The guilt he had felt about Jeorg’s fate returned tenfold to Gryss on the instant, and, abruptly, he found himself having to explain to Harlen about the disap-pearance – or death or worse – of his only daughter.
Before he could protest, however, Marna was con-tinuing. ‘We’ll have to talk to Farnor,’ she was saying. ‘He’s the one nearest the heart of all this, and what he thinks will be important. Apart from getting the real King’s men here, we’ll need to convince everyone about what’s happening, and I…’
Gryss had recovered from his trip into the future. ‘Whoa,’ he said firmly, holding up his hand. ‘You’re going nowhere, miss,’ he said, very much elder to younger. ‘The journey to the capital would’ve been hard enough for Jeorg, if he’d been lucky enough to avoid getting captured. It’d be far too hazardous for you.’
Marna’s looks darkened. ‘You weren’t much older than me when you went,’ she said. ‘And I’ve coped on my own out in the hills before now.’
Unusually, Gryss held his ground against her. ‘No!’ he insisted, realizing the danger of becoming involved in a debate with this wilful and shrewd young woman.
Marna faltered a little at this unexpected resistance. Gryss moved in. ‘I know you, Marna Harlenkint. I want your old-fashioned promise or die that you’ll not do anything foolish like perhaps deciding to go to the capital on your own.’ Scarcely were the words out of his mouth however, than he frowned at the levity he had allowed to intrude into his manner. He became serious, pleading almost. ‘We’ll have enough to worry about if we’re right in what we’re thinking, Marna, and we must be able to trust one another completely. You understand what I mean? Just think about the pain that’s been caused already by Jeorg’s venture. And there’ll be more when I tell his wife or if he’s more badly hurt than I think. And that journey was considered long and carefully.’
Marna’s scowl faded. ‘I do understand,’ she said. ‘But…’
‘But nothing, Marna,’ Gryss said, gently. ‘We don’t know what we’re dealing with in Rannick and those men and we can’t afford any act of foolishness antagonizing them.’
He stopped speaking and cocked his head on one side as if he had heard an unexpected sound. His movement echoed one Marna had just made. Both of them frowned with concentration. In the silence, a strange mewling sound rose to prominence until it pervaded the whole room. The old dog, which had been lying asleep between them, awoke and let out a quizzical whine.
‘What…?’
Gryss did not finish. The mewling suddenly in-creased in intensity and pitch, and climaxed in an unearthly and unceasing shriek. The dog barked shrilly in alarm and, without standing, wriggled backwards until it was under Gryss’s chair.
Marna leapt up, her face white and fearful. Gryss rose more slowly but with no less alarm as the awful din echoed around the room until it seemed to come from every possible direction.
Then Gryss identified the sound. ‘It’s Jeorg,’ he said, and was out of the door before Marna had time to realize fully what he had said.
As Gryss entered the dimly lit bedroom where Jeorg lay, it seemed to him for a moment that his images of Rannick’s power had been made solid and that the room was alive with battling demons. He hesitated in the doorway, a primitive fear crawling over his skin and robbing him of movement. Then his vision cleared, and he saw a lamp hanging by the bed swinging violently. At its behest, wild shadows were leaping frantically about the room, now skimming from wall to wall, now wall to beamed ceiling, as if performing some mocking dance at the fate of their shaper on the bed. For there Jeorg lay twisting and turning from side to side, his arms alternately flailing in the air and beating the bed. His eyes were wild and desperate, and his mouth was gaping wide.
Gryss stared at the terrible frenzy helplessly for a moment, then moved quickly to the side of the bed. As he reached out to still the swaying lamp, the shadow of his hand grew to fill the room with an ominous darkness then, abruptly, it was light again and the shadows were quiet and ordinary. Marna, pale faced still, moved nervously behind Gryss.
‘He’s choking,’ she said.
Beating his way through the frantic arms, Gryss seized Jeorg’s head and peered urgently into his mouth. Marna, unbidden, snatched up the lamp, lifted its dimming cowl and held it high so that it shone brightly on Jeorg’s anguished face.
The shadows fled.
