Valderen

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2‘This must be the cause of all the fuss.’

A booted foot prodded cautiously.

‘Careful, it might be dangerous.’

‘No, surely not, it’s only...’

‘No.’ A respectful but definite interruption. ‘Be careful. Something’s disturbed them profoundly. I told you, I Heard it clearer than I’ve ever Heard anything. And this must be the cause of it all. Just look at it. It might be more than it seems. We must be careful.’

Insistent. ‘But it might be injured. Its face is badly bruised.’

Female, newly arrived, and impatient. ‘For pity’s sake, the two of you. If it doesn’t die of its hurts, it will die of old age while you stand around debating matters.’ She laid a heavy and scornful emphasis on the word it.

The young woman pushed the two men aside and knelt down by the object of their attention. ‘Go and tend that horse, Marken, if you’re bothered about this one. I’ll let you know if it suddenly turns into a tree goblin and tries to drag me to its lair.’

The older of the two men looked briefly at his companion for support, but found only an anxious preoccupation with their discovery. Scowling, he set off across the clearing towards the quietly grazing horse that the girl had indicated.

The other man abandoned his momentary reverie. ‘Edrien, that’s no way to talk to Marken,’ he said to the girl. ‘He’s our Hearer, child. You should show more respect.’

The girl frowned impatiently. ‘I know, Father,’ she said, a little repentantly. ‘But he fusses so, at times.’

‘He fusses because he Hears and we don’t, Edrien,’ her father persisted. ‘And I’ve never seen him so agitated about a Hearing before.’ A note of annoyance came into his voice. ‘And what he Hears he notes, which is more than you’ve ever done. You just apologize to him when he comes back.’

Edrien’s frown deepened and her mouth formed a reply which she noticeably pondered and then rejected before saying, ‘Oh. very well,’ with a great lack of conviction. ‘But is it all right if I see if this thing is alive or not?’

The man allowed his daughter this last sarcastic barb, then he crouched down beside her and nodded. ‘Take care though,’ he said, softly but firmly. ‘There’s something odd about him, to say the least. Look at his clothes. And his hair, for pity’s sake — it’s black! And so’s his horse. Wherever he’s from, it’s beyond the Forest, for sure.’ Surreptitiously, and keeping his hand well out of the sight of his daughter, he drew a knife.

Edrien reached out and gently held her fingers against the throat of the motionless figure lying on the sunlit grass. ‘He’s not dead, anyway,’ she said after a moment.

‘That may not necessarily be good news.’ It was Marken, returned, leading the horse uncertainly.

Edrien looked up, her face angry, but catching her father’s eye she swallowed her intended reply. ‘I’m sorry I was... a little short... Marken,’ she said flatly, her jaw taut.

Marken gave a slight, sharp nod by way of acknowledgement, then turned to her father. ‘His horse is exhausted, Derwyn,’ he said. ‘He must have been riding like someone demented.’

Derwyn shook his head. ‘I’m surprised he got this far. There must be some reason for it.’ He turned to Marken. ‘Can you Hear anything?’ he asked.

Marken closed his eyes, and raised his hand slightly for silence. It was an unnecessary gesture. Both Derwyn and Edrien stood motionless, watching him intently. The gentle rustle of the surrounding trees filled the small clearing. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Less than usual, if anything. Whatever was causing the disturbance has ended.’ There was doubt in his voice, however. ‘But there’s a... tension, here... an expectancy... even a bewilderment. It’s very strange. It’s as if they’re waiting for us to do something.’

‘What?’ Derwyn asked.

Marken shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

Edrien looked at the two men. ‘Shall I see if it’s safe to move him?’ she asked.

‘I suppose so,’ Derwyn replied, though he still kept his knife discreetly ready. He’d seen more than one ‘unconscious’ animal, suddenly spring to life, all teeth and slashing claws. And he’d never come across any animal remotely as devious and savage as a man bent on treachery.

Gently, Edrien lifted up the eyelids of the unconscious figure, then, carefully, she tested his limbs. ‘I can’t feel anything serious. I think he’s probably just fallen off his horse and cracked his head.’

Derwyn stood up. His lined face creased further as he frowned. ‘Well, that’s as may be, but if he’s a faller we can’t risk throwing him over a saddle while he’s unconscious, there’s no saying what hurt we’d do him. And wherever he’s come from, or for whatever reason, we can’t leave him here. We’ll have to tie him to a stretcher and take him back to the lodge. See what Bildar makes of him.’ He turned to Marken. ‘Find some suitable branches and ask if we may take them,’ he said.

Marken nodded and disappeared into the trees. Derwyn turned to his daughter. ‘Go and help him, Edrien,’ he said, adding as she stood up, ‘And be pleasant, please. Like me, he’s older than you, and unfortunately no longer has the advantage of knowing everything.’

His slight smile silenced Edrien’s reply before it formed.

Within a short while the three were walking their horses slowly through the forest. Derwyn’s was hauling a crude but well-rigged stretcher to which the body of the still-unconscious new arrival was tightly and skilfully lashed. The soft springiness of the two main supporting branches absorbed much of the impact of the small jolts that occurred as the trailing ends were dragged over the forest floor. Derwyn kept a careful watch for anything that might seriously jar the passenger. Behind him came Edrien and Marken, leading the other horses. There was little conversation as they walked along, and the tread of the horses was so soft that the sounds of their passing were lost in the gentle rustling of the trees and the bird song that filled the sunlit air.

As Derwyn halted and he and Edrien moved to ease the trailing ends of the stretcher over a large root protruding above the grassy forest floor, the figure on the stretcher muttered something. Edrien looked up. ‘I think he’s waking,’ she said.

