As Meirach started to flail his arms about in an attempt to free himself from the burning log, a gust of wind blew through the camp. The fire roared and flared violently, and flames, sparks and glowing embers blew in every direction. The men sitting and lying around the fire scattered in confusion, leaving only the fire itself and the thrashing figure of Meirach at the centre.
Then someone ran forward, hurled the struggling man to the ground and beat out the flames with a jacket. It was Storran.
The wind fell as quickly as it had arisen and the fire became quiet again.
Although the flames had been extinguished how-ever, Meirach was still rolling about on the ground, beating desperately at smouldering portions of his clothes. The laughter returned.
At last Meirach realized that he was free of his blaz-ing burden and he scrambled to his feet. His beard and eyebrows were singed and there were black smudges and red weals on his face that would doubtless become painful in due course, but apart from this he was remarkably undamaged. His appearance, however, made his indignation appear incongruous, and the laughter redoubled.
He spun round, glowering at his companions, then he fixed on Rannick. He levelled a hand at him and, his face contorted with rage, spoke rapidly and loudly in his own language.
The laughter faded.
‘What’s he saying?’ Rannick asked, nervously.
‘He’s saying that you did that,’ Yeorson answered after a moment.
‘Did what?’
‘Set fire to him,’ Yeorson replied irritably. His irrita-tion, however, was at Meirach, not Rannick. ‘Shut up, Meirach,’ he shouted above the man’s complaints. ‘It’s your own damn fault for sitting too near the fire. You’re lucky Storran bothered to put you out. I’d have left you there. It would’ve saved us collecting more firewood.’
Meirach swore at him. Without pause or comment Yeorson strode forward and, lifting his clenched fist high as if to strike a blow, swung his leg up and caught Meirach squarely in the stomach. The man doubled over and staggered back, but managed not to fall. Even through his pain he knew that to fall was to risk being kicked to death by this long, sneering individual who had been given charge over him.
Yeorson indeed seemed set to pursue just this course when he remembered the presence of Rannick. With a conspicuous effort he stepped back and returned to his position by the fire. ‘Go and clean yourself up, Meirach,’ he said. ‘And get the cook to put some grease on those burns. Nilsson’s going to be less than pleased if you go sick on us now.’
Several hands grabbed Meirach and dragged him away before he could compound his initial folly in abusing Yeorson. ‘Discipline has to be stern,’ Yeorson said to Rannick as he watched the departing figure. ‘That kind of carelessness and wild behaviour could get us all killed.’
‘How could I have moved that log?’ Rannick said, affecting still to be shocked at such a bizarre and impossible accusation. ‘I was nowhere near it. The fire collapsed. You saw it…’
Yeorson gazed skywards. A part of him wished dearly that Nilsson’s instructions no longer constrained him and that he could have pursued Meirach’s sugges-tion and roasted this dolt. A larger part, however, accepted both Nilsson’s reasoning and his cruel authority. And, too, a half-burned Meirach had been quite an amusing diversion.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘He was just looking for someone to blame for his own carelessness.’ Then, anxious to set the incident aside, he reverted to his original questioning. ‘Tell me again why we can’t head on to this… Great Forest in the north.’
Again, Rannick looked around nervously. ‘I told you before,’ he replied. ‘It’s dangerous. There are…’
Yeorson waved a hand to silence him. ‘I don’t want to hear about demons,’ he said. ‘We’ve all of us here seen some rare things in our time, things that’d chill your blood, but in the end they’ve all been in the shape of men, not fairy-tale monsters. Explain what you mean properly. We have to go ahead. Those are our orders. And I need to know what kind of dangers we’re likely to run into. Do you understand?’
‘I can’t explain like you want me to,’ Rannick said. ‘It’s not something you can see. It’s just dangerous. You can feel it in the air.’ Abruptly, he placed his hand on Yeorson’s arm affectionately. ‘Stay here,’ he said, his voice both pleading and full of enthusiasm. ‘Stay in the castle. There’s plenty of food in the valley for everyone and an easy life for you if you want.’
Yeorson was taken aback by this unexpected and oddly powerful appeal. He found himself staring open-mouthed at Rannick.
‘We can’t…’ he began.
Rannick’s grip tightened on his arm. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, you can. The valley’s very secluded. A good place for you.’ He pointed north. ‘There lies only danger and death. You mustn’t go.’
Yeorson yanked his arm free. Despite himself, he found that Rannick’s words had released images into his mind of a life of ease and comfort being tended by the villagers. He dashed it away. Too many vengeful shadows lay in the past for that to be a possibility, at least in this land. He became suddenly angry with this village oaf and his simplicity, his tales of demons and dangers and the Great Forest beyond. And fawning over him like some faithful dog, oblivious of the fact that he was alive only because of the word of a man he had never met and who wouldn’t scruple to snuff him out like a candle if the whim so took him.
Yet, he realized, there was something familiar about him. Something in his manner, his speech, his attitude? Something disturbing; sinister, even.
Rannick stood up. ‘I’ll go now,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the meat. Don’t go any further along the valley.’
There was menace in his voice. Clear and unmistak-able menace.
Once again, Yeorson found his mouth dropping open, but before he could speak Rannick was gone. Swift but unhurried strides had carried him beyond the range of the firelight and into the forest darkness.
Yeorson jumped to his feet and swore. ‘Bring him back!’ he shouted. ‘Bring him back!’
As several of the men ran off in the direction that Rannick had taken, Storran joined Yeorson. ‘Weird, some of these village people,’ he said. Then, his voluptuous mouth twisted in puzzlement. ‘He reminds me of someone, though.’
Yeorson nodded slowly in agreement. Someone.
But who?
The men had no success in finding Rannick. The forest was impenetrably black beyond the light of the fire, making the tangled undergrowth and low branches singularly dangerous.
‘Tomorrow,’ Yeorson said.
Later that night, when the men were asleep and the fire had fallen to a dull red mound, Yeorson remem-bered who it was that Rannick reminded him of.
He sat up suddenly, his heart racing and sweat start-ing from his brow.
Chapter 14
Yeorson roused the camp early the following day. He was in a foul mood, his night having been racked by grim and fearful dreams, and he had no hesitation in venting his ill humour indiscriminately amongst his men.
Noting his mood, most of the men knew from ex-perience that it was best to bear his conduct in silence. Meirach, however, opening his eyes to see his immediate neighbour being kicked awake, purposefully drew his knife from under his rough blanket and pointed it at his leader.
The two men held each other’s gaze. Meirach’s de-meanour radiated his clear intention, regardless of consequences, to skewer Yeorson if he chose to bring his bruising feet any closer. After a long moment, Yeorson snarled, ‘Shift yourself, Meirach, we’ve got work to do,’ and turned away.
Despite the blue sky overhead, indicative of another fine day ahead, the clearing was cold and damp, being sheltered from the sun by the lowering cliff face.
Wood was gathered and the fire rekindled. Its smoke, undisturbed by any breeze, slowly filled the clearing as a subdued, grumbling breakfast was cooked and eaten.