checking that the horses were securely tethered, she cautiously followed a thin guideline down to what was to be her post at the edge of the trees. In the near distance, she could make out the castle. As on the previous night, torches in the courtyard were illuminat-ing the walls of the various towers, and from Rannick’s eyrie the sickly and unnatural light pulsed erratically.
She shivered, though whether it was the light from Rannick’s window, the evening dampness, or the cold fear that was tugging at her stomach, she could not have said. Now she must watch and wait and, above all, as Aaren had emphasized at the last, ‘Be aware.’
* * * *
Farnor dropped down on to a grassy bank and wiped his forehead. He had been walking uphill steadily for some time and, despite the rain that had started, he was sweating and his shirt was sticking unpleasantly to his back.
Somewhere below, he knew that Derwyn and the Valderen would be advancing through the woods towards Nilsson and his men. He rested his head in his hands and tried to shake off his vexation at what he still saw to be the folly of this action. His anger, he knew, would serve no useful end, and, he suspected, might well cloud his judgement; indeed, it might well already have done so. In so far as I’ve got any judgement, he sneered to himself as he recalled his part in what had happened.
Seeing the futility of his appeals to Derwyn, he had stood for some time watching the Valderen frenziedly preparing to leave, then he had packed his own few things, taken his two horses, and quietly slipped away. He must stay with the realization that had come to him in the night. The creature, Rannick and Nilsson were enemies to both the Valderen and the people of the valley, and they must be seen as such. If Derwyn, for whatever reason, could not accept the threat that the creature posed, then to quarrel with him beyond a certain point was merely to serve the enemy’s ends. He, Farnor, must act so as to make good what he saw to be his ally’s mistake. He must kill the creature on his own.
And so far, all had been with him. The presence of the creature hung in the damp air like a miasma, but it was still dormant, as if it were sleeping or, more sinisterly, absent in some other way.
Farnor let his feet guide him. As well as the presence of the creature, he could feel the trees around him, resolutely watchful. In the distance he could sense the pain that Nilsson’s assault was causing them and he knew that they were deliberately keeping it from him. Occasionally however, a thin, piercing shriek would tear through to him, making him stop in his tracks and stiffen in distress as it faded into the interminable distance. He remained silent, though. Their true pain was beyond his understanding, and nothing he could say would lessen it. All that he could do, he was doing, and this they knew and accepted.
He looked up at the darkening sky and frowned. Soon it would be pitch black and he would be wandering about the woods with only a small sunstone lantern to guide him. Not only would he not be able to see very far, he would also be very conspicuous. He swore silently to himself, then stood up and set off again. He must make what progress he could, while he could, though that in its turn begged the question as to what progress was, for he had no
specific idea where he was going.
Occasionally, as he had started to do on his journey back from the most ancient, he would touch a tree to see if, as individuals, they could offer him any guidance. But their responses were weak and varied, and he sensed that much of whatever spirit lay in these… homes… had already withdrawn, and that his touch tended to lure them back and was thus painful. After a while he stopped.
Eventually he came to the edge of the trees to find himself on the arm of a great cwm which swept away from him into the gloom, dark and ominous. In what was left of the light, he could just make out a rocky slope rising up from the tree line.
The presence of the creature was growing stronger. He looked at his two horses. They would be no further use to him now, clattering and unsteady across the rain-slicked rocks. And, not knowing when, or if, he would be back, he could not tether them somewhere, like sacrifices. He would have to abandon them and carry such as he needed himself. Besides, they were becoming increasingly unhappy, as if they too could sense the nearness of the creature.
Wiping the rain from his eyes, he went over to the pack pony to remove the various weapons he had snatched up for this expedition. There was a Valderen bow, quite unlike anything he had ever seen in the valley: not big, but very powerful – if he could draw it. And there were the vicious, barbed-headed arrows. He was no bowman, but he was sure he could hit a large animal at a range that would be safely out of jaws’ reach, and that was where he intended to remain. Nevertheless, he had chosen also a large machete on which he had managed to hone a reasonable edge.
As he began loosening the straps that secured its pack, the pony slithered sideways into him nervously, knocking him off balance. He grabbed at it hastily but missed his footing on the wet rocks and staggered heavily against it. With a startled neigh, the pony began prancing anxiously. The noise of its scrabbling hooves on the rocks rose into the silent air to startle it further.
Still unbalanced, Farnor flailed out blindly in an attempt to catch hold of the pony and restrain it. His hand closed around something just as the pony decided to bolt. Panicking as he felt himself beginning to be dragged along, Farnor tightened his grip but, fortu-nately for him, the object tore free from the loosened straps as the animal gathered speed. He was still gripping it tightly as he went sprawling painfully on the rocky ground.
He lay there for some time, absorbed in the new discomforts that were putting fresh life into his older aches and pains. Then, as his senses began to clear, he realized that he was listening to the flight not only of the pony but of his horse as well; it had seemingly con-curred with its fellow’s judgement and also fled. Struggling to his feet, he stared into the darkness in dismay, until the last faint echoes of the fleeing horses had died away completely. For a moment rage overcame him. He wanted to rant and scream after the demented animals, to hurl rocks into the darkness, to rend the very air with his fury. But the mood faded as quickly as it had come, displaced by an odd fatalism. Briefly, the memory of Uldaneth returned to him. What had happened had happened and nothing he could do would remedy it now. And he still had no alternative but to go on and to deal with events as they developed and with whatever came to hand.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small sunstone lantern that Angwen had given him as a gift. Carefully he checked that the shutter was closed before he struck it, then he eased it open very slightly; he still had sufficient wit to realize that the last thing he needed now was his night vision destroyed for minutes on end by the lantern’s brightness.
