Roger Taylor - Farnor

Then he straightened up and continued with the air of an academic carefully following a line of reasoning to a satisfactory conclusion. ‘And why else should Nilsson and his lost band of men turn into this of all valleys but to serve my ends?’

Gryss remained silent.

Rannick looked down at his hands. ‘And why should Garren have provoked me so needlessly?’ His eyes fixed Gryss’s again. ‘Why should he have elected to provoke me and thus die by my hand?’ He curled his fingers so that they looked like talons, then he stretched them out fully and Gryss could feel the tension radiating from his whole body.

‘So many questions, Gryss. So many questions.’ Rannick bent forward and his voice became intense. ‘But only one answer. All this was so that as I made Garren learn what it meant to oppose me, so Katrin would make her sacrilegious assault on me and so, thus, I too would come to a great learning. I would see beyond the totality of my learning thus far. See that it was merely a key to a greater knowledge, a greater strength, a greater power.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘I would be transfigured.’

Sickened and frightened, Gryss could not move away from Rannick even though his arm was no longer held.

‘Watch,’ Rannick commanded softly.

Gryss felt the air about him come alive with a tin-gling, unpleasant energy, as though a thunderstorm were about to break. He braced himself for yet another assault by the wind that seemed to guard this place, but instead he found himself trying to focus on a vague, luminous shape that had appeared in front of Rannick. Involuntarily, he made to step back, but Rannick caught his arm and restrained him.

‘Watch,’ Rannick said again.

Gryss could do no other, so hypnotic was the eerie, dancing light growing in intensity before him. Then there came the fearful screeching that had filled the Yarrance farmyard, and the vague, shifting light became bright, flickering flames. They wove and twisted around one another, merging and separating like sensuous dancers, until they formed a tall column that rose high above the castle walls. The men in the courtyard retreated, as did Harlen and Yakob. Only Nilsson held his ground.

Gryss could feel a heat beating on his face that was worse than any he had ever known. It seemed to him that even the village blacksmith’s forge would be as a cool stream after this.

He looked at his captor. Rannick’s eyes were glisten-ing in the light, the two tiny columns of flames reflected there seemed to be burning in the heart of the man.

‘This is the merest token,’ Rannick said. ‘Such knowledge I now have. So much more shall I gain. Now I am truly on the golden road to my destiny.’

Every part of Gryss’s body was now shaking. What-ever he had thought about Rannick since Jeorg’s whispered message, his worst visions had been nothing compared to the reality of the power and the will that was being shown to him here. He knew that he should fall on the man and destroy him somehow before Nilsson or his men could interfere. He could do it; he was near enough. A swift lunge with his knife and he could sever the monster’s windpipe. But he knew too that he could not. He knew that with such terror possessing him his hand would not obey any command it received, nor his feet, nor any part of him.

And yet something must be done!

Then he felt Rannick start.

The flames were faltering.

A flicker of anger passed over Rannick’s face to be replaced almost immediately by an expression betoken-ing enormous effort.

Yet still the flames waned; slowly, but quite percep-tibly.

Sweat formed on Rannick’s brow.

Gryss willed himself to absolute silence and turned away from Rannick in an attempt to make himself wholly insignificant. If Rannick was about to fail at the heart of this monstrous boast, then his wrath would be appalling and could fall on anyone at the least provoca-tion.

Rannick began to breathe heavily.

Gryss forced words into his mouth. Words that might perhaps enable Rannick to end this display without loss of face. ‘Your power is magnificent, Lord,’ he gasped. ‘Truly awesome. I’d never have thought to…’

But above his words and above the noise of the flames a faint, distant sound drifted into the courtyard. It was a terrible, nerve-shredding sound; a howling. It might have been a wolf or some wild feline, but it was both and neither. It was agonized and unnatural; an animal noise, but full of all-too-human malevolence.

It was the creature, Gryss’s reason told him; no animal he had ever known would have made such a sound. But he needed no logic; the ancient knowledge in every fibre of his body cried out in response to the sound.

He found his gaze turning back to the flames. They burned less powerfully than before, and a bloody tinge tainted them. Further, there was an aura of struggling effort about them. He was aware of Rannick at the edge of his vision. His face reflected the struggle, grim-shadowed in the light of the flames and glistening with sweat.

It gave Gryss no reassurance to realize that Rannick was not simply struggling to maintain an impressive illusion, but that he was locked in combat with some other power.

Some other will…

Rescued by Gryss’s intervention, Farnor leaned heavily on Harlen’s shoulder. Some remnant of childish pride suppressed any outward expression of the inner turmoil that was racking him except for his arm clutched about his stomach and his mouth held tightly shut. Somehow it was enough to keep him from sinking to his knees and crying out at the pain and the fear; crying out for his father to come and take him away from this awful place, and the determined cruelty that had been let loose upon him; crying out for his father to make all well with the looming figure of Captain Nilsson… He was sure that he and the big man could become friends and end this misunderstanding. Reproachful inner voices reminding him that it was Nilsson who had killed his parents were, for the nonce, lost beneath the pain.

Indeed, the pain and the effort that he was making to restrain this howling inner plea rendered him almost oblivious to everything that was happening around him.

He could hear familiar voices; disputing, perhaps? But they were distant and unclear and there was nothing in them to draw him from his cocoon of pain.

Until a peculiar unease disturbed him. An unease that was beyond himself. And, like the voices, it was familiar. How long had it been there?

Then it was all about him.

Now here, now gone; elusive. Flickering and intan-gible, it seemed to dance through and about him. Its touch was foul. A faint memory returned to him.

A memory of the creature, ferocious and cruel. A memory of Rannick. A memory of the torrent of unrestrained emotion that had rolled over him as he had fled across the fields to find his parents slain and his home destroyed.

And they were all one. Brought together in a loath-some totality that had somehow ripped its way into this place where it did not belong.

And then the memories were gone. Swept aside by something stirring deep within him, as if from a long sleep; something like a faint, distant light. And then it was reaching out and forbidding this intrusion.

The unease faltered and shifted, and then trembled.

Then a will emerged to sustain it.

Rannick’s will! Farnor’s mind thought faintly.

Or the creature’s!

It did not matter.

The light that had come from within him flared and, like a predator finding its prey, it assailed this opposi-tion.

Somewhere, the merest mote, Farnor watched, help-less, floating in a place that was both here and not here; aware of his beaten body, full of pain and fear and leaning still on Harlen, but unburdened by it; aware that the battle that had just been engaged had been at his will, though it was quite beyond his control.