Bryn looked at him, then glanced hastily over his shoulder. The black shape charging towards him through the trees froze all movement and thought in him and left him only terror.
Faintly he could hear Haral’s frantic urging, but he could do nothing to escape the will that was bearing down on him.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
At the same instant Bryn felt himself released.
He turned and ran as he had never run in his life. He felt Haral’s hand seize him and drag him forward, then many hands were seizing him and bringing him to shelter. The man he had rescued was lifted from his shoulders and he was in the midst of his companions, gasping for air.
‘Tighten up! Keep close! Shoulder to shoulder!’ he heard Haral shouting breathlessly.
Then an eerie silence fell, punctuated only by heavy breathing from the men and the fretful snorting and padding of the horses. Swords and spears pointed uncertainly in the direction from which Bryn had appeared.
Haral quickly moved others to guard the sides and rear of the group.
But nothing happened.
‘Where is it?’ Bryn asked after a moment, his voice shaking. ‘It was just behind me.’
The group became unexpectedly silent. Haral peered into the gloom. ‘It’s gone,’ he said. ‘It’s given up for some reason.’
His mind filled with questions, but he ignored them. Retreat was the only thing that needed to be considered now. ‘Pick up the injured and…’
‘Something’s coming. Listen!’
The whole group turned, weapons levelled, but be-fore anything could be made out a powerful wind came rushing through the trees, blowing leaves and forest floor detritus before it.
Haral swore and lifted his arm to his face for protec-tion.
‘Go quickly,’ came a voice through the noise of the wind. It was commanding in tone, though it was laced with urgency. Haral rubbed his eyes and looked blearily into the wind to see the speaker.
It was Rannick. He was gesticulating and pointing south. ‘Go quickly!’ he shouted again. ‘I’ll restrain it for as long as I can. But it won’t be for long. Go now. Move!’
Neither Haral nor his men needed further bidding. Regardless of their comfort or condition, the injured were quickly thrown across saddles and everyone mounted whichever horse was nearest. Several of them had to ride double because of the horses that had been lost.
Haral took the rear of the column. Struggling to control his horse in the hammering wind, he directed it towards Rannick.
It twisted and circled and flayed out its forelegs in opposition.
‘Go while you can!’ Rannick’s voice carried clearly through the noise of the wind. Haral managed to still his horse momentarily, and stared at his apparent saviour intently. His eyes were still watering, and the figure he saw was blurred and streaked.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
The figure shifted, as if it were both there and somewhere else at the same time. Haral rubbed his eyes again.
‘You know who I am,’ Rannick said. Then he pointed towards the retreating column. ‘Do you wish to go forward or do you wish to die?’
A massive gust of wind struck Haral. Leaves over-head hissed in protest while branches rattled and trunks creaked. Haral’s horse turned and galloped after the others. He made no effort to stop it.
As Haral disappeared into the distance, the wind around Rannick died away. He frowned. His plan had worked admirably. Such doubters as there were amongst Nilsson’s men had been shown the error of their ways very convincingly, and gaining complete control over the entire group would now be an easy matter. From what he had learned from Meirach and from his own observations, he knew they would form an ideal nucleus to the force that he intended to build. If ever there was to be a confirmation of his destiny, the arrival of Nilsson and his men was it. That, and his long journey into the caves.
It was a time for exhilaration. Indeed he was exhila-rated.
And yet something had gone amiss. Albeit briefly, something had… drained?… no… rather strangled, restrained… the new power he had discovered.
Perhaps he had not yet the skills he imagined? But no skill had been needed here that he had not had for many years.
He reached out and felt the presence of the creature. It had the stillness of a shadowed and silent lake, deep beyond imagining and wending into the far, unknow-able distance. And it had the timeless immovability of a towering mountain whose ancient roots held it fast in the depths below. But above all it had desires. Desires that knew no bounds. And a will that knew no restraint. Yet it bent to his will. It was a richness greater than any he had ever imagined. And there would be more. Much more.
The creature stirred and Rannick basked in its con-tentment.
Farnor’s hand was shaking as he yanked the machete out of the wooden ceiling. Not because of the accident he had narrowly avoided, though he was acutely aware of that, but because of the terrible contact with the creature that he had again been drawn into.
And what had been that other contact immediately before? Vast and whispering. Watching and listening. Surprised. Not malevolent, certainly, but every bit as mysterious as the creature.
He had to grit his teeth at the effort he found he needed to stop himself abandoning his tasks and running to Gryss with news of this latest happening. His resolve held and a down-to-earth common sense came to his aid. Whatever had happened it had done him no hurt, save to alarm him. He must regain the balance of his life. He must remember that he was Garren Yar-rance’s son, and heir to the substantial lands at this end of the valley. Paper and documents gravely averred that they belonged to the family Yarrance, but, like all the valley dwellers, he knew that the reality was that he belonged to the land. His was a stewardship for the lands that fed and clothed far more than just his family; had done for countless generations in the past, and would do so for countless generations in the future. He had a duty to his parents, to those that had gone before and to those that would come and, indeed, to himself, to continue learning the skills he would need to fulfil that stewardship well.
Other things must yield before this need.
He gazed around the work-shed. He would finish what he had been set to do here, and the other tasks he had been given. He would quieten his mind. He looked down at the machete, turning it this way and that. The sun bounced off its glistening edge sending slivers of light skittering about the untidy room.
And in placing these unnerving happenings against the weight of his true life, he would temper and sharpen himself to face whatever the future held for him.
Chapter 22
The wind thrashed the tops of the trees and sent twigs and leaves and sometimes whole branches chasing after Haral’s fleeing group. The men were oblivious to such urgings however, as the terror of the last few minutes drove them relentlessly forward.
Galloping up and down the column, Haral managed to prevent the retreat from turning into complete disorder, but it was not easy. Independent of the wills of their riders, the horses had clear intentions of their own and many were soon not only lathered, but bleeding about the mouth as restraints were applied by those same riders, fearful of being recklessly dashed into low branches or crushed against trunks.
As they drew further from the scene of the assault, however, the wind began to ease and the headlong flight gradually became a more controlled gallop and then a steady canter.
Haral, riding at the rear, began to count the cost and the probable consequences. Two men dead, plus Mirek taken earlier. At least four others injured by panicking horses, including the man Bryn had brought back; and one man with a spear still sticking in his leg. All this, plus half a dozen horses lost, and who knew how many other lesser injuries to both men and horses incurred during the melee. He was reminded of these by a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. Carefully, he flexed them and tried to assess the extent of the damage that the creature had done when it had trodden on him. With some relief he diagnosed it as probably only bruising; he had had enough injuries in the past to know when one was merely an inconvenience and one was a problem requiring attention.