Farnor looked at her blankly.
‘That way,’ she said again, very gently. ‘It’ll lead you to the valley of the most ancient.’
‘You’re not coming any further with me?’ he asked, knowing the answer.
Uldaneth shook her head. ‘I go eastward,’ she said simply. ‘I’ve urgent tidings to carry now. I can’t delay further.’
For a moment Farnor felt desolated. He wanted to take the old woman’s hand and implore her to stay with him, to help him deal with these strange… beings… that had brought him here for who could say what purpose. But, even as the thoughts came to him, his inner anger rose up and tried ruthlessly to scatter them. ‘Go if you must then, you stupid old woman. But what can possibly be as urgent as my needs?’ it wanted him to shout, but instead he said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s been good to have another… outsider… to talk to.’ He looked down. ‘And to help me. I wish you could stay with me. Tell me who you are, where you come from – all sorts of things. I think there’s a lot of questions I should’ve asked you, but…’ His voice tailed off.
‘Who I am and where I come from are tales for an-other time, another place,’ Uldaneth replied kindly. ‘And long tales at that. As for the rest of your questions, there’s others will answer them for you when you’re ready, have no fear. And you’ll answer more than a few on your own.’ She smiled. ‘But don’t forget, although seeking answers is the only way to go, the answer to each question is apt to bring two more questions in its wake. There are times when you need to sit on top of a mountain and just gaze around.’
Farnor jerked his hands nervously, uncertain what to say next. ‘Selfish bitch. Leaving me here on my own,’ part of him still cried, though he actually said, ‘Do you want any supplies? Or… or, one of the horses, per-haps?’
Uldaneth’s mouth tightened uncertainly for a mo-ment, then relaxed. She patted the pack pony. ‘I’ve had many an offer of a fine horse in my time, Farnor, but this is perhaps the kindest.’ She patted the pony again. ‘Thank you, but no. I make better progress on my old two feet than many men do on a horse. And besides, much of my journey isn’t through good riding country and I’ve no burdens that a horse can help me carry.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘And your need is more pressing than mine.’
Farnor looked over his shoulder towards the gloomy trees that Uldaneth had indicated. ‘How shall I find them?’ he asked.
‘They’ll guide you from here, I’m sure,’ Uldaneth replied. ‘Believe me, they wouldn’t have invited you here to have you flounder about lost.’
‘I wasn’t invited,’ Farnor’s angry inner self mut-tered.
‘What shall I do when I… meet… them?’ he asked hesitantly.
‘The right thing,’ Uldaneth replied immediately and with great confidence. ‘Just tell the truth as you see it. Whatever it is.’ She paused. ‘And, above all, be yourself.’
Briefly her arms came up as if she were going to embrace him, but then she jerked them back awkwardly and turned the gesture into one motioning him away. ‘Go on now,’ she said briskly. ‘Don’t dawdle any longer. Goodbyes don’t become easier with time and, in my experience, the quicker they’re made, the better.’
Farnor fluttered helplessly for a moment. He’d never known such a parting. Then he turned to the pack pony and began struggling with its load. ‘Well, will you take this, then, as a small gift?’ he said. ‘It’s the branch I tried to hit you with. It’s a good piece of wood. Strong, straight-grained. I’ve cut it to length and shaped the ends a little. It’ll make an excellent stick for rough ground.’
Uldaneth smiled broadly as she accepted the branch. ‘Yes, this I will take,’ she said. Then she squinted along it knowingly, attempted unsuccessfully to flex it, nodded approvingly, and finally swung it round to land with a menacing smack in the palm of her hand. ‘A good stick is always handy. And they seem to expect one of me where I’m going. Thank you, Farnor. It couldn’t have been a finer gift if it had been encrusted in gems.’ Her hand flicked out again, in the direction he was to take. ‘Now, on your way, and don’t delay me any further.’ Her voice was hoarse and strained.
Farnor found himself bowing to her awkwardly, then he took the reins of his horse and set off. He turned round after a little way. Uldaneth was still standing there, motioning him on. Her manner was vigorous and confident, but had Farnor been close enough he would have seen a deep anxiety, even fear, in those bright, penetrating tear-filled eyes. ‘Light be with you, Farnor Yarrance,’ he heard her call.
It was a farewell he had never heard before, but somehow the words reached into him and buoyed him up. ‘And with you, Uldaneth Ashstock,’ he shouted back, without knowing why.
Then she turned and stalked off, leaning on her newly acquired stick. Farnor continued on until he was at the edge of the trees. There, he stopped and turned again. Uldaneth was also by the edge of the trees at the far side of the knoll, and she too had turned.
He raised his hand in a final salute, and smiled as he saw the stick raised in reply.
Then both turned and disappeared into the dark-ness of the Forest.
Chapter 15
As she entered the room, Marna heard the door closing behind her with the same soft sigh that had accompa-nied its opening. Momentarily she felt a breeze lightly touch her cheek.
She stepped away from the door and looked around the room. It was circular, and she found that she had emerged from what was a broad pillar at its centre. The long-shadowed light pervading the room was eerie and disconcerting though she realized quite quickly that this was simply because it was sunset. There were arched windows all around the room, and those facing east were displaying a purpling night sky, while those facing west let in the blood red remains of the dying sun from a sky streaked now with thin black lines of cloud. As she looked round, however, she could see no sign of Rannick.
‘It’s very high up here.’
His voice made her start. She turned sharply to-wards it, to see Rannick emerging from the other side of the central pillar.
‘It’s an odd feeling, being high up in a building after having lived all your life in a cottage, isn’t it?’ he said, moving over to one of the windows. ‘And quite different from being high up the side of a mountain.’
Marna clutched at the everyday normality in his voice. ‘Yes,’ she replied as casually as she could manage. ‘It does feel strange.’ Then, for want of something to say, ‘And it’s always hard to know when to light a lantern at this time of the day.’
Rannick, silhouetted now against the red sky, nod-ded, but did not speak.
Marna looked around the room again, still searching for something that might help her reach through to the reason for this unwelcome summons. Like the passages through which Nilsson had led her below, the room was an odd mixture of carpeted floor, and grim, grey stone walls, though in places there were pictures hanging. She squinted at some of them intently. And tapestries?
Yet neither pictures nor tapestries were such as might be found anywhere in the village, nor was any of the furniture. It must all have been looted from places over the hill. Once again she felt the alien character of everything about her. It cried out that it did not belong here. Not because it was unattractive, or ill made – indeed she could see that many of the pieces were extremely fine, and there was an unexpected order, even dignity, about the way the room had been furnished – but because it belonged to others. Each item brought with it to this high tower room the aura of the place from which it had been torn. It resonated with the cries of those to whom it truly belonged.
Marna forced herself to stop shaking. She had more pressing problems than concerning herself with the fate of the unknown people who had unknowingly furnished this place. Again she clung to the prosaic. ‘How in the world did you get some of these things up that narrow stair?’ she asked, running her hand along the delicately carved edge of a large, finely polished table.