When he came to himself again, another interpreta-tion of Gryss’s advice returned to him: ‘Look back every now and then especially when you’re changing direc-tion.’ Gryss had chuckled to himself. ‘Believe me, things don’t look the same on the way back.’
He understood that now, for the mountains under which the village lay were but a few among many. The thought made him fretful again for a moment. Majestic they might well be, but they were also oblivious to such as he, and he could look to no help from them, or anyone, if he lost his way.
As the light faded, he found that he was still follow-ing in the footsteps of Nilsson and his men, and he took the precaution of camping in a small copse where the shrubbery would hide him from any casual inspection. And he decided to forego a fire. The evening was warm and he needed no hot meal.
But that he had to behave thus, distressed him, and the restless night he spent was not wholly due to the hardness of the ground and the snufflings and rustlings of the night creatures.
When he woke the following day it took him a little time to remember where he was and what he was doing. He swore when he found that the wife he had just put his arm around was a log in whose lee he had been sleeping.
He swore more than a few times after that, until he had shaken off some of the stiffness that his night’s rest had invested him with.
Briefly he pondered lighting a fire and cooking him-self a warm breakfast, but he decided against it. It would take time and effort and might perhaps signal his presence to the troop ahead. Besides, though the copse was damp and chilly, the sky overhead was blue and cloudless and promised another warm day. A little walking would soon warm him and dry his dew-soaked bedding and pack.
Indeed, he felt much more his old self by the time he had saddled his horse and soon he was striding out, leading the horse and eating an apple noisily.
His thoughts wandered over a variety of topics as he walked along: up and down, like the terrain he was travelling over. Where he was going, and why. His wife: he struggled to set aside the concern which she tried to hide from him, but which had been all too plain for him to see, in her eyes and the slight set of her mouth. Gryss: had the old man been able to get into the castle, and if so, what had he found? How long was his journey going to take? Would his food last? What kind of people would he meet in the villages… and towns!… on the way? Would anything untoward happen in the village in his absence?
But, underscoring all, was concern about who lay ahead of him. He was still in the valley, and still following in the hoofprints of Nilsson’s men. He wouldn’t be truly happy until he saw them turn one way when he turned another, but the country was fairly open and unless he was monumentally careless he should be able to see them before they saw him.
Eventually he came in sight of a conspicuous gap between two hills which Gryss had identified as the point where he should turn west and leave the valley proper. It was at this point that he had hoped he would part company with the troop, but to his dismay, as he turned towards the dip, he found that he was still following the trail of the now familiar tracks.
He mouthed an oath silently.
Still, the lowest part of the gap was considerably higher than the surrounding countryside. Perhaps when he reached it he would be overlooking the land on the far side and be able to get some indication of how far ahead the riders were.
He mounted his horse and clicked it forward.
It took him longer than he had thought to reach the gap, the scale of the new terrain being deceptive, but as he made his way up the steady slope he began to feel exposed. It occurred to him that if he could see over the countryside from the top, then he in his turn might be seen against the skyline by anyone happening to look back.
He dismounted, feeling quite smug at this insight and, following his own reasoning, directed himself to one side of the gap so that he would be even less conspicuous when he reached the top of it.
When, finally, he did reach it, he realized that his precautions had not really been necessary. The ground between the two hills was wide and gently rounded, and the country on the far side came into view only gradually as he walked across it.
Even so, he kept well to one side and proceeded cautiously.
When he was comfortably past the crown of the gap, he paused and looked out over the land that he was about to venture into. It did not have the massive splendour of the mountains, but he found himself held by the sight nonetheless. Hedged all his life by moun-tains, the vista of rolling countryside fading into the distant morning haze made him feel strangely heady; both excited and uncertain.
Over the hill, he thought to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands together. He could feel the lure that had drawn Gryss onward so many years ago and also, albeit slightly, the comforting pull of the valley at his back.
He turned for a final look at the valley before he set off into this new land, but nothing was to be seen except the sky and the crown of the gap. He smiled to himself and then turned back again to the next part of his journey.
His nervousness returned. Apart from the continu-ing need to watch for Nilsson and his men, he would have to be careful in this wide, rambling land where, free of the mountains on either side, he would be able to wander in almost any direction. Landmarks would be smaller and less obvious and there would be fewer opportunities to stand high above it and determine his route.
But he had Gryss’s descriptions memorized, and he was not exactly stupid, was he?
And, in that connection, his first task now, before descending further, was to check if Nilsson and his men were somewhere in this panorama. He spent some time peering intently over the landscape, but though he could see no line of riders, there were too many folds and dips and extensive areas of woodland for him to move on carelessly. He wrinkled his nose in disappointment. He would have to continue as he had been doing, keeping his eye on the tracks that they had left and as far ahead as the terrain would allow.
He set off down the slope, leading his horse.
By noon he was down from the hills and riding over soft grasses and through light woodlands. All around him spring was hectically preparing for summer, birds singing and nesting, flowers blooming, the occasional small animal pausing briefly to examine this alien passer-by.
But for the fact that he was still following Nilsson’s men, Jeorg would have immersed himself in this great awakening. He was old enough to appreciate the joy of the moment while knowing that this same countryside would hold little joy given a good downpour and a strong wind.
At last he reached the point that he had been hoping to find for most of the journey. The tracks turned suddenly north.
He stood for a little while on the spot, gazing in the direction they had taken. What was up there? Another valley? And what were Nilsson and his men doing, anyway? For a moment he considered going a little way after them to see if he could find an answer to these questions, but the urge soon left him. He had spent much of the journey so far looking to be free of these people and now he was. Now all he had to concern himself about was remembering the way to the capital.
He turned his horse to the west.
As he did so a swirling flock of small birds flew low overhead, the sound of their wings loud and urgent.
Then an unexpected and strong breeze began to blow. His horse shied uneasily.
Nursing his throbbing arm, Farnor struggled to his feet and ran across to where Gryss lay.
‘Gryss, Gryss! Are you all right?’ he called out as he dropped to his knees beside the old man.
Gryss’s eyes were closed and he made no response. For a terrifying moment, Farnor thought that he was not breathing and, without thinking, he took hold of his arm and shook it as if to waken him. Gryss’s eyes opened and he drew in a sharp, gasping breath.