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.
‘Farnor, where are you going?’ she called into the night. But it was to no avail. The only reply was the sound of the hooves gathering speed.
She slammed the door shut and, turning, nearly tripped over the dog. ‘Shift, damn you,’ she snapped, as she staggered past it.
‘What’s he doing?’ Jeorg asked, trying to lever him-self out of the bed as she returned to his room.
Marna’s face was a mixture of rage and distress, and she was on the verge of tears. ‘I don’t know, the stupid sod,’ she blurted out. ‘And you stay where you are.’ An angry finger shot out purposefully at Jeorg, and he stopped his attempted escape. ‘There’ll be enough trouble with that idiot wandering the countryside trying to get himself killed without you getting up too soon. You can wait for your wife to arrive… or Gryss.’
Jeorg lay back, not unrelieved to be the butt of Marna’s anger. He could feel the terror of his treatment by Nilsson and Rannick receding a little, but his hasty movement had heightened the weakness and pain that pervaded his body.
‘He’ll be all right,’ he said, in an attempt to comfort Marna. ‘He’s a sensible lad at heart.’
Marna shook her head. ‘They killed his parents, Jeorg. For no reason. Just killed them. It’s done something to him. You saw how he was. I think it’s driven him crazy. I think he’s probably riding back up to the castle right now.’ Her face twisted in pain. ‘They’ll kill him for sure this time. I should have stopped him.’
‘Don’t be silly, Marna,’ Jeorg tried again. ‘You couldn’t have stopped him. And anyway, he won’t be crazy enough to go back for another beating off Nilsson, believe me.’ He winced as a casual movement brought him another unexpected pain. ‘He probably needed to be alone. Perhaps he wanted to cry. Knowing Farnor, that’d be difficult for him in front of you.’
Marna sat down heavily in the chair that she had occupied for much of the day and, leaning forward, put her head in her hands. Her mind was awash with swirling, nameless fears and with images of Farnor alone in the darkness, and of Rannick, crazed and powerful, and, most sinister of all, though she had not thought about it for some time, images of the strange, savage creature that linked both men.
Farnor rode through the darkness. The moon gave some light, but the horse had sufficient sense to ignore the urgings of its rider and proceeded at a steady trot.
Each jolting step racked Farnor’s beaten frame, but for a while he was oblivious to it. His whole being was still consumed by a black, driving desire to confront and destroy Rannick. On his immediate return with Gryss and the others, he had been struggling with the fear and humiliation that he had suffered during his beating by Nilsson. The humiliation in particular had risen to dominate him as the immediate pain of the beating had begun to fade. Its roots seemed to go deeper even than the cringing childishness to which he had been reduced and, as Gryss had surmised, he felt degraded in a way that he would never have imagined possible.
But, in its turn, this too had faded, or, rather, been overwhelmed as a terrible urging had arisen to seek out the source of this horror and destroy it. It, too, seemed to come from some depths beyond his awareness, if not from somewhere quite beyond him.
Yet, as Jeorg had declared, Farnor was a sensible lad at heart and gradually the complaints of his body began to force their way through his dark passion, bringing with them shadows of the fear and humiliation once more. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk. His hand went to his belt; the knife that had killed his mother was still there. More humiliation – Nilsson had considered him too trifling an opponent even to be disarmed while he was beating him.