Derwyn looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, we’ve not far to go now, we’ll get him back to the lodge and let Bildar look at him anyway. Keep an eye on him. See if you can make sense of anything he says.’

The small procession set off again.

* * * *

Darkness swirled around Farnor. At his heels, the fearful menace came ever closer.

‘Run, horse, run!’ The phrase wove incessantly in and out of his head through the pounding progress of the exhausted and panic-stricken horse. Then there was no horse and no sound and he was moving alone through the darkness. All around were menace and fear. Voices called to him: his mother and father, Gryss, Marna, and poor, beaten Jeorg. But he could not understand what they said. And there were other voices too, alien and strange.

Yet these were but flitting dreams. In truth, he knew that there was nothing but the flight and the fear and the terrible rasping of his breath and the pounding of his heart. There had never been anything but the flight and fear, in all its gasping horror, nor would there ever be.

Then the darkness began to cling about him, tangible and awful. A myriad cloying fingers catching at his legs, his arms, his whole body. But he must not stop. Even to falter would be to bring the creature down upon him, with its fearsome, rending jaws, and its terrible will, lusting to feast upon the fear that so filled him.

Yet the darkness would not be gainsaid. It tugged and snatched at him, relentlessly draining the strength from him, wrapping itself about him tighter and tighter like some great spider’s web.

Until finally he was powerless to move.

Utterly spent, he was held fast, swaying helplessly in the black emptiness.

Faint sounds drifted to him.

It was still there! Pursuing him!

He began to struggle. He would not die to this creature — Rannick’s creature — like some bleating sheep.

No!

‘No!’

‘Father!’

The voice burst upon him, urgent and nearby. With it came shifting shadows within shadows. Something touched his face. He shied away from it violently and struggled to free himself.

‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’ An anxious female voice, speaking with a strange accent, washed over him and the darkness broke silently into countless shimmering lights. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ the voice said again.

Farnor took in the gentleness of the voice even as the lights about him became bright, welcoming beams of warm sunlight, scattered by a wind-shaken canopy of branches and leaves.

The menace had gone!

Relief flooded through him.

But still he was bound!

With a panic-stricken cry, he began struggling again.

‘No, no!’ the woman’s voice protested. ‘You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.’ Then, apparently to someone else, ‘I don’t think he can understand me.’

Hands touched Farnor’s face, and the silhouette of a head intruded itself against the leafy background. ‘I said, you are safe,’ the head said loudly and with painstaking slowness. ‘Do not struggle. You have had a fall. You might be badly hurt.’

‘I doubt that, Edrien,’ came a man’s amused voice. ‘Not the way he’s wriggling. And I don’t think he’s deaf either, judging from the look on his face when you shouted at him.’

Though the nightmare horror of the creature and the chase had slipped away from him, much of Farnor’s fear returned. He was a captive, held by some strange-speaking people. Had he fallen into the hands of Nilsson’s men? Was he being carried back to the castle? He redoubled his struggling.

The head disappeared and another one replaced it. Farnor stopped briefly and screwed up his eyes to examine his captor, but the sunlight flickering through the leaves was too bright for him to distinguish any features.

‘Do you understand me, boy?’ the new head said quietly, but also with a strange accent.

‘I’m not a boy, sir,’ Farnor said, viciously polite, as an unexpected surge of anger ran through him, at this form of address.

Somewhere there was a soft chuckle. ‘I gather you do understand me, young man,’ the head said again.

‘Who are you?’ Farnor demanded. ‘Are you Nilsson’s men? Where are we? Where are you taking me...?’

The head shook and a waving hand appeared, seeking silence. ‘Calm yourself. No one means you any harm and we’ve all got a great many questions to ask. But for now, my name’s Derwyn, I’m Koyden-dae. I’m afraid I know of no peoples called Nilssons — a very peculiar name, I must say — but if the Nilssons are your kin then I’m sure we’ll help you to get back to them in due course, if we can.’

Farnor gaped.

‘Although I must admit, I wouldn’t know where to start looking,’ Derwyn continued. ‘Indeed, I’ve no idea how you came to be here. It’s all very strange.’ He became explanatory. ‘We were drawn out to look for something when our Hearer felt a great disturbance. And we found you. And your horse. That’s safe too, but you’ve been riding hard by the look of it. We...’

‘I can’t understand half of what you’re saying,’ Farnor interrupted heatedly. He struggled against his bonds again. ‘But if you mean me no harm, then why am I trussed up like a Dalmas Day fowl?’

Derwyn’s brow furrowed. ‘I can’t say that I understand you particularly well, young man,’ he replied. ‘Your speech is a little strange. But we thought you were a faller, albeit only off your horse, and you might have been badly hurt. We bound you to this stretcher so that we could take you back to our Mender at the lodge without injuring you further.’

Despite his anxiety, Farnor felt the reassurance in Derwyn’s voice and, almost in spite of himself, he relaxed a little. ‘I’m not hurt,’ he said more quietly. But as if they had been waiting for the opportunity, the pains from his beating by Nilsson and his subsequent headlong flight through the forest returned to give him the lie. He stiffened and grimaced.

Derwyn nodded knowingly. ‘So I see,’ he said, with some irony. ‘Just lie still. We’ve not far to go to our lodge, now. Then our Mender can look at you properly and we’ll find out just how badly you’re not hurt.’

Farnor was inclined to dispute the matter further, but all the spirit seemed to leave him. His entire body was beginning to throb and his mind whirled with innumerable, half-formed questions.

‘Relax. Lie still,’ Derwyn said again, and his head disappeared from Farnor’s view. The soft command coincided exactly with the demands of Farnor’s body and it did as it was bidden. Almost immediately sleep began to creep over him, helped in no small degree by the gentle swaying of the stretcher and the sunlight above him, broken into countless dancing shards by the shaking leaves.