Gryss nodded gratefully and, struggling to restrain his thrashing charge, continued his examination. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t see anything in his throat, and he couldn’t make that amount of noise if his airpipe was blocked.’
Jeorg began to claw at him, and the scream degener-ated into a dreadful gasping.
‘He’s choking,’ Marna insisted.
Impulsively, Gryss wrapped his arms about his friend and held him tight. ‘You’re safe, Jeorg,’ he said soothingly. ‘It’s all over. It’s Gryss. You’re in my cottage. You’re safe. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you here.’
The gasping eased a little, as did the frantic strug-gling, but did not cease completely. Gryss began to rock him to and fro, as if he were a child who had awakened from a nightmare, all the time whispering gently to him, ‘It’s over, Jeorg. It’s over…’ On and on.
Gradually, Jeorg’s breathing quietened until it be-came simply that of an exhausted man. Eventually, Gryss released him and laid him back.
‘Is he all right?’ Marna whispered, but Gryss held up his hand for silence. He was breathing heavily himself, and his face was flushed with effort, but he did not take his eyes from Jeorg.
Then, he nodded slowly. ‘I think so,’ he said, bend-ing over Jeorg and looking intently at him. ‘Jeorg,’ he said. ‘It’s Gryss. Can you hear me?’
Jeorg swallowed several times and, for a moment, it seemed that he was about to begin screaming again. Gryss laid a hand on his chest. ‘Gently,’ he said. ‘Don’t distress yourself. You’re safe now. There’s no hurry.’
The comment seemed to galvanize Jeorg however, as he became immediately agitated. His hand reached out to grab Gryss’s arm.
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Hurry. There is a hurry. We mustn’t wait. We must…’ He gritted his teeth as his physical weakness mastered the intention of his will.
‘Gently,’ Gryss said again. ‘There’s nothing any of us can do right now, it’s the middle of the night. Please try to relax and talk more slowly.’
Jeorg’s eyelids began to close and his face contorted with the effort of keeping them open.
Gryss spoke softly over his shoulder to Marna. ‘I don’t know why he’s awake,’ he said. ‘I gave him enough sleeping draught to take him through to tomorrow afternoon. He must want to tell us something desper-ately.’
Jeorg’s hand on his arm drew him back.
‘Rannick,’ he mumbled.
‘Rannick beat you?’ Gryss suggested.
Jeorg shook his head painfully. ‘He stopped them,’ he said, with a further agonizing effort. Gryss was pleasantly surprised by this, but only momentarily; there was no hint of gratitude in Jeorg’s voice.
He started to gasp again, his hands reaching out as if he were trying to hold captive all the air they could encompass.
Gryss managed to quieten him. ‘Tell me slowly,’ he said. ‘What did Rannick do to make you like this if he stopped them beating you?’
Jeorg’s hand clawed at his chest, and he drew a long, painful, breath. ‘He… stopped me breathing,’ he managed.
Gryss frowned and lifted a careful hand to examine Jeorg’s neck. There was no sign of any bruising. He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What do you mean, he stopped you breathing? Did he try to strangle you? Or suffocate you?’
Jeorg shook his head, a grimace of impatience creas-ing his battered features. ‘He stopped me breathing,’ he repeated weakly. ‘He… took my breath… the air in my chest… and stopped it.’ He slumped back on the pillow.
‘What did he do?’ Gryss persisted, bewildered.
Jeorg managed to raise himself on to his elbows. ‘He looked at me,’ he said. ‘Just looked at me. And I couldn’t breathe.’ His face became fearful. ‘And when I thought my chest was going to burst, he nodded.’ Jeorg’s eyes widened as the intensity of the event returned to parade its every detail before him. ‘Just a slight nod,’ he whispered, mimicking the movement with a nervous twitch of his head. ‘And I could breathe again. And he did it again… and again.’ Gryss reached out to him, concerned that he would slip once again into a choking fit, but Jeorg waved him aside. ‘I don’t know how many times he did it. Then he tore the breath out of me. I could feel him inside me, moving, working.’ His face contorted with pain and fear, but there was rage there also, and it was the rage that dominated in his words. ‘And they all laughed. They stood around and laughed. They’d already beaten me till…’