Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Nevertheless, the following day, as they broke camp, he told them about it.

His story met with an uncomfortable silence.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Yengar said. ‘It’s…’

‘Did you sense danger?’ Olvric intruded quietly.

Farnor thought before he replied. ‘I was afraid,’ he said. ‘But I think that was because of what had happened before. And I couldn’t do anything – not deliberately, anyway – I was helpless. The sensation wasn’t frightening in itself.’ He floundered. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really have any words for it. It was just wrong, unnatural, something that shouldn’t be. It made my flesh creep.’ He shuddered noisily, then looked round at the others. They were watching him intently. Silently Marna pulled her horse alongside him in a small show of support against these potentially hostile strangers.

‘Did you sense danger?’ Olvric repeated his question.

Farnor found himself being thankful for his cold, searching manner. It carried no judgement, only a need to know.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No danger. But it was still a bad thing, something that shouldn’t have been. And this time something resisted whatever it was I was doing to close the rift. That didn’t happen before.’

‘You’ve said before twice. This hasn’t happened at any other time since you faced Rannick?’

‘No.’

‘Wake us if it happens again.’

‘But…’

‘Wake us.’ Olvric’s tone was both matter-of-fact and unequivocal and seemed to dispel the uncertainty pervading the others.

‘I’m sorry if we gaped at you,’ Yengar said. ‘You caught us all by surprise. Olvric’s right. Wake us next time – if there’s a next time. Other things may be happening which you’re unaware of and which we’ll be able to see.’

‘But…’

‘Information, Farnor,’ Yengar pressed, explanatory now. ‘I told you. Our job. Gathering information. The more we can tell Hawklan or Andawyr about what’s happening to you, the better.’

‘And if there’s nothing for you to see – or feel – or anything?’

‘That’s information in itself, isn’t it? It may be just as significant. Who are we to say? What we have to do is note events accurately so that we can describe them to others accurately.’

‘I suppose so,’ Farnor conceded reluctantly. The mood of the group was lightening. ‘It just seems – fussy.’

Yengar mulled over the word. ‘Well, we’ve been called worse. I prefer to think of myself as being… obsessive. Fussy sounds rather petty, don’t you think?’

Farnor eyed him suspiciously, testing the self-deprecating humour that seemed to be a common feature of the group. His response caused some amusement.

‘Never underestimate the effects of the small action,’ the two women said to him in unison, obviously recalling an insistent teaching.

‘Sumeral’s in the details,’ Yrain said in a strident, authoritative voice that Farnor thought he should know.

‘Ethriss is in the details,’ Jenna echoed in the same vein.

Then they both laughed.

‘I’m sure Gulda will be greatly heartened to find how carefully you listened to her,’ Yengar said with affected sternness. Farnor remembered the voice.

‘ Memsa Gulda, Goraidin. Memsa ,’ the two women chimed, to even greater amusement. Yengar resisted for a moment, then capitulated. ‘It doesn’t concern me, I can always have Farnor chase her with a stick, I suppose.’

‘I told you, they’re like this all the time,’ Marna said to the bemused Farnor through the ensuing clamour. ‘When they’re not getting someone else to do all the dirty work,’ she added loudly.

‘A necessary part of your training, cadet,’ Jenna said, maintaining Gulda’s persona.

Marna gave Farnor a knowing look and dropped back to join them. Olvric replaced her.

‘Don’t confuse our humour with frivolity, Farnor,’ he said after they had ridden a little way in silence. ‘We’ve done many things together. Many things. We know and trust one another deeply.’

‘I understand,’ Farnor replied, Olvric’s remarks bringing to him the memory of the friends and the laughter he had left back at the village. It all seemed to be such a long time ago. Then, abruptly, he did understand, and though the laughter behind him did not change it was suddenly different, echoing into the depths of who these people were.

‘It’s what Marken called your lightness of touch,’ he said, turning and looking directly at the enigmatic Goraidin.

Olvric raised his eyebrows and bent his head forward slightly in appreciation.

Farnor straightened as if a weight had been lifted from him.

‘But you don’t laugh much,’ he heard himself saying.

Unexpectedly, Olvric chuckled. ‘I do in my own way,’ he replied as the sound rumbled through him to break out in an equally unexpected, if brief, smile. ‘Have no fear about that.’ He became pensive for a moment then said, ‘It’s good to have you both along,’ before easing his horse forward a little to ride alone.

The sky was overcast, but the clouds were high and light and seemed set to remain so for the rest of the day. Towards midday, however, a wind sprang up and began to disperse them. The valley that they had chosen twisted and turned, but it carried them generally eastward and the going was easy. Farnor was gradually inducted into the ways of their travelling, now walking, now riding, now resting, now eating. And throughout, he was aware that both he and Marna were being gently instructed.

When they stopped in the late afternoon to make camp for the night he was given the task of choosing a suitable site. After some wandering about and a disproportionate amount of fretful thought, he chose the lee of a rock face.

Jenna looked at it critically. ‘Dry ground, out of the wind, no sign of loose rocks above to give us a rude awakening, near a stream but not so near that it’ll disturb us or cover unwelcome sounds. Not bad.’

Later, they sat around the fire, eating.

‘I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to give you much hunting experience, Farnor,’ Yengar said, dropping a well-gnawed bone on to the fire. ‘Not with the quantity of supplies that we’ve still got left.’ He pulled a rueful face. ‘In fact, I think some of the food will be going bad before we can eat it. We’ll have to leave it for the local scavengers.’

‘I’ve trapped rabbits and foxes,’ Farnor told him.

‘Can you use a bow?’ Olvric asked.

Farnor shook his head. ‘Not really. There were quite a few in the village, but I don’t think anyone could use one properly. Gryss wouldn’t allow anyone to take one when we first went looking for the creature.’

‘It’s not a good idea to have a weapon you can’t use,’ Olvric went on.

Farnor shrugged. ‘If they were ever for anything it was probably hunting, and there was precious little need for that. I don’t think anyone ever thought about them being used as weapons. We’d no need at all for weapons.’ His voice faded. ‘Well, we thought we’d no need.’

‘An apt epitaph,’ Olvric said, staring bleakly into the fire. ‘And an old one.’

‘Speaking of which, what’s that?’ Yrain was pointing to a sword lying by Farnor’s saddle.

‘It’s a sword,’ Farnor replied, with a hint of indignation.

‘May I look at it?’

Farnor held out his hand towards it by way of invitation. Yrain took the sword from its scabbard and brought it back to the fire. She was grimacing as she lifted it.

‘It’s just an old thing I found,’ Farnor said.

‘It certainly is,’ Yrain agreed.

‘I wanted a Threshold Sword. Like the Valderen. I think everyone in the village has one now. I know the blacksmith’s been kept busy making new ones and repairing old ones. Better late than never, I suppose.’