Roger Taylor - Farnor

Motioning the new arrivals to one side, Nilsson opened his arms apologetically and smiled at Gryss. It was a real smile this time.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’ve been too long in the sad-dle, as you say, and tempers are not what they should be.’ He became confidential. ‘To be honest,’ he went on, lowering his voice, ‘we weren’t quite sure where we were. There aren’t many…’ He snapped his fingers in search of the word. ‘Maps… of this part of the country, and we’ve had considerable difficulty finding our way here.’

Gryss smiled back relieved, but still did not move until Nilsson guided him through the door and out into the courtyard. It was almost deserted now, and Gryss’s horse had been tethered to a post by the door.

Nilsson opened the wicket door for him. ‘Would you like an escort back to your farm… Har Grysstson?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you, Captain,’ Gryss replied. ‘It’s a clear night and, unlike yourself, I’m lucky enough to know where I am.’

With an effort he mounted and, nodding a farewell to the Captain, urged his horse forward. As he heard the door close behind him he felt as if a great burden had been lifted from him. He had not realized how oppres-sive the atmosphere in the castle had been.

Looking down the valley, he saw the sunstone shin-ing on top of the tithe barn. He halted his horse and gazed at it for some time. Then he half turned and looked back at the castle. Once familiar yet mysterious, it seemed now to have been totally transformed. The familiar had become alien. The mysterious, haunted and fearful.

He closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. He was tense. Too much had happened today. Far too much.

When he opened his eyes, the tithe barn sunstone again filled his vision. He looked at the bright, hopeful light of the Dalmastide symbol. The light that had meant so much to him and, indeed, the whole valley for so long.

Now he found himself wishing only for darkness to cover and protect the valley and his people.

‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at, Halfvrin? First bringing him here and then letting him go like that!’

The complaint came from the man who minutes previously had seized Gryss’s arm to prevent him leaving: Arven Dessane. He was shorter than Nilsson and of a similar, heavy build, though where there was a stillness about Nilsson there was a restless nervousness about Dessane.

Nilsson stared at him coldly. ‘More to the point, Dessane, what the devil were you doing grabbing hold of him like that?’ His voice was low and full of menace, and Dessane edged back. He managed to maintain some of his defiance, however. ‘I was trying to stop him leaving,’ he replied bluntly. ‘The last thing we want is news getting out about us being here.’

Nilsson’s teeth glinted an unhealthy yellow in the dying torchlight. He let out an audible breath in which weariness just overcame anger, and pushed past Dessane to head back towards the building housing his exhausted men. ‘How you’ve survived this long defies me,’ he said. He stopped and turned to face Dessane. ‘Didn’t you learn anything from our late unlamented leader? Didn’t you learn to watch and listen and wait? To smile and keep your knife up your sleeve?’

‘Much good his plotting and scheming did him in the end,’ came the unhesitating reply. Dessane’s tone became scornful. ‘And don’t you go pretending you’re like him, or have you suddenly found the secret of his special kind of protection?’ He made a disparaging noise. ‘You’ll get us all killed, wandering off like that and bringing strangers back to spy on us. We should keep things simple. Strong arms and sharp steel. That’s all we’ve got, that’s all we need and that’s all we should bother ourselves with.’

Nilsson clenched his fists and seemed to be giving serious consideration to striking his companion. Instead he leaned towards him, like a huge swaying tree. ‘Really?’ he said caustically. ‘An elegant and perceptive analysis. I hadn’t appreciated that you had such a subtle grasp of our position. How fortunate I took the others with me for a little pleasant company when I went out looking for a healer. There’d probably have been enough of us to deal with anything untoward that we ran into, or don’t you think so?’ Dessane held his ground, but only with difficulty in the face of this viciously soft onslaught. ‘But, fortunately, it wasn’t necessary, was it?’ Nilsson went on. ‘We found no ambushes, no spies, no…’ He paused significantly. ‘… pursuers. Just a lad out with his dogs and a healer visiting a friend.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps I made a mistake: thinking, planning, like our erstwhile leader did.’ He pointed to the wicket door. ‘You go after the old man. Cut his throat before he gets back to that farm. I doubt he rides fast.’ Then his rage came through. ‘And see where that gets us. The whole valley up in arms and us stuck up the wrong end of it while they’re raising the entire countryside.’

‘We can seal the valley and deal with a few villagers easily enough,’ Dessane replied defensively.

‘With what, you donkey?’ Nilsson hissed. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘It may have escaped your attention, but we’ve virtually no food left and damn near a third of our men are too sick and exhausted almost to mount, let alone fight. That’s why we stopped at this place when we found it, if you can remember that far back, and why I went looking for a healer. And you’d kill him. In one stroke make sure the men would get no proper treatment and start a war they couldn’t fight. Brilliant.’

His tone was withering, and Dessane made no re-sponse for some time, though, momentarily, his eyes blazed. The fire faded however, and when he spoke his manner was defeated and sulky. ‘Even so, I don’t like the idea of that old man knowing we’re here and that we’re so weak,’ he said. ‘He could be sending messengers right now.’

Satisfied that his companion was subdued, Nilsson became conciliatory. ‘Look, you’re nearly as tired as that lot in there. You’re not thinking. Where would he send his messengers to? We haven’t seen another village in days, let alone a town with a garrison. This place is the back of beyond. I’ll wager no one’s been out of this valley in years, nor anyone visited it except the odd tinker. And why should he send for help? What have we done? Nothing. Rode quietly through the village, that’s all.’

Dessane was still unsettled. ‘We broke into this place,’ he said. ‘And it’s been a major garrison fort at some time, judging by the size of it.’

‘Once. Maybe,’ Nilsson agreed. ‘But you saw the state of that road.’ He waved an arm around the courtyard. The last torch had guttered out, and the cold moonlight gave the ancient walls a sepulchral look. ‘And every lock we’ve come across in this place is rusted solid. I wouldn’t be surprised to find most of the roofs rotted through when we see them in daylight. This place hasn’t been used in decades.’ He came close to Dessane and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘If need had arisen, I was going to tell him that we’d had to break in because of our sick men.’ He tapped his head and bared his teeth again. ‘But if you’d watch and listen, like I said, instead of reaching for your knife every time you see a stranger, you’d learn.’ He paused. ‘He didn’t even seem surprised about us being here. He even suggested that we stay on for a few days. Said they could come to an arrangement about some food for us. That’s all we need. Food and rest and we’ll be on our feet again. If we make no trouble here then we can slip away quietly along the valley on to pastures new and it’ll be years before anyone finds out about where we’ve gone.’