Roger Taylor - Valderen

Marna’s restraint broke. ‘And what am I supposed to do,’ she demanded, ‘If I’m to keep away from them?’

With unexpected inspiration Gryss said, ‘You can do as you’ve already been doing. Find out what the young people are thinking.’ Marna’s eyes became menacing. ‘And the women,’ Gryss added hastily and with some earnestness. ‘It’s important, Marna. Only Jeorg here’s married now, and his wife’s views are all too well known. But sooner or later, there’s going to have to be a lot more than us involved in this, and we can’t do anything if the women are against us.’

Slightly mollified, Marna sat back in her chair and surveyed her fellow conspirators. Gryss added to his resolve to watch her carefully; he would have to give her plenty to do as well. He had seen the look of resolute determination that flickered briefly in her eyes, and it alarmed him.

‘This must be the cause of all the fuss.’

A booted foot prodded cautiously.

‘Careful, it might be dangerous.’

‘No, surely not, it’s only…’

‘No.’ A respectful but definite interruption. ‘Be care-ful. Something’s disturbed them profoundly. I told you, I Heard it clearer than I’ve ever Heard anything. And this must be the cause of it all. Just look at it. It might be more than it seems. We must be careful.’

Insistent. ‘But it might be injured. Its face is badly bruised.’

Female, newly arrived, and impatient. ‘For pity’s sake, the two of you. If it doesn’t die of its hurts, it will die of old age while you stand around debating matters.’ She laid a heavy and scornful emphasis on the word it.

The young woman pushed the two men aside and knelt down by the object of their attention. ‘Go and tend that horse, Marken, if you’re bothered about this one. I’ll let you know if it suddenly turns into a tree goblin and tries to drag me to its lair.’

The older of the two men looked briefly at his com-panion for support, but found only an anxious preoccupation with their discovery. Scowling, he set off across the clearing towards the quietly grazing horse that the girl had indicated.

The other man abandoned his momentary reverie. ‘Edrien, that’s no way to talk to Marken,’ he said to the girl. ‘He’s our Hearer, child. You should show more respect.’

The girl frowned impatiently. ‘I know, Father,’ she said, a little repentantly. ‘But he fusses so, at times.’

‘He fusses because he Hears and we don’t, Edrien,’ her father persisted. ‘And I’ve never seen him so agitated about a Hearing before.’ A note of annoyance came into his voice. ‘And what he Hears he notes, which is more than you’ve ever done. You just apologize to him when he comes back.’

Edrien’s frown deepened and her mouth formed a reply which she noticeably pondered and then rejected before saying, ‘Oh. very well,’ with a great lack of conviction. ‘But is it all right if I see if this thing is alive or not?’

The man allowed his daughter this last sarcastic barb, then he crouched down beside her and nodded. ‘Take care though,’ he said, softly but firmly. ‘There’s something odd about him, to say the least. Look at his clothes. And his hair, for pity’s sake – it’s black! And so’s his horse. Wherever he’s from, it’s beyond the Forest, for sure.’ Surreptitiously, and keeping his hand well out of the sight of his daughter, he drew a knife.

Edrien reached out and gently held her fingers against the throat of the motionless figure lying on the sunlit grass. ‘He’s not dead, anyway,’ she said after a moment.

‘That may not necessarily be good news.’ It was Marken, returned, leading the horse uncertainly.

Edrien looked up, her face angry, but catching her father’s eye she swallowed her intended reply. ‘I’m sorry I was… a little short… Marken,’ she said flatly, her jaw taut.

Marken gave a slight, sharp nod by way of acknowl-edgement, then turned to her father. ‘His horse is exhausted, Derwyn,’ he said. ‘He must have been riding like someone demented.’

Derwyn shook his head. ‘I’m surprised he got this far. There must be some reason for it.’ He turned to Marken. ‘Can you Hear anything?’ he asked.

Marken closed his eyes, and raised his hand slightly for silence. It was an unnecessary gesture. Both Derwyn and Edrien stood motionless, watching him intently. The gentle rustle of the surrounding trees filled the small clearing. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Less than usual, if anything. Whatever was causing the distur-bance has ended.’ There was doubt in his voice, however. ‘But there’s a… tension, here… an expec-tancy… even a bewilderment. It’s very strange. It’s as if they’re waiting for us to do something.’

‘What?’ Derwyn asked.

Marken shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

Edrien looked at the two men. ‘Shall I see if it’s safe to move him?’ she asked.

‘I suppose so,’ Derwyn replied, though he still kept his knife discreetly ready. He’d seen more than one ‘unconscious’ animal, suddenly spring to life, all teeth and slashing claws. And he’d never come across any animal remotely as devious and savage as a man bent on treachery.

Gently, Edrien lifted up the eyelids of the uncon-scious figure, then, carefully, she tested his limbs. ‘I can’t feel anything serious. I think he’s probably just fallen off his horse and cracked his head.’

Derwyn stood up. His lined face creased further as he frowned. ‘Well, that’s as may be, but if he’s a faller we can’t risk throwing him over a saddle while he’s unconscious, there’s no saying what hurt we’d do him. And wherever he’s come from, or for whatever reason, we can’t leave him here. We’ll have to tie him to a stretcher and take him back to the lodge. See what Bildar makes of him.’ He turned to Marken. ‘Find some suitable branches and ask if we may take them,’ he said.

Marken nodded and disappeared into the trees. Derwyn turned to his daughter. ‘Go and help him, Edrien,’ he said, adding as she stood up, ‘And be pleasant, please. Like me, he’s older than you, and unfortunately no longer has the advantage of knowing everything.’

His slight smile silenced Edrien’s reply before it formed.

Within a short while the three were walking their horses slowly through the forest. Derwyn’s was hauling a crude but well-rigged stretcher to which the body of the still-unconscious new arrival was tightly and skilfully lashed. The soft springiness of the two main supporting branches absorbed much of the impact of the small jolts that occurred as the trailing ends were dragged over the forest floor. Derwyn kept a careful watch for anything that might seriously jar the passen-ger. Behind him came Edrien and Marken, leading the other horses. There was little conversation as they walked along, and the tread of the horses was so soft that the sounds of their passing were lost in the gentle rustling of the trees and the bird song that filled the sunlit air.

As Derwyn halted and he and Edrien moved to ease the trailing ends of the stretcher over a large root protruding above the grassy forest floor, the figure on the stretcher muttered something. Edrien looked up. ‘I think he’s waking,’ she said.

Derwyn looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, we’ve not far to go now, we’ll get him back to the lodge and let Bildar look at him anyway. Keep an eye on him. See if you can make sense of anything he says.’

The small procession set off again.

Darkness swirled around Farnor. At his heels, the fearful menace came ever closer.

‘Run, horse, run!’ The phrase wove incessantly in and out of his head through the pounding progress of the exhausted and panic-stricken horse. Then there was no horse and no sound and he was moving alone through the darkness. All around were menace and fear. Voices called to him: his mother and father, Gryss, Marna, and poor, beaten Jeorg. But he could not understand what they said. And there were other voices too, alien and strange.