Her nervousness eased a little as, after a brief strug-gle with the wooden latch, she closed the door behind her, gently. The interior of the shed was dark and it took some time for her eyes to adjust.
Though she had chosen dull and nondescript cloth-ing for her journey, she felt the need now for clothes that would disguise her even more effectively. Then she would need some weapons. One thing that she had noticed while she had been with the four outsiders was the extent to which they were armed. And, she was sure, what she had seen was by no means all that they carried.
Tentatively, she had touched on the subject of carry-ing a knife… or something… for her protection, in the vague hope of receiving advice of some kind about how she should use one.
Aaren’s comments, however, had come from a deeper insight.
‘You don’t carry a weapon unless you’re fully pre-pared both to use it and to account for using it,’ she had said quietly, but with a look that transfixed Marna. ‘And you don’t ever rely on it, or you’ll be robbed of your will if it fails you, and it’ll probably be taken from you and used against you.’ Naked doubt had filled Marna’s face but Aaren had continued. ‘Someone once told me that being a true warrior did not lie in knowing how to use weapons, but when to use them. And that relying on weapons and technique can stop you learning how to watch and to listen and develop the wisdom to judge that moment truly. Very wise advice, I realize now, though I didn’t take it with too good a grace at the time.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Marna had replied, herself a little miffed at this unexpected lecture.
‘You understand better than you realize,’ Aaren had said encouragingly. ‘You’ve never been trained to fight, I imagine, but when you needed to today, you – your body – acted as wisely as any hardened soldier.’
The remark had torn at Marna for some reason. Of the many thoughts she had had about the slaying of her attacker, not one had identified it as an act of wisdom.
And yet…?
Aaren had become purposeful. ‘Still, these are dan-gerous times and this is a particularly dangerous place now, whatever it’s been in the past. If you must arm yourself, get yourself a good sharp knife, one that’s comfortable to wear and to handle. Make sure you can draw it easily but not so easily that it’ll tumble out of its scabbard if you have to jump over anything, or roll about. But…’ She had been emphatic. ‘… above all, don’t rely on it. Just think about what wearing it means, and think about it honestly. And don’t be afraid of whatever conclusions you reach. Trust your judgement, Marna. It’s very sound, I know.’
‘How should I use it?’ she had asked.
Aaren’s brow had furrowed in distress, but her voice was calm as she replied, ‘Straight, fast and without warning, when your decision’s been made.’ Her hand had come up. ‘No more,’ she had said. ‘Just think about what I’ve said.’
The brief conversation kept returning to Marna, at once a warning and a guiding light.
The clothes took little finding. A loose, rather bulky tunic would hide her shape, and scruffy cap would contain her hair and obscure her face. The knife presented more of a problem, though only because she was spoilt for choice. This particular shed was the one which housed Farnor’s grinding bench, and over this hung a large army of very sharp knives in their leather and stiff cloth scabbards.
Marna’s hands closed about a machete and she hefted it menacingly so that its blade glinted silver wet in the dull morning light that was filtering through the window. It was comfortable all right, but not something she could reasonably conceal, let alone carry easily. With some reluctance, she put it aside. Eventually she decided on carrying three in her belt; one either side and a short one at the back, as she had noted Yehna wearing. She tried one up her sleeve like the one she had seen Engir carrying, but it kept tumbling out. And her attempt to wedge one into the top of her boot proved not only unsuccessful but also quite painful.
She frowned. There was a great deal she had missed when she had thought she was studying those soldiers and their weapons. She could have learned much more had she had the wit to watch and listen more carefully. Still, all being well, they would meet again soon and she would be more attentive next time. She slid over the interim period.
‘Are you comfortable?’ she muttered to herself, giv-ing her clothes and weapons a final check. A little self-consciously she jumped up and down twice to see if any of her knives bounced out of their hastily rigged scabbards. Then, as quietly as she had come, she was across the farmyard and moving over the fields towards a tree-lined hillock from which, as she had agreed with Gryss, she would be able to watch both the farm and the castle.
Her immediate instinct had been to keep to the edge of the fields, but it was much lighter now and, should anyone be observing, she knew that a figure skulking along the hedgerows would be more conspicuous than one wandering leisurely across the fields. It proved a little more nerve-racking than she had envisaged however, and as soon as she reached the trees, she scurried to find herself a good, well-hidden vantage point.
As she waited, she tried again to emulate the quiet stillness of the four soldiers. It was not easy. She found herself drifting off into daydreams, or seized with cramp brought on through sitting too stiffly. Also, on occa-sions, as during the night, she was once again suddenly, horribly, back in the woods, fending off her attacker, her hands warm and sticky. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Aaren had said. ‘It’s got to come out of your system one way or another. Just remember that you won.’ The words helped, but the incidents still left her shivering and wiping her hands down her tunic.
However, the forging of the last few days also began to make itself felt and, without realizing it, she achieved a quietness that would have been quite beyond her only a week previously, as she turned her mind to the needs of the valley and its four would-be deliverers, and forced herself to watch the castle attentively.
As usual, little seemed to be happening, except for the guards, whom she could just make out, patrolling the walls. Occasionally however, her eye was drawn to the tallest of the towers, as strange lights flashed from the windows of its highest room. It was Rannick’s room, she knew, with its plundered furniture and its ambiva-lent memories for her. As the lights came and went, she eased herself further into the shade, as if they were in some way seeking her out.
She tried to ignore a part of her which felt slightly injured that, following her unequivocal rebuff of his proposal, an infuriated Rannick had not come looking for her in person, or at least sent out a larger, more determined, search party. She was sure that he had been hot enough for some such precipitate action. On the other hand, she was relieved that neither of these had happened. She remembered Nilsson’s surreptitious warning about the eerie, clinging, little breeze that had fluttered about her head as she had left the castle, and her stomach tightened as she thought about what it implied.
As she recalled this gossamer touch, something brushed lightly against her check. She started violently and almost cried out. But it was only a leafy branch touched by the breeze. She dashed it aside angrily, and returned to her vigil, scowling grimly.
As the morning wore on, people began to arrive at the farm below, a few, unusually, on horseback. They milled around for a little while, until eventually, and at a very leisurely pace, they began cleaning up the debris in the farmyard.
Marna watched them idly for some time and then turned back to the castle. Even as she turned, the castle gates swung open and a column of men began to emerge. Her heart started to pound with both fear and anticipation. A search party was being sent to look for her, after all. Or was it just another raiding party? Other thoughts came. Would whoever was leading them notice the crowd at the farm? Would they start asking ques-tions? She was glad that Gryss had decided to tell no one about her apart from Jeorg.