‘Do the men know the high regard in which you hold them?’ Rannick asked.
‘We’re bound together,’ Nilsson said. ‘Regard is of no account. They know I’ll not betray them; that’s enough.’ There was a silence between the two. ‘What do you want?’ Nilsson asked eventually.
‘What do you want, Captain?’ Rannick replied.
Nilsson returned his gaze for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. He must risk all now. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve skill enough in the use of the power to destroy me, I’m sure, and probably many others. But you’ve not the skill of our former lord.’
Rannick’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
‘And even he needed the help of ordinary men such as myself,’ Nilsson continued. ‘Ordinary men who could command ordinary men and fight ordinary men, and do the many ordinary things that have to be done in the ruling of a land.’
Rannick’s expression did not change. ‘In the ruling of a land,’ he echoed. ‘Is that what you think I seek?’
‘Yes,’ Nilsson said, starkly.
‘And what place do I see for you and your men in my scheme, Captain?’
‘I’d not presume so far,’ Nilsson replied cautiously.
‘Though loyal service is loyal service,’ Rannick sug-gested. ‘And a loyal servant might reasonably look to loyalty and support in return? And advancement?’
Nilsson nodded.
Rannick stood up and walked over to a window. For a long time he stared out over the still busy courtyard. Nilsson watched him closely, but neither spoke nor moved.
Rannick turned but remained at the window, throw-ing himself into silhouette. ‘This castle is now mine,’ he said. ‘You shall command it as you have hitherto but will submit to my authority.’
Nilsson, aware of the light from the window falling on him, willed himself to absolute stillness. He knew that any angry outburst against this assertion would yield him nothing but pain, or worse.
‘Just like old times,’ a small ironic voice whispered deep inside him.
‘What are your plans?’ he asked.
‘You accept my authority?’ Rannick said, with a faint hint of surprise in his voice.
‘What are your plans?’ Nilsson repeated both wil-fully and blandly.
There was another long silence. Nilsson felt his expectations rising. Unlike his former master, this one he would be able to use.
Rannick turned back to the window. ‘Those horse-men,’ he said, pointing. ‘Where are they going?’
Nilsson joined him. Feeling your way, aren’t you? he thought. As I am. ‘That’s Yeorson and Storran. They were going to look for Meirach. Now they’re going to see what lies to the north.’
Rannick frowned. ‘The Great Forest lies to the north,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing for you there. Your future lies down the valley and beyond. Have them stand down.’
‘No,’ Nilsson said, categorically. Rannick swung round on him, his eyes blazing. Nilsson knew that he could not meet his gaze, and kept his eyes on the men below. ‘Down the valley and beyond lies our past, and it pursues us,’ he went on. ‘The only way forward for us is to the north, away from here. If I order the men to stand down they’ll want to know why. And if I’ve no answers then my authority over them will be fatally under-mined.’
Rannick seemed to ponder something for a mo-ment, then, without speaking, he turned and left the room. Both concerned and intrigued, Nilsson went after him.
As he strode along the dark passages of the castle and clattered down its stone staircases, Nilsson wiped his forehead with his hand, then wiped his hand down his jacket. He had not realized how profusely he was sweating after his confrontation. Just like old times, he thought again, darkly. A small twist of nausea swirled in his stomach like a caution against such levity.
He composed himself as he reached the courtyard and set a pace that kept him only slightly behind and to one side of Rannick; action that could be interpreted either as sharing a common purpose with him or maintaining a close supervision over him.
Rannick went over to Yeorson and Storran, now mounted at the head of their patrol and preparing to set off. He stopped in front of them and laid a hand on the nose of each horse. The eyes of the two horses bulged with fear, but, apart from shivering, they did not move.
‘You must not go to the north,’ Rannick said, his voice unexpectedly concerned.
Startled, both men looked at Nilsson.
‘Listen,’ he said pointedly.
‘There’s nothing for you there but terrible danger and then the Great Forest,’ Rannick said.
‘Captain?’ Yeorson said with an imploring shrug.
‘Lord, you must tell them,’ Nilsson said. ‘It’s our way that all matters of import are determined by debate and acclamation. Debate that sets aside all rank and status,’ he added significantly. ‘If you call it then you’ll be treated as one of them and, not having called it myself, I’ll have no say.’
He glanced at the landing on the wall stair that he himself had spoken from. Rannick nodded. ‘I under-stand,’ he said.
As they walked towards the stair, Nilsson said, softly, ‘It is our way, and even I have only such authority in the congress as I can muster by craft and cunning. You must bear with whatever decision is reached unless you’re prepared to control everyone here by force.’
‘Must, Captain?’ Rannick said, menacingly.
‘Must,’ Nilsson replied unequivocally. ‘Or there’ll be bloodshed, make no mistake, and I doubt that’ll serve anyone’s ends.’
Rannick did not reply but walked steadily up the stone steps to the landing. Once there he moved his head from side to side a little, as if scenting the air. Nilsson found the movement peculiarly unnerving.
‘Congress.’
The word was at once soft and very penetrating as it echoed round the courtyard. Small whirls of dust rose from the floor and the horses responded with alarm.
The reaction of the men to this call, however, was quite the opposite to that which had been given only a little time previously to Nilsson’s call. They turned and stared, and then cautiously began to converge on the solitary figure standing part way up the stair.
There was an uneasy, unfriendly silence as the crowd gathered and finally became still.
‘It’s not for you to call a congress… Lord,’ someone said. ‘You’re not one of us.’
Rannick did not single out the speaker, but ad-dressed the whole group. ‘And you are not what you were, now that I have arrived,’ he said. ‘But, that aside, am I not entitled to receive a hearing for saving your comrade Meirach?’
There was some muttering which, on balance, seemed to concede this claim.
‘Men,’ Rannick began. ‘I drew you to this valley for a purpose, a purpose that will serve both my and your own ends. We have need of each other.’
‘We need no one!’ someone shouted, to some ac-claim. ‘We can best anyone who comes against us.’
‘Is that why you live like dogs and look over your shoulders all the time?’ Rannick retorted.
There were angry cries in response to this. Rannick swept them into silence with a scornful gesture. ‘We go nowhere together if you cannot see the truth of your condition.’
Nilsson, standing part way up the stair, watched him carefully. If this speech should turn into a diatribe against his leadership he would have to kill Rannick here and now, ambitions or no. Then again, he mused, listening to the anger of the men, they might do it for him first.
‘Be silent!’ Again Rannick’s voice carried softly yet powerfully around the courtyard, though this time it was laden with menace. The effect was immediate. ‘Do you truly wish to continue as you were?’ Rannick went on. ‘Where would you have been now if I had not brought you here to this shelter, and to this village which has fed you so willingly, if unwittingly?’
No one ventured a reply.
‘Wandering who knows where,’ he announced. ‘Growing increasingly weaker and more desperate with every step, your future extending no further than your next meal and your past gathering like a storm cloud behind you, growing darker and more ominous by the hour.’