Roger Taylor - Farnor

‘No,’ he replied.

Gryss nodded resignedly and seemed to accept this answer as final, though Farnor sensed that in due course the incident would be returned to again. He knew Gryss’s persistence and patience of old. For the nonce, however, they walked on in companionable silence until they reached the top of the slope. Garren was sitting on a rocky outcrop waiting for them while Marna was wandering over towards the castle.

‘Go on,’ Gryss said to Farnor with a nod in her direc-tion. ‘Have a look while you’re here. It’s an interesting place and I doubt you’ll get much call to come up here in the normal course of events. Your father and I will see if we can spot our predator on its prowl.’

Farnor needed no urging and strode after Marna. Watching him, Gryss turned to Garren and spoke quietly.

‘Keep an eye on him,’ he said. ‘I’m not quite sure what happened when he fell over, and he seems to be deliberately keeping something from me.’

Concern then irritation crossed Garren’s face and he made as if to call after his son, but Gryss took his arm and directed his gaze back to the valley. ‘No, Garren,’ he said. ‘Leave him. He’s no child any more. He can’t be forced to do anything he doesn’t want to do, at least not without hurting both of you. If he’s choosing not to tell us something, then we’ll have to trust his judgement. But you just watch him. If he looks like wanting to talk, you look as if you want to listen. Man to man. A friend rather than a father.’

Garren looked unconvinced. ‘He’s child enough still,’ he said stiffly. ‘If he’s keeping something from you I can get it out of him.’

‘No,’ Gryss insisted. ‘Trust me in this, even if you can’t trust him. You’re too close to him to see what he’s become. He’s a good son, but you’ll find you’re dealing with someone near your equal if you try to lord it over him too much now. Besides, it may not be that impor-tant.’

Garren grimaced. ‘Well, what’s all the fuss about then?’ he said testily. ‘You suddenly telling me how to bring up my own boy.’ Then, almost immediately repenting his manner, he raised an apologetic hand. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me,’ he said. ‘I think seeing him go down like that must have upset me more than I thought.’ The look of concern returned. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’

Gryss sat down on the rock next to the farmer. ‘No,’ he said, wilfully using his healer’s authority. ‘I’m sure he isn’t…’

There was an implication in his voice. Garren waited, then voiced it himself.

‘But?’

Doubt came into the old man’s eyes. ‘There’s a strangeness in the air, Garren,’ he said. ‘I’ve sensed it ever since Farnor brought the news back about the sheep. And it seems to have been growing worse as the day’s passed.’

Garren frowned, unsettled by this down-to-earth elder talking almost like Yonas the Teller. ‘What do you mean – strangeness?’ he asked.

Gryss gesticulated vaguely. ‘There’s the extent of the damage that’s been done to the sheep for one thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite so bad before. And the dogs. They’ve scented something they really don’t want to meet.’

‘They’re not stupid,’ Garren said. ‘They can probably tell better than we can that it’s more than one dog and that they’re wild to boot. A chase and a kill is one thing. Risking getting hurt is another.’

Gryss shook his head. ‘That would make them nerv-ous, cautious. But you’ve been watching them. They grew quieter and quieter as we moved on, and when they smelled that fur…’ He turned to Garren, his eyes piercing underneath his scruffy hair. ‘They were really frightened. Half a chance and they’d have been back down the valley at the run.’

Under the old man’s gaze, Garren could not dis-agree.

‘And it’s not a pack, it’s one animal,’ Gryss added definitively as he turned back to look out over the valley.

Garren stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re very cer-tain all of a sudden,’ he said.

‘I’m very certain after some reflection,’ Gryss cor-rected. ‘I’ve been thinking about the size of the wounds in that sheep, and the way some of the big bones had been broken. It’s one animal, and it’s big.’

Still there was a hint of some unspoken concern in his voice that disturbed Garren.

‘And?’ he ventured, almost in spite of himself.

Gryss frowned, as if wrinkling his forehead would squeeze an answer out of his troublesome thoughts.

‘And there’s Rannick,’ he went on. ‘What was he doing so far up the valley the other day? And why did he go beyond? And where is he now?’

Garren shrugged. ‘You said yourself he’s irresponsi-ble,’ he offered. ‘Besides he knew Farnor would tell us.’

‘I said he was bad,’ Gryss corrected again. ‘And Farnor or not, it’s still out of character for him not to tell us. For one thing, he enjoys bringing bad news and for another hunting is one of the few things he does with anything approaching enthusiasm.’

‘He’s no great loss,’ Garren said dismissively.

‘Maybe,’ Gryss replied, half to himself. He fell silent and the sounds of the valley filled the warm air around the two men. Then he held out his hands and, looking at them, he seemed to reach a decision.

‘But it’s just one more… strangeness,’ he said.

The word unsettled Garren once more.

Gryss went on, purposeful now. ‘Farnor was holding that piece of fur when he fell over, and when I took it from him it gave me the shudders. For an instant I felt something bad… evil, almost.’

He appeared almost relieved, having spoken the words.

‘I felt nothing,’ Garren said, after an awkward si-lence.

‘It was only a brief impression, but it was very strong,’ Gryss said, adding, as if to a nervous patient, ‘I get similar flashes of certainty sometimes when I’m healing. I’ve always found it worthwhile to pay heed to them.’

The descent into explanation eased the tension that Garren had felt building within him, and, almost incongruously, he smiled. ‘What are you trying to say?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Gryss said. ‘I just have a feeling that there’s a lot more to this sheep-worrier than meets the eye and that we’ll have to be both craftier and more careful if we’re going to catch it. Much more careful.’

The words that Gryss had spoken a few days ago, when Farnor had first brought the news, returned to Garren. ‘Don’t send him out alone again, and don’t go out alone yourself.’ For a moment he touched on the depths of Gryss’s unease.

Wordless and indefinable though it might have been, it chilled him.

Marna patted the stone wall and, holding herself close to it, looked up at the ramparts above. Suddenly she gave a little cry and jumped back, lifting her hand protectively.

Farnor, standing some way away, laughed.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

Marna ignored the condescending taunt in his voice and beckoned him. ‘Come here, come here,’ she ordered. Then, seizing his arm, she dragged him forward and pushed him face first against the wall of the castle.

‘Look up, look up!’ she insisted.

A strong arm kept him pressed against the wall, but he managed to turn his head round to give her a look full of suspicion.

‘Up! Up!’ Marna said excitedly, pointing. Uneasily, Farnor did as he was told, gazing up the foreshortened perspective of the lichen-stained wall.

After a moment a cloud, brilliant white against the blue sky, passed overhead and began to disappear past the top of the wall. In direct imitation of Marna, Farnor let out a startled cry and jumped backwards as the wall seemed slowly but inexorably to lean forward towards him.