Farnor’s simple camp was soon dismantled and packed away. Uldaneth watched him carefully ensuring that the fire was completely extinguished. ‘They don’t like it,’ he said, half apologetically. ‘I can understand, I suppose.’
Uldaneth nodded.
Then, catching her apparently talking to his horse, Farnor asked if she would like to ride in preference to walking. By way of reply however, he received only an unexpectedly suspicious glare and he decided not to press the matter.
As they walked away from the camp site, Farnor, leading the horses, was surprised at how quickly he had to walk to keep up with the stooping form of his companion. ‘You said last night that I’d a long way to go yet,’ he said, after they had been walking for some time. ‘How many days is it to these central mountains and this special place of theirs?’
Uldaneth did not answer immediately. Instead, she stopped and gazed about her. Then she nodded. ‘You do have a long way to go yet, Farnor,’ she said, striding out again. ‘But the mountains…’ She took his elbow and ushered him away from the trail they had been follow-ing.
Within a few minutes Farnor, flushed and breathless at the pace that had been set, found himself emerging on to a sloping grassy knoll. It was higher than much of the immediate Forest and offered an extensive view over the rich, many-greened canopy.
Uldaneth, still holding his elbow, twisted him round and pointed.
Chapter 14
As Marna looked about her, she tried to keep her nervousness from showing in her manner. It was almost impossible. Time ticked by, heartbeat by heartbeat, pounding achingly in her stomach. This fearful clock had begun the instant that Nilsson had spoken his message, ‘Lord Rannick wants to see your daughter, weaver,’ and Marna had the feeling that she had not breathed out since his final, emphatic, ‘Now.’
Her immediate impulse had been to flee, but that had scarcely had chance to form in her mind before it shrivelled. Not so much because she knew that it would have been futile, but because of the look on her father’s face. There had not even been an initial expression of shock. Instead an eerie deadness had come over it, as though he had suddenly donned a strange mask. Only his eyes were alive, searching deeply into this intruder with his appalling news.
It was because she could not read what was in them, except that it was terrible, that she stepped forward immediately.
‘What does he want me for?’ she had asked before her father could speak.
It was not possible that she could know it, but Nils-son was as relieved at this intervention as she was concerned about his message. For he could read what was in Harlen’s eyes. His nerves were jangling with the shock of a man whose mind is far away from any thought of threat and who suddenly finds the blade of a frantic assassin at his throat, or his hand resting upon a poisonous snake.
Almost out of habit, he had quietly tormented the slightly built weaver with his stripping knife, and he had been routinely prepared to knock him to the ground had he chosen to protest and bluster at the taking of his daughter. But this was different. Nilsson had seen such a look only a few times before, but it had been enough to teach him that he might not survive the next few moments, even though he were to kill his opponent. For though Harlen made no threatening movement, the eyes with which he was now watching Nilsson came from a part so deep within him as to be scarcely human; they were the eyes of an animal guarding its young. Harlen was beyond any possibility of fear because his own death was now of no account to him. Nilsson had the vision that Harlen had had but seconds before: of being torn open by that short bladed but lethally sharp stripping knife wielded by a knowing hand. It could happen in the blink of an eye, and he knew that he would not have the reflexes to stop Harlen seizing the knife from the chair should he so decide.
Thus, at Marna’s approach and her question, he took the opportunity to step back a little, ready to leap clear of the confines of the doorway to where space might give him a chance to defend himself. At the same time he muttered a hasty reassurance to Harlen, before addressing himself to Marna. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said, man to man.
‘He asked me to fetch you to him,’ he replied to Marna. ‘I don’t know why he wants to see you.’
‘And if I choose not to go with you?’ Marna asked.
Nilsson shrugged and surreptitiously edged a little further away from Harlen. He tried to put some light-heartedness into his voice. ‘I don’t argue about my orders, young lady,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I’d have to throw you over my saddle and carry you to him that way.’
Marna moved between him and her father, who, to Nilsson’s considerable alarm, bent forward to pick up the knife. When he stood up his eyes were fixed on Nilsson and he laid a quiet hand on his daughter’s arm as if to move her to one side. She turned towards him and looked into that terrible gaze. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said simply, though her voice was far from steady. Harlen’s grip tightened, but she gently prised it loose and moved across to Nilsson. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said again, more emphatically.
Nilsson nodded, as if in confirmation, though, as with his previous assurance, he had no notion of what Rannick intended with the girl. Casually, but unasham-edly, he kept Marna between himself and her father as he led her towards his horse.
Only when he was mounted, with Marna behind him, and moving away from the isolated cottage did he begin to recover his inner composure.
Bad mistake, he thought, with considerable and genuine self-reproach. He, above all people, should know the dangers of such a mission. Though not one to dwell excessively on death avoided, he knew that it would be some time before he was totally at ease again. Still, he mused, on his way to that state, at least he’d survived. And the incident had certainly woken him up! The occasional lesson like that was no bad thing.
Then curiosity returned. What did Rannick want this girl for?
Probably the obvious, he decided, as he had decided several times on his outward journey. She was not unattractive, he supposed, though from what he’d seen of her in the past, she could be a surly looking bitch at times. Yet Rannick had shown no interest in such matters with any of the women who had been brought back from the raids. Then, again, he had sent him to collect her with the simple but menacing caveat, ‘She’s not to be hurt, captain. In any way.’
He let the question go. Accurately anticipating Ran-nick was virtually impossible. His main concern was to be alert enough to follow wherever Rannick chose to lead. Doubtless he would find out why the girl was wanted in due course.
Still, best be reasonably polite to her, he decided. Just in case. Women were natural and treacherous string-pullers once they fastened on to a man. And she might yet end up as Rannick’s consort.
Then they were entering the castle courtyard. A noisy clamour greeted them. Marna took in such of her surroundings as she could as Nilsson guided his horse through the confused activity.
There were guards at the gate and patrolling the battlements, and men everywhere: some lounging about idly, others apparently busy, and still others – fastened with chains? – unloading wagons and unharnessing horses. And there were women too. Unhappy, miserable looking women for the most part, presumably brought in from wherever the raids had been made. Her stomach turned over. Was that to be her fate? She began to shake but somehow she crushed the thought. She’d known Rannick all her life, surely he wouldn’t…
But old memories held few comforts for her. Ran-nick had always been coldly formal to her after she had finally rebuffed him.
Reining his horse to a halt, Nilsson swung his leg over its head to dismount and then reached up to help Marna. She ignored his outstretched arms and jumped down beside him. He caught her as she missed her footing and staggered, but she yanked herself free.