Roger Taylor - Farnor

His endeavours, though, left him ill at ease as he watched the crowd disperse into the night, pale faces fading into the gloom to become shadows through which flickered the lights of the lanterns and sunstones.

‘I feel as much a murderer as Rannick,’ he said softly to Harlen as he took his supporting hand and clambered off the table.

‘What do you mean?’ Harlen asked.

Gryss shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said sadly. ‘I just feel…’ He brought his two fists down on the table. ‘I feel like getting my old axe out, marching up to the castle and hacking my way through everything until I get to Rannick, regardless of what happens. And yet I tell them to be calm, to be thoughtful, to do nothing rash. I can’t help feeling that I’m betraying them. Continuing to betray them, in fact. Perhaps that’s what we should do. Trust the judgement of the youngsters. March up there and fight them.’

Harlen laid a hand on his shoulder, but made no comment.

Gryss had returned to his cottage with Yakob and Harlen and the battered and silent Farnor.

‘We’re all right,’ Gryss had said, by way of hasty reassurance to an alarmed Marna. ‘I’ll tell you every-thing in a moment.’

Then he had given Farnor a more thorough exami-nation than he had been able to do on the road and, finding he was only bruised, ordered him to stay at the cottage and rest.

‘I’ve got to arrange a Council meeting, then a village meeting,’ Gryss said to him, finally. ‘While you’re here, help Marna with Jeorg if you can.’ He put his hand to his brow as he spoke. ‘I’ll have to see Jeorg’s wife, too.’ He closed his eyes and blew out an unhappy breath at this remembrance, but no one volunteered to ease his burden.

Farnor ignored him except for a slight nod that some residual courtesy made him make, and Gryss’s face was taut with controlled impatience when he turned to Marna and gestured towards Jeorg’s room. ‘How’s he been?’ he asked.

‘He keeps waking up,’ Marna said. ‘I’ve been telling him what happened, but I don’t know how much he’s taken in.’

‘Was he distressed, agitated?’

‘Not particularly,’ Marna replied. ‘Not after I told him you’d heard what he said about Rannick.’ She smiled weakly. ‘He thought he might have been dreaming.’ Then she glanced at the room they had just left. ‘What’s the matter with Farnor?’ she asked, softly.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to pre-vent their trembling as Gryss told of Farnor’s beating at the hands of Nilsson, but she went pale as she heard about Rannick and his strange powers. Her only question, however, was about Farnor’s dark mood.

‘The beating he received was no light matter, Marna,’ Gryss replied. ‘He’ll be hurting badly, and feeling humiliated, degraded. But I think he’s the way he is because of his grief.’

Marna did not understand. ‘Why doesn’t he shout and scream, or cry or something?’ she said.

‘Grief takes everyone differently.’ Gryss grimaced anxiously. ‘To be honest, he’d be better if he did shout and scream. He’s penning too many things up inside himself.’ He shook his head. ‘It’ll do him no good. These things have to come out sooner or later, one way or another.’

He made a hasty gesture to forestall any further questions. ‘I haven’t much time, Marna. I’ll have to get this meeting arranged. Just talk to Farnor if he wants to talk. Failing that, leave him alone. Just be here.’

Thus, while Gryss was contending with the Council-lors and the villagers, Marna found herself sitting opposite Farnor by Jeorg’s bedside. Uncertain about the gloomy figure alone in the back room making no effort to light a lantern as darkness came on, she had asked him to help her lift Jeorg into a sitting position. Then to detain him she had forced herself to say, ‘Please stay with me, Farnor.’ She had not quite managed the plaintive tone she had intended, but Farnor was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be sensitive to such subtleties. Indeed, despite her concern for him, the look on his face as he sat down in response to this request brought an acid comment to her mouth which took her some effort to bite back.

The effects of Gryss’s sleeping draught having gradually worn off, Jeorg, though weak and in some pain, was sufficiently awake to note the tension in the room.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, looking first at Farnor and then Marna. ‘What’s happened?’

Farnor did not reply. Marna hesitated, uncertain what to say; she could not lie and she did not want to tell him the truth.

‘What’s happened?’ Jeorg asked again, his manner both insistent and anxious.

Finally, Marna took his bandaged hand and said, very softly, ‘Rannick and Nilsson have killed Garren and Katrin, and burned down the farm.’

Jeorg’s eyes widened in horror, then his face con-torted and his free hand came up to cover it. It was some time before he lowered it, and when he did his eyes were shining with tears. He reached out and laid his hand on Farnor’s shoulder, but Farnor brushed it aside. Marna squeezed Jeorg’s hand and shook her head, mouthing the words, ‘Leave him.’

Jeorg nodded. ‘This is awful,’ he said, quietly. ‘Gar-ren and Katrin. Murdered. I can’t believe it.’ He shook his head. ‘And yet I can, after what happened to me. If only I’d been more careful. I’d have been well on my way to the capital by now. Perhaps…’ His voice tailed off.

‘I don’t think it would have made any difference,’ Marna said. ‘We don’t even know why it happened. Farnor came back from the fields, and…’ Her voice fell. ‘Just found them. He went to find Rannick, but Nilsson did that to him.’ She nodded towards her silent companion.

Jeorg turned carefully to him. ‘You’re probably lucky to be alive,’ he said, simply. ‘As am I. I don’t know what’s happened to Rannick, but he’s a mad dog.’

‘He’ll be a dead one if I catch him alone,’ Farnor said, viciously, still staring fixedly ahead.

‘Don’t be stupid, Farnor,’ Marna hissed. ‘Jeorg’s right. You’re lucky to be alive after dashing into the castle like that.’

Farnor’s lip curled. ‘It wasn’t your parents he killed,’ he said, sourly. Marna bit her lip, and this time it was Jeorg who took her hand.

‘How long have I been asleep?’ Jeorg asked, to break the painful silence that ensued. Then, more anxiously, ‘Does my wife know what’s happened?’

‘About a day,’ Marna replied. ‘And no, your wife doesn’t know what’s happened yet. Gryss was going to see her after the Council meeting.’

Jeorg pulled a wry face, but the effort made him wince. ‘She’ll be here shortly then, I expect,’ he said, ruefully. ‘And I’ll be out of the fire and on to the anvil.’

In spite of herself, Marna smiled at his manner.

Then Farnor stood up and moved towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Marna asked.

‘Out,’ Farnor replied, tersely.

‘Gryss said you should stay here and rest,’ she shouted after the departing figure. There was no reply, and with an oath she ran after him.

She caught him at the door. ‘Gryss said you should stay,’ she said again, taking his arm.

Farnor screwed up his face as if he had just eaten something unpleasant, and wrenched open the door despite Marna’s restraining hand. ‘Gryss can go to hell,’ he said, brutally. ‘And so can you, Marna. Get out of my way. I’ve got things to do.’

Then he was limping out into the darkness.

Shocked by this outburst, Marna was unable to respond. It was not until she heard the clatter of hooves as he mounted one of the horses retrieved by Gryss and the others on their return that she found her voice.