Farnor twisted his hand nervously around the rail that he was holding, but made no reply.
Marken shivered and folded his arms about himself. ‘Come on,’ he said, moving past Farnor. ‘The night’s chilly.’
The following morning, old habits asserted themselves and Farnor woke as soon as light began to filter into his room. There was a faint sound of distant activity in the lodge, and the smell of cooking. For a heart-rending moment he thought that he was back in his own room at the farmhouse. As realization dawned, he clenched his teeth and his fists, and stiffened his entire body in bitter rage. ‘Rannick, Rannick, Rannick,’ he muttered: a dark litany of hatred and intended vengeance, accompanied by the image of his enemy, slain, that he had chosen to guide himself by.
Dressed and brutally scrubbed, he eventually found his way to the kitchen where, somewhat to his surprise, he found a bleary-eyed Derwyn cooking.
‘A good riser, I see,’ Derwyn greeted him, smiling. ‘Anxious to be off?’
‘Marken told you, then?’ Farnor replied.
Derwyn nodded. ‘He certainly did. I’ve not seen him so excited in years. No…’ He corrected himself. ‘I’ve never seen him so excited, ever.’ A stifled yawn twisted his face. ‘He was here half the night, rambling on and on.’ He became thoughtful. ‘But no excitement for you though, was there?’ he said, swinging out a chair from the table and motioning Farnor to sit down. ‘Have you thought any more about what you want to do?’
‘What did Marken tell you?’ Farnor asked, bluntly.
Derwyn sat down opposite him, and began eating. ‘That you’re a Hearer,’ he replied. ‘A remarkable one at that, to put it mildly, judging by the way he was going on. And that perhaps you’re something else, something that even you don’t understand.’
‘And that they’re afraid of me?’ Farnor said.
Derwyn nodded.
‘And are you, now? Knowing what you know?’ Far-nor asked.
The lines in Derwyn’s face deepened as he scruti-nized his questioner. ‘No,’ he said dismissively, returning to his food. ‘But then what do I know about such things? I just see a young man in pain. And even Marken doesn’t know what they see.’ He indicated a large bowl of fruit and cereal grains. ‘Help yourself. There’s no ceremony here. I just advise you to start before Edrien gets down, unless you’re good at close-quarter fighting.’
Hesitantly Farnor filled his plate. The simplicity of the action and Derwyn’s casual openness stirred uneasily within him.
‘You’ve all been very kind and patient with me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult. Caused you such trouble.’
Derwyn shook his head, his face thoughtful. ‘There’s change in the air, Farnor,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what, or when, but it’s there, I can feel it.’ He looked at Farnor and began eating again. ‘But I doubt you’re the cause of it. I suspect you’ve just been caught up in it more than we have so far.’
Farnor wanted to ask him for advice, but instead he said, ‘I’ll leave as soon as I can. Marken said he’d tell me how to reach this place.’
‘Don’t you want a guide?’ Derwyn asked.
Farnor shook his head. ‘I don’t think they’ll let me get lost,’ he said flatly.
Derwyn chuckled. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t laugh. It was just your manner.’ Then, more seriously, ‘You’re absolutely sure that this is what you want to do?’ he asked. ‘You’re welcome to stay here, or we can try to take you back to your home, if you wish.’
Farnor shook his head. ‘That might bring trouble down on you,’ he replied. He looked down, ostensibly turning his attention to his food. ‘I’ve made my mind up about what must be done, and I’ll see it through.’
Derwyn watched him, his eyes narrowed and his face concerned. Farnor’s hand shook momentarily under this searching gaze and his spoon rattled against the bowl. Derwyn saw him gritting his teeth and forcing the tremor from his hand. He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it.
Farnor looked up. His eyes were distressed. ‘There’s perhaps one thing you should do,’ he said. Derwyn waited. ‘Go south. Follow the tracks I made. Find my valley if you can.’ Farnor seemed to be struggling with something. ‘Guard yourselves against what’s in there. Take your best hunters, well armed. And take Marken. You’ll need a Hearer. And be very careful.’
Derwyn nodded slowly. ‘I’ll discuss it,’ he said, un-happily, knowing that Farnor would not, or could not, tell him anything further.
They said little else for the remainder of the meal, Farnor pulling a deadening shield of politeness about him. He maintained it as Edrien entered, scratching herself vigorously and in a most unladylike manner, in marked contrast to her mother, whose movements were at once both profoundly earthbound and seemingly incapable of anything ungraceful.
It was only Angwen who penetrated Farnor’s de-fences, and she did it with no more than a single glance. But she merely smiled enigmatically and did not press home her advantage. Marken too, emerged eventually, tousled, red-eyed, and stiff, having finally fallen asleep in a chair following his excited and protracted harangue of Derwyn.
It was scarcely two hours later that the momentum which Farnor’s will had given to events bore him into the saddle. His well-tended horse with its well-packed saddle bags gave testimony to his increasing debt to Derwyn and his lodge, as too did a small but sturdy-looking pack pony standing sullenly beside the horse.
‘Thank you,’ Farnor said simply, as he looked down at Derwyn and the others who had gathered to see him on his way. In his hand was a crumpled piece of paper on which Marken had hastily attempted to draw a map of the route he should follow. It was covered with many crossings-out, and notes.
‘Keep moving north,’ the Hearer had said fre-quently, as a general nostrum for the flaws in his draughtsmanship. And he had given Farnor a lodespur, a fine needle which, when allowed to pivot freely, always pointed to the north. It was mounted in a robust but finely made wooden box.
At the last moment, Bildar appeared, pressing more jars of pungent ointment into Farnor’s hands. ‘For your aches and pains,’ he said.
Farnor felt some twinges of regret as he made his farewells, but for the most part, his armour held. And it held too against the many cries of goodwill that came down to him from the surrounding trees. He acknowl-edged them with a wave and a smile, though a close observer would have noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes.
Then, following Marken’s outstretched arm, he clicked his horse forwards.
Derwyn and the others stood watching him for some time as he rode slowly away, but he did not look back.
Chapter 11
‘A more typical attendance today,’ Derwyn said, with some irony, as he looked out over the empty clearing of the Synehal.
There was little mood for humour of any kind among those gathered for the meeting, however. Although it was several days since Farnor had left, his arrival and the turbulent events of his brief stay still formed the major part of talk about the lodge.
‘It’s just the weather,’ Bildar said, looking at the grey rain streaming vertically down beyond the edge of the Synehal canopy.
Derwyn gave him a knowing look. There were only twelve of them sitting on one of the tiers at the rear of the Synehal platform. ‘Even you don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘It’s good old-fashioned apathy, that’s what it is. The lad’s the sole topic of conversation at every hearthside, but when it comes to talking about him seriously, they can’t be bothered stirring their roots.’ He shook his head ruefully.