‘I’ve come to help,’ Marna said, before Aaren could reply. Engir started in surprise. ‘I don’t need to know your language to understand that remark,’ Marna went on. ‘And I’ve had this argument once. I mightn’t be trained but I’m not stupid. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, because I’m not leaving.’
There was an awkward pause, then Levrik said to her, ‘You can mind the horses. We might need them quickly when we come out and it’ll be pitch dark then. It could save a lot of time, not to mention our necks.’
Marna was both surprised and pleased by this inter-vention from the most silent of the group, but despite this feeling of gratitude there was still a quality about the man that disturbed her.
His suggestion was accepted however, and some time was spent introducing Marna to the horses and giving her detailed instructions for their tending, followed by further instructions on how to respond to the different signals that she might hear once the attack had begun. For the remainder of the day the four continued their own preparations: checking and rechecking their weapons and equipment, and repeat-edly going over their plan and its various contingencies. Then there was a strange, tense interlude when all was completed and there was nothing to do but wait until the night came and they could venture forth.
It stopped raining, and the air filled with rich, damp forest perfumes and the sound of the soft irregular dripping of the rain still held in the leaves above. As she watched her new companions, Marna wondered at their quietness and stillness, though she sensed that only Levrik was truly relaxed, truly here. Some part, at least, of each of the others was elsewhere. She herself felt as though she were holding her breath continuously.
Unable to cope with the waiting, she wandered over to Aaren and spoke to her softly, asking about the attack they planned, even though she had heard it described a dozen or more times. Aaren seemed quite willing, even anxious, to speak about it yet again. She concluded almost in a whisper, ‘You know what you’ve got to do, but if things don’t appear to be working out as we intend, don’t be afraid to use your own judgement.’ She paused and looked straight at Marna. ‘I trust it. And so does Levrik.’
Marna had no reply. She glanced over at the mo-tionless figure of her other sponsor into this mysterious group. ‘He frightens me,’ she heard herself whispering. Then she was clamping her hand over her mouth as her mind raced to find an apology.
Aaren looked at her. ‘So he should,’ she said, a strange flatness in her tone. ‘As should I. As should all of us.’ The light caught her eyes, making them glint as she peered through the leafy shade, and Marna’s hands began to shake. Aaren reached out and took them. ‘Above all, Levrik should frighten you. But in what we do, believe me, Levrik guarding your back is worth a score of the rest of us.’
Unnerved by the turn of the conversation and anx-ious to end it, Marna staggered into another blunder. ‘How did you lose the end of your finger?’ she asked.
There was a slight pause, and then Aaren’s noiseless laugh reached her. A maternal hand patted her face. ‘A friend bit it off,’ came the reply, and the soft laughter renewed itself.
‘A friend!’ Marna exclaimed softly.
‘There are times when you get to know who your real friends are, Marna,’ Aaren said, still laughing. ‘But that’s enough. I’ll tell you some other time. When this day’s behind us as well.’
Marna held her peace, far from certain what folly she might commit next. For some time she heard Aaren chuckling to herself, but even in the failing light she could see that the woman was nervously squeezing the end of her damaged finger.
Then, unseen behind the grey clouds, the sun dipped behind the mountains and darkness began to seep into the valley. There was a terse command from Engir, and with a last-minute check that Marna knew her signals and what she was to do, the four were gone, soft and silent as shadows.
Marna stood for some time in the deepening gloom, then, carefully checking that the horses were securely tethered, she cautiously followed a thin guideline down to what was to be her post at the edge of the trees. In the near distance, she could make out the castle. As on the previous night, torches in the courtyard were illuminat-ing the walls of the various towers, and from Rannick’s eyrie the sickly and unnatural light pulsed erratically.
She shivered, though whether it was the light from Rannick’s window, the evening dampness, or the cold fear that was tugging at her stomach, she could not have said. Now she must watch and wait and, above all, as Aaren had emphasized at the last, ‘Be aware.’
Farnor dropped down on to a grassy bank and wiped his forehead. He had been walking uphill steadily for some time and, despite the rain that had started, he was sweating and his shirt was sticking unpleasantly to his back.
Somewhere below, he knew that Derwyn and the Valderen would be advancing through the woods towards Nilsson and his men. He rested his head in his hands and tried to shake off his vexation at what he still saw to be the folly of this action. His anger, he knew, would serve no useful end, and, he suspected, might well cloud his judgement; indeed, it might well already have done so. In so far as I’ve got any judgement, he sneered to himself as he recalled his part in what had happened.
Seeing the futility of his appeals to Derwyn, he had stood for some time watching the Valderen frenziedly preparing to leave, then he had packed his own few things, taken his two horses, and quietly slipped away. He must stay with the realization that had come to him in the night. The creature, Rannick and Nilsson were enemies to both the Valderen and the people of the valley, and they must be seen as such. If Derwyn, for whatever reason, could not accept the threat that the creature posed, then to quarrel with him beyond a certain point was merely to serve the enemy’s ends. He, Farnor, must act so as to make good what he saw to be his ally’s mistake. He must kill the creature on his own.
And so far, all had been with him. The presence of the creature hung in the damp air like a miasma, but it was still dormant, as if it were sleeping or, more sinisterly, absent in some other way.
Farnor let his feet guide him. As well as the presence of the creature, he could feel the trees around him, resolutely watchful. In the distance he could sense the pain that Nilsson’s assault was causing them and he knew that they were deliberately keeping it from him. Occasionally however, a thin, piercing shriek would tear through to him, making him stop in his tracks and stiffen in distress as it faded into the interminable distance. He remained silent, though. Their true pain was beyond his understanding, and nothing he could say would lessen it. All that he could do, he was doing, and this they knew and accepted.
He looked up at the darkening sky and frowned. Soon it would be pitch black and he would be wandering about the woods with only a small sunstone lantern to guide him. Not only would he not be able to see very far, he would also be very conspicuous. He swore silently to himself, then stood up and set off again. He must make what progress he could, while he could, though that in its turn begged the question as to what progress was, for he had no specific idea where he was going.
Occasionally, as he had started to do on his journey back from the most ancient, he would touch a tree to see if, as individuals, they could offer him any guidance. But their responses were weak and varied, and he sensed that much of whatever spirit lay in these… homes… had already withdrawn, and that his touch tended to lure them back and was thus painful. After a while he stopped.
Eventually he came to the edge of the trees to find himself on the arm of a great cwm which swept away from him into the gloom, dark and ominous. In what was left of the light, he could just make out a rocky slope rising up from the tree line.
The presence of the creature was growing stronger. He looked at his two horses. They would be no further use to him now, clattering and unsteady across the rain-slicked rocks. And, not knowing when, or if, he would be back, he could not tether them somewhere, like sacrifices. He would have to abandon them and carry such as he needed himself. Besides, they were becoming increasingly unhappy, as if they too could sense the nearness of the creature.