Roger Taylor - Valderen

Edrien screamed and backed away hastily.

The figure in the doorway faltered, and immediately Bildar stepped forward to stand in front of him. Hesitantly, Edrien moved across to join him, though her eyes were fixed on Farnor, who was crouching, watching the intruder tensely, with the knife held unsteadily, but dangerously in front of him.

‘EmRan, what the devil do you think you’re playing at, crashing into my lodge like that?’ Bildar shouted angrily.

The new arrival ignored the complaint. ‘Where’s this outsider, Bildar?’ he demanded, moving into the room, and forcing Bildar to step to one side.

Farnor looked at him balefully, and extended the knife further towards him menacingly. The man was tall and heavily built, not unlike Nilsson, and he was probably of a similar age, but though his face was angry and determined, his eyes lacked the chilling coldness that Nilsson’s possessed. Farnor met his gaze unflinch-ingly.

‘Nasty-looking piece of work,’ EmRan said after a moment, though without attempting to come any closer.

‘You’re no silver birch yourself,’ Bildar retorted acidly, taking hold of his arm. ‘Now perhaps you’d explain your disgraceful conduct.’

The big man seemed to swell with rage, but Bildar did not move except to straighten up in response. ‘You can explain to me now, or you can explain to the lodge Congress later,’ he added, as quietly resolute as EmRan was noisy. ‘But explain yourself you will.’

EmRan faltered, then snorted. ‘I needed to see – him!’ he said, levelling a finger at Farnor. ‘I needed to see what it was that had managed to sneak in and drive our Hearer away.’

‘What you needed to do, EmRan, was rein in your temper and think,’ Bildar replied angrily. His tone became caustic. ‘Or should I perhaps stay silent in the light of your deep and profound wisdom; your ability to know their will in this matter; your apparent ability to see the future and know that Marken’s gone for good?’ He began to shout. ‘I’d lay a fair wager that Marken’s really gone off in search of a quiet place because he can’t face listening to your ranting any more…’ Edrien laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off and continued his tirade. ‘Now, if you want to sit and talk like a civilized person, then you’re welcome to my lodge. I’ll introduce you to our guest and you may sit and debate. Failing that, get out, or take the consequences!’

For a moment Farnor thought that EmRan was go-ing to strike the old man but, as abruptly as he had entered, he spun on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him. The sword hanging behind the door swung from side to side, further deepening long-established scratches in the wood, as the sound of EmRan’s heavy footsteps faded into the distance.

Farnor remained where he was, with the knife held out in front of him. Bildar looked at him intently. ‘Put that away,’ he said, eventually. ‘You’re quite safe. Even EmRan’s not that wild. And we don’t point weapons at one another here unless we intend to use them.’

Farnor seemed unable to take his eyes away from the door. ‘I did,’ he said, after a moment. His voice was soft and unsteady, and not without some surprise. ‘I did,’ he repeated, as if to confirm his intention.

Bildar nodded. ‘I feared so, from the look of you,’ he said, quietly. ‘You looked terrified and terrifying. But he’s gone now. Put it away. Unless you’re going to use it on me or Edrien.’

Farnor’s face twitched nervously at this rebuke and he made to put the knife back in his belt. It was no easy task as his hands were trembling violently. ‘Who was that?’ he asked, stammering a little as he forced his hands to be still.

Bildar made a dismissive noise, but Farnor noticed that he too was trembling and that Edrien was visibly shaken. ‘EmRan’s a blustering loud-mouth who thinks he should be the lodge’s Second,’ he replied, picking up the chair that Farnor had knocked over and returning it to him.

With an effort, Farnor forced his gaze away from the door. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What’s a Second? Why did he look at me like that? What was he talking about? What…?’

Bildar held up his hand to end the questions and then turned to Edrien. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Edrien nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think so. EmRan startled me, that’s all, bursting in like that. I actually thought he was going to hit you when you shouted at him. Should I tell my father, do you think?’

‘Oh yes,’ Bildar said, without hesitation. ‘Tell him everything. After all, he’s not EmRan, is he? He won’t go charging about in a wild rage threatening anyone. But he’ll want to know the full tale so that he can use it to some effect if need arises.’ He guided Edrien gently to a chair, then he sat down himself and looked at Farnor again. ‘Don’t you worry about EmRan,’ he said. ‘He always shouts before he thinks. I’m sure you’ve got someone like him in your own lodge. And, unfortu-nately, your arrival has caused a bit of a stir. Derwyn will explain it to you.’

Farnor made to speak, but Bildar, seemingly anx-ious not to be questioned further, continued hurriedly. ‘Derwyn’s our Second, to answer one of your questions, a sort of – leader – a chief, I suppose.’ He made a vague gesture. ‘But not like a king, or a great war leader. Not someone that everyone follows blindly.’

‘Like a senior elder in our village council?’ Farnor offered, still trembling inside, and a little relieved to be returning to more mundane matters. ‘Someone that people turn to when they have disagreements or problems they can’t sort out themselves?’

Bildar smiled. ‘An elder,’ he mused. ‘A nice word that. A little more dignified than Second, too. Yes, I think that’s as near as we’ll get to answering your question without giving you a very long history lesson,’ he decided. ‘But you can see why EmRan’s quite unsuitable for the job.’

Farnor nodded and then lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry about the knife,’ he said. ‘I thought he was… someone else. He gave me a bad fright.’

‘You gave both of us a fright, pulling out that knife like that,’ Edrien said. ‘My father said we should leave it with you, so that you’d feel safer. But…’ Her voice faded.

Bildar laid his hand over hers. ‘I gather that you thought it was this person, Nilsson; the one who beat you,’ he said to Farnor. ‘Presumably he too is a large and noisy man.’

Farnor sat up and took a deep breath. His inner trembling fluttered into life again at the mention of Nilsson’s name. ‘Large,’ he managed to say, ‘But not noisy. He… menaces… simply by looking, just by… being there.’ He wrapped his arms about himself briefly, then he shook his head as if to dispel unwanted memories, and his hand drifted absently to his knife.

Bildar let the subject go. There was an awkward silence until Farnor said, ‘I seem to be causing you a lot of problems.’ He looked from Bildar to Edrien. ‘If you’ll let me know how I can repay you for your kindness, I’ll be on my way as soon as I can.’

Bildar took his hand from Edrien’s and laid it on Farnor’s arm. ‘You owe us nothing, Farnor. A little food and the use of an empty bed hardly burdens us. We’d have done no more and no less for one of our own.’

Farnor nodded, uncertain what to say. ‘Even so,’ he replied eventually. ‘I must go back home – to my valley. But first, I must do some service for you, to thank you for your help.’ He paused, and then spoke as the thoughts were occurring to him. ‘If you hadn’t found me, I’d probably have died. I had some supplies with me, but…’ He stopped and turned abruptly to Edrien. ‘Where’s my horse?’ he asked, wide eyed. ‘I’d completely forgotten about it.’