Yet at the same time as he confirmed this he recalled that even his erstwhile lord had had need of lieutenants and advisers, indeed there had been a huge hierarchy of lesser men to implement much of his will. And when he had been drawn to rely too greatly on his power, then he had been thwarted by the lesser servants of other lords. And, Nilsson knew now, powerful though he might be, Rannick was not remotely the equal of his former lord. He would have an even greater need of others to implement any plans he might have. And plans he would have, as sure as fate.
Once again Nilsson found himself torn between different ambitions. The one: to pursue his present, meandering aimless existence, effectively a fugitive from his past, and dependent on his ability to manipulate his men to his will, through both superior intellect and physical force, and his ability to turn circumstances to his own ends. The other: to take up again his quest for power and wealth by serving in the train of another, far greater.
A vista of endless wandering opened before him, with its inexorable conclusion, the gradual loss of his authority, or the retribution of others, and some weary, lonely death. It was a vision that he had contemplated many times before in his quieter, darker moments, and one that he had resolutely turned his face away from.
Things would change, he knew. Things always did, if you kept your wits about you and your sword sharp.
And they had again! he realized. His journeying so far had been but a preparation for this moment. His vision of the future changed and took him towards the wealth and power he had always coveted. Took him beyond this life of little more than miserable banditry, and far beyond the vengeful reach of his past. And, his thoughts gathering a momentum of their own, perhaps it might even take him to re-conquer what had been lost. To expunge the past!
He felt his whole body alive with exhilaration. Yet his soldier’s instincts kept his feet solidly on the ground, for drawn along with these bright whirling thoughts was a small, dark one which whispered, coldly, ‘Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst, I can kill this one.’
‘You’ve come,’ he said prosaically, moving to one side and extending an inviting arm to the open wicket. Rannick stepped through it.
Inside he gazed around the courtyard, first at the towers and other buildings and then at the men, who were staring at him.
Like a breeze unfelt below but rustling through the leaves of the trees above, a whisper hissed around the courtyard, and with it came a slight stirring.
‘It’s him!’
One or two edged towards him, torn between Nils-son’s commands and the vengeful gossip that had returned with the patrol and which demanded immedi-ate action.
The look on Nilsson’s face stopped them.
Rannick affected to ignore the threat he had been offered. ‘You spoke well,’ he said to Nilsson. ‘I am indeed better as your friend than your enemy. And my… local… knowledge, as you call it, is indeed remark-able.’
Nilsson could not keep the surprise from his face. He glanced up at the high, solid wall surrounding them. ‘How did you hear what I said?’ he asked bluntly, without thinking.
Rannick made no response, but gazed around the courtyard again, and at the men still held back by Nilsson’s will. Then he spoke as if there had been no interruption. ‘And while this is a good beginning, it is a small one and it would be a shame to waste the lives of any of your men needlessly.’
Nilsson felt the menace in the words but knew that he must assert himself without delay if he was to achieve the position he desired in his proposed partnership.
‘They listen to me and obey me because I advise them well,’ he said. ‘But they’ve other loyalties, and not least among these is a battlefield obligation to collect their dead and wounded and to rescue anyone who’s been taken prisoner.’
Rannick smiled at the motley collection of men who were watching him. ‘And they… you… need to know the fate of their comrade, Meirach?’ he said.
‘If it’s… an honourable one,’ he said after a pause, adding in a lowered voice, ‘If it isn’t, then a lie will be the simplest expedient.’
Rannick nodded slightly, then held up a hand for silence. The quiet that fell across the courtyard was almost tangible, until…
‘Someone’s coming.’
It was the sentry who had been so anxious to exon-erate himself for failing to notice the arrival of Rannick.
‘That’s a good man up there,’ Nilsson said to Ran-nick. ‘Why didn’t he see you?’
‘Local knowledge, Captain,’ Rannick replied, smiling darkly. ‘Local knowledge.’ He chuckled to himself, then nodded towards the gate. ‘Let your visitor in,’ he said.
Nilsson signalled to the gate guard to open the wicket again and all eyes were turned towards it, bright in the shade of the gate arch. A figure was silhouetted in it briefly, before emerging into the light of the yard.
It was Meirach. And his face and hands were clear of their burns. He grinned broadly and threw out his arms as if he were returning from a great victory.
The silence was shattered as the men, turning their attention from Nilsson and Rannick, began advancing on the new arrival, cheering and shouting.
Yeorson ran with the others, but paused as he passed Rannick and Nilsson. ‘What’s happened to his hands and face?’ he asked. ‘The burns?’
Nilsson shrugged and flicked a glance at Rannick. ‘Maybe later,’ he said. Yeorson nodded hesitantly and went on to push his way through the throng moving to greet Meirach.
Nilsson caught Rannick’s eye. ‘I’m glad to see him,’ he said.
Rannick pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘It was a close thing. Captain. Scarcely a hair’s breadth in my thinking when I decided to let him live.’
Nilsson, emboldened by this confidence, risked a venture. ‘The horse, Lord…?’ he began.
Rannick’s slight intimacy vanished like a candle flame snuffed out by a winter wind. ‘Is a forbidden matter,’ he said. The voice cut through Nilsson, and his chest went tight.
‘As you wish… Lord,’ he said. He was about to apologize for his effrontery, but decided against it when he noted a flicker of a response from Rannick at the word ‘Lord’. That would be enough concession for the moment.
Nevertheless, if anything else was eaten in the woods he wasn’t going to ask about it.
The throng that had gathered round the returned Meirach was spreading and opening up now to enclose Nilsson and Rannick also. Questions and praise filled the air. Nilsson shouted above the noise.
‘Men. This is… Lord Rannick,’ he said. He gave a broad smile of welcome to Rannick and noted with relish, his fleeting discomposure. ‘Lord Rannick has come to help and advise us. To set us on the new road that I hinted at only a few minutes ago. He’s to be given the courtesy that befits a lord, and’ – he became emphatic – ‘he’s not to be pestered with idle questions. Our ways aren’t his. I’m sure you’ll find that Meirach’ll be only too keen to tell you what he’s been up to. He’s not known for his ability to stay quiet as a rule.’
This was greeted with raucous jeering, which Mei-rach accepted as justly his own, then Nilsson spoke again. ‘The Lord and I have things to discuss. When you’ve finished listening to Meirach’s yarn, get back to your duties.’
Nilsson was leading Rannick quickly to the rooms he had taken as his own private quarters, before the men could think about what he had said and, despite his injunction, begin to level some very searching questions at him.
‘It’s rather basic,’ he said, by way of apology when they arrived. ‘There was little here when we arrived and over the years we’ve learned that dragging luxuries along can sometimes carry a high price while, con-versely, simplicity can be quite life-enhancing.’
‘I know,’ Rannick said, sitting on a wooden chair and resting his arm on a table.
Nilsson looked at him carefully. ‘How much do you know?’ he asked.
‘Everything,’ Rannick replied.
Nilsson shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only what Meirach could tell you, and that’s not everything by any means. He’s just a stupid foot soldier.’