‘Hello, old thing,’ Marna said, crouching down and stroking Gryss’s dog as it emerged to greet them. It wagged its stub of a tail briefly, turned and gave a cursory bark at Farnor, then retreated back to its current lair.
‘It’s getting more like you every day, Gryss,’ Marna said, smiling as she stood up.
Gryss flicked a brusque hand towards the back room. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘And less of your cheek.’
Gryss placed his two guests opposite one another at the long table, and, unusually, sat himself at the head of it. He laid his hands on theirs.
‘I want you two to promise me, now, that you’ll keep silent about what we’ve discussed today,’ he said.
‘We already have,’ Farnor protested lightly.
Gryss shook his head. ‘No Farnor, this is not some game, some sunset watch prank. This is serious and I want your solemn word that not only will you not tell anyone about what we’ve been discussing, but that you won’t do anything… unusual… without talking to me about it first.’
His manner was uncharacteristically severe, and the two young people watched him in silence.
‘You’re frightening me, Gryss,’ Marna said, after a moment.
‘Good,’ Gryss replied, though not unkindly. ‘Because you frightened me with your foolishness. Running off to the next village, indeed.’
Marna shrugged apologetically, but Gryss continued before she could speak.
‘And you’re more than capable of doing it, so don’t protest otherwise,’ he said. ‘You’d have got yourself in a rare pickle wandering the countryside, lost.’ He shook his head, irritated by his own distraction. ‘I’ve a great fondness for you, Marna, you know that. And I admire your independence and… your right-headedness. But you’re too impulsive for your own good at times, and while we don’t know what’s going on, we need thought, not impulsiveness. Now I want your promise, especially, that you’ll do nothing foolish.’
‘What about him?’ Marna said, nodding towards Farnor in an attempt to deflect Gryss’s intention.
‘Farnor and I… understand one another,’ Gryss replied.
Marna looked at Farnor, and then back at Gryss. Her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’ she said suspiciously.
Gryss closed his eyes. When he opened them, he met Farnor’s worried gaze. It had occurred to him to make some flippant comment in an attempt to fob Marna off. But Farnor’s expression reflected not only his pain, but also a peer’s deeper knowledge of Marna’s character. And he, the elder and thus outsider, would have to accept that judgement.
‘We don’t know,’ he said quietly, looking straight at her. ‘Something… strange… is happening up at the castle, or in the woods beyond, but…’ He gave an unhappy smile and looked around the room as if searching for inspiration.
‘It’s not just to do with the gatherers, Marna.’ Far-nor’s voice forestalled him. ‘It began before they came, and it’s to do with me.’
Marna started at his voice. Not so much at the un-expected interruption but at the appeal in it. Her expression was suddenly uncertain. Gryss sat very still and watched them both intently.
Farnor went on, some inner need forcing his tale from him. ‘Something’s happened… perhaps still happening… to me. Something to do with whatever… creature’s… been worrying the sheep. And I think it’s something to do with Rannick as well.’
Marna threw a quick glance at Gryss for confirma-tion but his face was impassive.
‘What do you mean, happening?’ she asked.
Farnor grimaced, then told her hesitantly of his apparent contact with the creature, and of Rannick’s strange behaviour.
Marna looked again at Gryss, hoping that his enig-matic expression would suddenly become a mischievous smile and the whole scene end in boisterous laughter. But there was not a vestige of lightness there.
‘I’ve no explanation,’ Farnor concluded. ‘Neither has Gryss. All I know is that it frightens me.’ He looked flustered. His words gave no measure of what he was feeling. They seemed flat and empty; incongruous, almost. But Marna saw the look in his eyes, full of naked pain and distress; more eloquent than any number of words.
She was silent for a moment, then, ‘It’s all true, isn’t it?’ she said nervously, looking at Gryss.
The old man nodded. He was quietly reproaching himself for failing to notice the burgeoning maturity of these village ‘youngsters’. Marna took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice, though unsteady, was gentle and full of concern. ‘I can’t make any sense out of any of this,’ she said. ‘And I think you must both be misunderstanding something, somewhere. But, whatever it’s all about it’s hurting Farnor and I’ll help if I can.’
Slowly she wrapped her arms about herself, more in a protective gesture than as if she were cold. ‘All this, and the gatherers,’ she said.
‘All this and the gatherers,’ Gryss echoed. He put his hand on hers and looked into her eyes. ‘Farnor’s trusted you with this tale,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t…’
‘I know,’ she said, before he could finish, her voice edgy. ‘I’m like a mole in a trap. I walked in of my own accord and there’s no way out.’
‘No,’ Gryss said anxiously. ‘Not quite. You’re free to walk away. All I… we… ask is that you keep this to yourself. Tell no one. At least until…’ He hesitated.
‘Something else happens,’ Farnor said bleakly.
Rannick stood up and joined Nilsson at the window as the noise from the courtyard filled the room.
‘What have they decided?’ he asked.
Nilsson craned forward. ‘It looks as if there’s about twenty getting ready to ride out,’ he said. ‘What will you do to them?’
The question had been a deliberate risk, and he sensed Rannick’s angry reaction. Nevertheless, he turned away from the window and met his gaze squarely.
Rannick made no denial of the implicit accusation. ‘The north of the valley is a bad place,’ he said, coldly.
Nilsson knew it would be foolish, not to say danger-ous, to press his presumption further, but certain things had to be said.
‘Mainly sheep down there,’ he said, indicating the courtyard with a nod of his head. ‘Followers, not leaders for the most part. But they’re all good fighters. Fighters with a history of fighting together. It’d be serious if we lost too many. It would wreak havoc with morale and substantially reduce our operational strength.’
The hubbub from the courtyard filled the room.
‘The north of the valley is a bad place,’ Rannick repeated, his face impassive. ‘Sheep get worried all the time. If they go there, they must take the risks that lie there.’
Nilsson nodded. ‘Let’s hope they get sheared rather than slaughtered,’ he said still keeping his eyes on Rannick. It was as much of a plea for his men as he dared make, and he became immediately brisk. ‘Come on, let’s go down and see what the mood is.’
‘You go,’ Rannick said. ‘The men are your affair, not mine. I want nothing to do with them. Just ensure that they understand the realities of their new command. I will tolerate no dissension or opposition, but those who follow me I will lead to power and wealth, to their true destinies.’
‘And those who don’t follow you?’ Nilsson asked.
‘Should stand well aside, or look to die,’ Rannick said, simply, turning back to the window again.
The courtyard was in noisy disarray when Nilsson reached it. Those who had decided to venture north were reloading the pack animals with reduced amounts of supplies while those who were now remaining at the castle were removing their horses from the column, helping with the reloading or just standing around watching. A few residual arguments were continuing about the rights and wrongs of the decision reached.
‘Congress is finished,’ Nilsson said as he reached the more heated discussions. ‘Each man stands by his decision. No reproaches. Whatever happens, we stand or fall together.’
Spots of rain began to splatter on to the stone floor to form a muddy starscape.
To Nilsson’s relief, if hardly to his surprise, he found that both Yeorson and Storran had decided to remain. It was probably their decision that had resulted in the final patrol being as small as it was. Still, he thought fretfully, we can’t afford to lose this many.