‘North, gentlemen,’ he said briskly. ‘No choice. But I trust your judgement in this matter. I always have, you know that. You’ve spared us problems enough in the past with your ability to judge the whims and fancies of…’ His voice faltered. ‘Of our previous leader.’
The atmosphere in the room grew suddenly chilly and for a moment Nilsson appeared reluctant, or unable, to continue. It was as if the memories that this inadvertent reference invoked were so powerful that they forbade the very existence of the present. With an effort, he recovered his composure and continued.
‘So I accept there’s a problem in the north of this valley that we must contend with.’ He became increas-ingly businesslike. ‘And to contend with it, we need to know what it is. Which is why I sent you out in the first place.’ He waved his hand to forestall any protests. ‘But I accept that what happened left you no alternative but to come back.’
Both Yeorson and Storran breathed out silently.
‘But what did happen?’ he mused. It was a rhetorical question and not an invitation to repeat the telling. ‘Meirach first got himself burned, then got himself lost. ‘Storran couldn’t find this…’ He snapped his fingers for the name.
‘Rannick,’ Yeorson supplied dutifully.
‘Rannick,’ Nilsson echoed. ‘And finally you find a mauled horse. A badly mauled horse. This is so?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ Yeorson confirmed, cautiously.
Nilsson nodded. ‘Overlying all of which is your and Storran’s general… unease about the place,’ he went on. ‘Though this has not really manifested itself in any tangible way so far. This, too, is so?’
‘Everything was unusual, Captain,’ Yeorson said, almost unwillingly, a tic beginning to flicker beneath his left eye. ‘Meirach’s burning and then his disappearance, Rannick’s manner, the damage done to the horse…’
‘True,’ Nilsson said. ‘But, equally, a camp fire burn-ing is a camp fire burning. Hardly an unusual occurrence. Meirach could have gone down with a fever in the night. From what you tell me he was lucky not to have been burned far worse, and he was obviously in a rare state to draw a knife on you when you woke him, wasn’t he?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Then a local man, meeting strangers – King’s men, as he thinks – and, reasonably expecting hospitality, is threatened with a roasting no less. Very wisely he runs away at the first possible opportunity and subsequently makes damn sure you can’t follow him by laying a false trail.’ He smiled. ‘And, good trackers though you might be, he was a hunter and on his own territory.’
He stretched his extended leg and eased his chair back a little further. ‘And finally we have a mauled horse.’ His brow furrowed slightly. ‘I seem to remember that healer-cum-headman… Gryss… mentioning something about sheep being worried. I’ll lay odds it’s nothing more than a big hunting dog gone rogue, or maybe even a pack of dogs. You know how vicious they can be. And if Meirach was with the horse, and feverish, when it or they attacked, he was probably up a tree and away like a frightened squirrel. Hence no tracks.’ He turned to Yeorson and Storran again. ‘This could be so?’ he said, a hint of menace seeping back into his voice.
‘Yes,’ Yeorson conceded. ‘But we found no animal tracks. Certainly no evidence of a pack…’
‘No buts,’ Nilsson commanded. ‘That’s the way it was as far as the men are concerned. Is that clear?’
Yeorson was still uncertain.
‘I’m not dismissing your concerns,’ Nilsson said, swinging his leg down. ‘Perhaps there is a savage dog wandering about out there but we can contend with that, for pity’s sake. What we have to concern ourselves with now is the fact that the men will be nervous and unhappy about what’s happened, not least because we’ve apparently had to abandon one of our own, and you know how they feel – how we all feel – about that. But I don’t want their alarm aggravated by tales of mysterious forces at work in the woods. Some of them have never recovered from seeing what…’
Again he faltered and an unease seemed to fill the room. ‘From what they’ve seen in the past,’ he managed eventually. ‘And it’s not in our interests to feed such memories.’
He paused as if waiting for comments, though his eyes forbade any.
‘So we must confine ourselves to simple practicali-ties,’ he went on. ‘You two will take another patrol north tomorrow. Same men as before and as many again.’
Dismay filled Yeorson’s face and Storran’s eyes became smaller than ever at this news, but Nilsson ignored their silent protest.
‘You’ll tell the men you’re going out again to do two, maybe three, things,’ he continued. ‘You’re going to find Meirach who’s probably sick. You’re perhaps going to hunt the animal that killed the horse but mainly you’re going to get through the valley and see what lies to the north.’ He stood up and, resting on the table, he loomed over the two men as ominously as the great rock face had done earlier that same day. ‘And get through you will, if you’ve got to cut down every tree that stands in your way.’
‘What about this Rannick?’ Yeorson asked.
‘If you come across him deal with him as the fancy takes you,’ Nilsson replied. ‘But don’t leave any evidence that could cause problems back here; the silence of these villagers is important. It’s as good as having a regiment guarding our rear.’ He levelled an emphatic finger at the two men. ‘And don’t waste any time searching for him. You’ve more pressing matters to attend to than chasing some village oaf who’s probably safely back in his hovel by now.’
Nilsson’s tone precluded any further debate and the two men rose to leave just as Saddre entered the room.
‘They look less than pleased,’ he said, as the door closed behind them.
‘How are the men?’ Nilsson asked, disregarding the comment.
Saddre scratched his cheek. ‘Not good,’ he said. ‘No one’s happy about Meirach being left, especially with this horse-killing animal on the loose.’
Nilsson nodded. ‘And?’ he prompted, detecting re-luctance in Saddre’s voice.
‘And this Rannick seems to have… unsettled them,’ Saddre said, eventually.
‘In what way?’ Nilsson asked.
Saddre’s eyes moved about the room almost frantic-ally. ‘Some of them say he reminds them of…’ He stopped and his eyes finally came to rest on Nilsson’s in mute appeal. Nilsson did not press him.
Very quietly, but with that menacing purpose that had made him the leader of these men, he reached out to calm this seething unease and to crush any rebellion before it found shape.
‘I will attend to Rannick myself,’ he said.
Garren Yarrance looked up in surprise as the sound of the dogs in the yard reached him. The insistence of their barking told him that someone was coming.
Farnor, however, was first to the door, throwing it open and stepping out into the yard almost before Garren could hoist himself from his comfortable chair.
He ordered the dogs to silence as the shape of a horseman appeared at the gate. The barking fell to a rumbling growling.
‘It’s the Captain,’ Farnor said to his father, who was standing in the lighted doorway.
The rider was leaning forward and struggling with the latch on the gate. ‘I’ll do it for you,’ Garren called, striding forward. ‘It’s a little awkward until you get the knack of it, and that’s a big horse you’re on.’
‘It’s all right,’ Nilsson shouted back, abandoning his task. ‘I was only calling on you to find out where Gryss lives.’
‘I’ll show you,’ Farnor said, before his father could speak. ‘I’ll come with you if you want. It’ll be difficult for you at night.’
Nilsson hesitated for a moment then looked inquir-ingly at Garren.
‘It will be easier in the dark if he’s with you,’ Garren said. ‘Have you someone sick again?’
Nilsson, taken aback by this unexpected concern, frowned before almost stammering out, ‘No… I need to talk to him about… a tithe matter.’
‘So late?’ Garren remarked, with undisguised sur-prise.
Nilsson managed a smile. ‘I’m used to city hours,’ he said.
Garren chuckled. ‘Gryss isn’t,’ he said.