Roger Taylor: Valderen

Questions still tumbled around Edrien’s mind, but she gave voice to none of them. After a moment she said conspiratorially, ‘Should I go after him quietly? Keep an eye on him?’

Derwyn smiled and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Leave him be.’ He stood up briskly, slapping his knees loudly with both hands as he did so, to signal an end to the debate. ‘What you can do though, is go and see if that young man’s awake yet, and if he is, bring him to my room. He’s at the heart of this business, and I think it’s time we called him to account.’

Farnor started awake at the sudden light. As he made to sit up however, pains throughout his body forced him down on to the bed again immediately. He let out a noisy breath.

‘I’m sorry, did I startle you?’

Carefully Farnor turned his head in the direction of the voice. Gradually his eyes focused on a young woman. She was holding a small lantern which seemed to be the only source of light in the room.

If room it was, he thought, as his eyes adjusted fur-ther. For there were no familiar beams over his head, no windows, nor even, for that matter, flat walls and straight corners. With a cautious effort, he levered himself up on to his elbows and gazed around, his companion momentarily forgotten.

The chamber proved to be roughly circular and the walls rose up and curved inwards to become a crudely domed ceiling. What held Farnor’s attention, however, was not the unusual shape of the room but the fact that both walls and ceiling were decorated with dark, shadowy lines that twisted and curved and wound about one another in what seemed to be a completely random pattern. He recalled from the haze of the immediate past that at one point he had imagined himself to be in a cave. But this was no cave. At least, not one such as he had ever known. It was warm and dry and fresh smelling and, despite the peculiar walls and ceiling, it had almost a homely air about it. And the bed was wonderfully comfortable.

He stared at the walls intently, following the twisting lines up and over and down again until he found that he was looking at the wall immediately by his bed. The light grew brighter and the lines began to cast shadows. Tentatively he reached out and touched one of them. ‘They’re like roots,’ he said softly, in amazement. ‘Tree roots.’

A laugh made him recall his visitor. Just in time, he remembered to move slowly as he turned around. The woman had moved closer to his bed and was holding the lantern high in order to help him with his inspection of the wall. Her thin face was full of laughter. ‘Of course they’re tree roots,’ she said. ‘What else did you expect to see down here? Rooks’ nests?’ She laughed again.

For an instant Farnor felt indignant at this response, but his indignation crumbled before the confusion and bewilderment that suddenly rushed in upon him. He covered his eyes with his hands and slowly lay back on the bed.

‘Are you all right?’ the young woman asked, anxious now.

Farnor nodded. ‘I was just hoping that I was dream-ing,’ he replied.

‘No, you’re not dreaming,’ came the response, with flat simplicity. ‘Why should you be?’

Farnor scowled and, removing his hands from his eyes, turned towards his questioner. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, none too politely.

‘Edrien,’ came the answer, brusquely echoing his tone. ‘Can you get up? My father wants to see you.’

‘And who’s he?’ Farnor demanded.

Edrien’s eyebrows rose. ‘His name is Derwyn,’ she replied, with studied calmness. ‘He’s the Second of this lodge. And it was he who said you had to be looked after. If I were you, I’d be prepared to answer questions rather than ask them. Are you well enough to get up, or not?’

Farnor nodded, then grimaced as the general throb-bing of his body concentrated itself suddenly in his head. ‘Yes, I can get up,’ he said. ‘But only slowly, I think.’ Gingerly he eased himself upright and prepared to swing his legs out of the bed. Then he stopped abruptly and peered under the blankets. When he looked up, he was wide-eyed. ‘Where are my clothes?’ he asked, urgently.

Edrien flicked a glance towards a nearby chair where Farnor saw his clothes, neatly stacked.

‘Could you pass them, please?’ he asked with awk-ward politeness.

Edrien scowled. ‘I’m not your servant, boy,’ she said, heatedly. But she gathered up the clothes and tossed them to him.

‘Thank you,’ he said weakly. Then he looked at her expectantly.

‘What now?’ she demanded.

‘I want to get dressed,’ he replied, making a vague gesture to the effect that perhaps she might leave him, or at least turn around.

Edrien cast an impatient glance towards the ceiling, and turned round. ‘I don’t know who you imagine helped to get you into that bed last night,’ she said stiffly. ‘Or helped Bildar with his examination.’

Farnor made no reply, but he coloured violently as he hastily struggled into his clothes.

‘I’m ready now,’ he said eventually.

‘Splendid,’ Edrien replied caustically. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a satchel over your head when you speak to my father, in case he looks at you?’

‘Now, listen…’

‘This way,’ Edrien continued, cutting short his at-tempted rejoinder. It was fortunate that she led the way, as Farnor doubted that he could even have found the door, which lay amid the tangle of roots and was as irregular in shape as the rest of the room. Following Edrien through it, he found himself in a narrow corridor, the walls and ceiling of which were also lined with roots. He had little time to look around however, as Edrien was motioning him forward busily. After a short but rather steep upwards journey they reached another door. Edrien threw it open, and Farnor raised his arm to protect his eyes from the bright sunlight that flooded in.

Edrien doused the lantern and placed it on a shelf by the door. Then she took Farnor’s arm firmly and pushed him towards the door. ‘Come on,’ she said.

Eyes screwed tight, Farnor found himself in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by trees. Closing the door, Edrien marched off again, with another, ‘Come on.’

‘Where am I?’ Farnor asked, as he caught up with her.

‘I told you. My father’s lodge,’ came the unhelpful reply. Before he could inquire further however, they had reached the edge of the clearing. Edrien stopped by a huge oak. ‘Boys first,’ she said, holding out her hand. Farnor did not notice the taunt in her voice, but turned to see a ladder fastened to the trunk of the tree. As his eyes followed it upwards, it tapered giddily until it was eventually lost in the foliage.

He returned his gaze to the waiting Edrien, and pointed a questioning finger up the ladder. The impatience on Edrien’s face faded, to be replaced momentarily by concern. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Farnor replied hastily, then, clearing his throat, he asked awkwardly, ‘Does your father live up a tree?’

The impatience returned. ‘Of course he does,’ Edrien replied, crossly. ‘Where else would he live, for pity’s sake?’ She stepped past him. ‘Here, follow me.’

Farnor watched in amazement as she clambered effortlessly up the long ladder, for the most part taking two rungs with each step. Hesitantly he started after her. Having, in the past, helped to build ricks and barns and repair wind-damaged roofs, Farnor was not unduly disturbed by either heights or ladders, but this was the first vertical ladder he had climbed and he soon began to feel alarmingly exposed. Despite being aware that his progress was becoming painfully slow, he made no effort to emulate Edrien’s light-footed ascent but concentrated instead on ensuring that he had a good hand grip and both feet on each rung before taking the next step.