‘Hold the lantern still while I look,’ Gryss said.
He began to examine the two bodies.
One of the grimmer thoughts that had occurred to him as he had tended Farnor was that indeed the lad’s mind had failed under the pressure of recent happen-ings and that he had committed some terrible atrocity. His whole being rebelled against the idea, but it had its own dark logic and could not lightly be set aside.
His mind was not eased by the rent he found in Katrin’s dress and by the broad wound under the arch of her ribs. As he examined the wound, his eye caught sight of the stout kitchen knife embedded in the door frame.
Almost reluctantly, he moved to Garren. Gently he kneaded the crooked limbs, then he placed his hand around Garren’s head to raise it.
The softness there made him draw a sharp breath and he had to force himself to examine it further.
‘What’s the matter?’ Yakob said.
Gryss shook his head in a mute appeal for further patience, and continued his sorry work.
When he stood up his face was puzzled, though there was also a hint of relief in it. Whatever had happened here, Farnor could not have done it. Yakob looked at him expectantly.
‘Katrin was stabbed,’ Gryss said bluntly. ‘Probably with that thing there.’ He gestured to the knife. ‘As for Garren, he’s a mass of broken bones. I’ve not seen anything like it since we found Menion.’
Yakob grimaced. That incident had been many years ago. Menion had been a young man, who, finding that a long-held and until then secret love was not returned, wandered off into the mountains. Yakob and Gryss had been members of the party that was sent out to search for him two days later. They found him twisted and broken at the foot of a towering cliff. Whether he came there by accident or by intent none could ever deter-mine, but for those on the party the sight of his shattered body remained with them always.
‘I don’t understand,’ Yakob said, his voice unsteady. ‘Menion took a terrible fall. How could that have happened to Garren?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Gryss said unhappily. ‘If anything, he’s in a worse state than Menion…’
But Yakob was not listening. He was swaying and rubbing his face with his hands. Quickly, Gryss took his arm and led him away from the two bodies. They had scarcely gone three paces when Yakob doubled over and vomited. Then his knees went and, unable to support his collapsing weight, Gryss eased him down to the ground until he was on all fours.
Yakob lowered his head and his back started to shake with silent sobs.
Gryss extinguished the lantern and turned away from him. There was nothing he could do for the moment except wait.
Eventually Yakob got to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, shamefacedly, as he took the offered hand for support. ‘Such a display. It’s the smell of the smoke, and…’
‘It’s stark, unbelievable horror, and it’s too much happening too fast,’ Gryss said. ‘I can hardly bring myself to think that this is all real and not some frightful dream I’m having.’ He looked at his friend, struggling to regain his usual dignified composure. ‘There’s a butt full of fresh water over there,’ he said. ‘Give your face a wash. It won’t make any of this go away, but it’ll make you feel better.’ Then, without waiting for Yakob, he walked over to the butt and took his own advice.
‘What are we going to do?’ Yakob said, after he too had finished a rudimentary ablution.
The question threw Gryss into confusion as a rush of thoughts burst in upon him. What to do about what? About Farnor? Jeorg? About what had happened here? About Nilsson? About telling the villagers? About gathering in these wandering animals and tending Garren’s – Farnor’s now, he supposed – crops?
‘We must put Garren and Katrin somewhere safe,’ he said, snatching at the nearest thought to still this rambling. He gazed around the yard. ‘We’ll have to put them in one of the stalls here. Cover them up, lock the door. We can’t do anything else until it’s daylight.’
It was an unpleasant task. Katrin was heart-breakingly light and frail and neither man could look at her as they carried her. Garren was much heavier and distressingly bent in the strangest ways due to his massive internal injuries. It lent their struggle with him an element of grotesque farce. Throughout, however, Katrin’s words, ‘stabbing and killing’, kept ringing through Gryss’s head to the rhythm of his shuffling feet.
They left the bodies resting on boards carried on trestles and covered with a rough cloth. Gryss pulled the two halves of the stall door shut and bolted them both, then he plunged his hands into the water butt again and rubbed them together desperately. Moonlight glittered brilliantly on the dancing droplets.
The two men did not speak as they walked back to their horses. Yakob mounted his, but before he too mounted Gryss turned and looked fretfully about the moonlit yard.
‘What happened here?’ he said, half to himself. ‘There are gaps in the walls as if something’s crashed through them, and everything’s scattered all over the place.’ He looked up. ‘And there are slates missing from some of the roofs. Garren was meticulous about such things. It’s almost as if there’s been a great storm here.’
As he spoke, the memory of the wind that had arisen in the castle courtyard returned to him, and with it Jeorg’s words, ‘Rannick’s leading them’, and his account of how Rannick had tortured him.
A coldness descended on him, stifling his whirling thoughts with an icy grip.
‘What’s the matter?’ Yakob asked, sensing the change in him.
‘We’re in the hands of a madman,’ Gryss said.
‘Nilsson?’
‘No. Rannick,’ Gryss replied.
‘Rannick!’ Yakob exclaimed. ‘What’s he got to do with anything? He’s probably gone over the hill weeks ago, and good riddance.’ Then he looked at Gryss, concerned, fearing, as Gryss had feared for Farnor, that this sudden shock had unhinged him. ‘You mean Nilsson, don’t you?’ he said. ‘This could only have been done by him and his men.’ His voice shook. ‘They must’ve beaten poor Garren like they beat Jeorg, only this time it went too far and…’
Gryss had been shaking his head throughout. ‘Gar-ren wasn’t beaten. No beating could do that kind of damage without it showing more. I think this is Rannick’s handiwork. I’m beginning to recognize it. He’s leading those men now.’
Yakob leaned forward to reiterate his protest at this foolishness, but Gryss turned to him and said, ‘Jeorg told me about him, Yakob. It was what he whispered to me before you left. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know what to make of it. I wanted to think. Then, later, he was so agitated that he woke up despite my sleeping draught and spoke about him again.’
‘You mean it, don’t you?’ Yakob said, his manner uneasy. ‘Are you sure he wasn’t delirious?’
Gryss nodded. ‘There are other things that’ve been happening of late that I haven’t told you about, Yakob, nor anyone else except Farnor and Marna…’
‘Marna! You’ve been talking about village matters with a slip of a girl and keeping them from the Council?’ Yakob was outraged.
‘Marna’s no more a slip of a girl now than you are,’ Gryss said with a quiet resolution that was more compelling than any amount of noisy indignation. ‘She’s an intelligent and capable young woman, just as Farnor is an intelligent and capable young man. And what’s happening in this valley is going to have a greater effect on them than it will on you and me. They’re the ones who’ll have to do something about matters, and they’re the ones who’ll have to live with the consequences, good or bad. All we old sparks are going to be able to do is talk.’
Taken aback by this forthrightness, Yakob was composing himself for a further reproach when Gryss swung up into his saddle with unexpected vigour. ‘Come on, Yakob,’ he said. ‘We’ve had our kin murdered. Whatever doubts and hesitations I’ve had about all this will have to be resolved tonight, along with such questions as you want to ask.’
Outfaced by this sudden purposefulness, Yakob began to withdraw into his normal cautious dignity. ‘Where are we going now, then?’ he asked.