With the aid of the thin, rain-streaked sliver of light he examined himself to see if any serious damage had been done in his fall. Eventually satisfied that he had suffered only yet more bruising, he sat down on a rock to think. As he did so, the faint light from the lantern caught the object that he had grabbed hold of when the pony bolted. It was the staff that Marrin had given him.
He clicked the lantern shut as he bent to pick up the staff. This was going to be invaluable, he thought caustically as he hefted it. He felt a hint of disapproval about him, but it was gone almost before he noted it, and he did not pursue it. Then the fatalism that had quietened him earlier gave way to anger and despair. What use was he going to be now even if he found the creature; alone, unarmed and benighted.
‘Not alone, Far-nor.’ The voice of the trees filled his head. He waved a pointless acknowledgement. ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘But unless you’ve suddenly learned to walk and fight, then I’m afraid you’re going to be nothing more than a silent witness to what happens if that creature awakes.’
‘No. We can touch it a little. We did before. Turned it from you in confusion.’ There was a plaintive quality in the voice that did not inspire confidence, however.
I was on a desperate, charging horse then, Farnor thought, but he did not articulate it so that the trees could Hear.
What a mess! Some rearguard he was going to make for Derwyn now. What had possessed him to think he could tackle the creature on his own? What was he, after all? Just a stupid boy, stuck up a mountain with an ornamental lantern, his mother’s carving knife in his belt, and an old man’s stick. He sneered at the image.
Then, the atmosphere about him changed. ‘Far-nor,’ the trees whispered fearfully. ‘It wakes.’
* * * *
Derwyn’s mood shifted violently as he rode steadily southwards through the fine, damping, rain. The ancient mistrust of the Valderen of outsiders was deep and powerful. It provoked a response that could not easily be set aside by reason, least of all by the Koyden-dae, with their almost total inexperience in dealing with such people. And these outsiders were doing that which, said tradition, outsiders had always done; they were wantonly, cruelly, destroying the Forest. It was, beyond a doubt, the duty of the Valderen to drive away such people.
And yet, Farnor’s response disturbed him. The young man was seemingly a Hearer such as there had never been before; one before whom Marken bowed without reserve. He should be accorded respect and, above all, listened to. But too, he was barely a man yet. He could not possibly have the soundness of judgement of an older man, an experienced leader of men. And he was not Valderen.
But he had been called to the place of the most an-cient – a hitherto unknown occurrence. And that strange old bird Uldaneth had expressed a great interest in him. Uldaneth: an unrepentant outsider, who knew more about the Valderen than they themselves, who vanished for years on end and then just appeared again, wandering freely from lodge to lodge. He shook his head. He had problems enough without fretting about Uldaneth. She was an enigma even deeper than Farnor.
‘You’re troubled.’
Marken’s voice broke into Derwyn’s milling thoughts. He nodded. ‘Farnor’s troubling me,’ he replied. ‘He seemed so certain. And so angry. And sneaking off on his own like that. I can’t help wondering if I should’ve listened to him more.’
Marken put his hand to his head, his face troubled. He could barely keep from his mind the terrible sound of the trees struggling to escape the depredations of Nilsson and his men. And he, too, was torn. Farnor’s leaving had drawn a cloudy veil over his own new-found contact with the trees. He wanted to go after him, find out what was happening, ask him what he was going to do. Yet he was the lodge’s Hearer. His place was here, by Derwyn, riding to destroy these invaders. And whether the decision to ride against them was right or not, it had been made, and Derwyn had to be supported. Doubt would serve only to cripple him. ‘He’s not Valderen,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t truly understand. Your judgement’s sound in this, Derwyn. But he can be trusted too. Don’t forget, this is more his land than ours, and these raiders more his problem, until now. Wherever he’s gone and whatever he’s doing, it’ll be to help us.’
‘I hope so,’ Derwyn called out ruefully as their horses drifted apart. But Marken’s words had heartened him. This was Farnor’s land and whatever he had chosen to do, it would be as an ally. He would do no harm, even though he might do little good. For a moment he heard F
arnor warning him again about the creature. He shrugged the memory aside. For all his own unease about this strange animal, he’d always thought Farnor’s concerns exaggerated; a farmer’s response, not a hunter’s.
He could have been right about this Nilsson and his men, though. Men who would hack down trees without due ceremony and delay were vicious and savage beyond doubt. And as for burning them…
Anger filled him.
Still, it would be folly to go charging among them, knowing nothing of how many there were, or how they were situated. What was it Farnor had said about them? ‘They’re brutal fighting men… If you go against them rashly, they’ll hack you down without a thought.’
The light was fading. They should slow down, send out scouts to see where these people were, and how many. Yet these thoughts merely bubbled and frothed on top of the great swell of his Valderen heritage. Though unHeard by him, the small skill in Hearing that he possessed in common with all the Valderen was responding to the panic and terror of the trees about him and clouding the rational thought that normally ordered his judgement. His hands twitched uncertainly at the reins of his horse.
* * * *
The branch sailed over the battlements again. It was wrapped in a cloth to reduce the noise that it would make against the stonework. For the third time, Levrik cautiously pulled the rope that was attached to it, ready to jump back quickly if it suddenly went slack. This time, however, the branch wedged in the embrasure. Levrik pulled on it again and then allowed it to take his full weight. There was a springiness in it that disturbed him a little; the branch was not as strong as he would have liked, but had it been any stouter it would have been almost impossible to throw it high enough.
He nodded to Yehna, the lightest of the group. Tak-ing the rope from him, she tested it herself and then, satisfied, began clambering up it. The other three looked up into the darkness after her, even when she had disappeared from view. Eventually, the rope stopped shaking. They waited for a signal.
