Across the Face of the World (20 page)

The three of them walked some way along the road in silence. Here 1 am, walking with Stella, thought Leith bitterly. At any other time I would be delighted. If only Hal were somewhere else . . .

. Hal stopped abruptly, interrupting Leith's musings. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but my leg is sore from all that hard riding. I can't walk any further. I'll wait for you here.'

Leith was about to protest when Stella spoke up. 'Thank you, Hal; we won't be long. Come on, Leith,' she added, as the boy gave no sign of continuing up the road. He managed to get his legs to move, and started up the road with a burning in his stomach. He dared not look at her.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Stella turned to Leith. 'Is it true?' she asked. 'Did you wait for me by the Common Oak all afternoon?'

'Yes,' replied Leith, embarrassed beyond measure by the blunt-ness of the question. Tears lurked dangerously close to the surface. That pitiful afternoon under the oak tree was a symbol of all that had happened to him since. Of his loneliness, of his foolishness.

'What happened to you? How come you didn't turn up?' he blurted out.

'I'm sorry,' she replied blandly.

Leith's anger rose at her words, so few in number, delivered with such ease. Did the whole thing mean so little to her?

She continued, 'I said I'd come with you because I wanted to annoy Druin. But when he found out he became angry, and wouldn't let me go to meet you. Believe me, Leith, I couldn't have got away from him even if I'd tried.'

'Then why didn't you tell me this earlier? The next day, the next week - some time before now, at least!' The rage, the tears, seemed to close in on him.

Stella shrugged her shoulders helplessly. How could she explain it? All the other girls had ridiculed this boy who had waited for her. He had been their joke. How could she have gone and apolo¬gised to him? Could he not understand that some of the ridicule would have rubbed off on her? To have the others laughing at her, the way they had laughed at him - she couldn't have stood it.

That gesture by Stella sealed it for Leith. He took a deep breath and, just as though he was stuffing rags into a bottle, forced his ragged emotions down through his chest and buried them deep inside himself. The effort cut into him like a knife.

The two tormented teenagers continued walking.

'Is it true about you and Druin?' Leith suddenly asked, the words being forced through clenched teeth. 'Are you going to announce your betrothal?'

Stella did not reply for so long that Leith thought she hadn't heard him.

'Yes,' she said eventually. 'Our parents have planned it for a long time.'

He heard the despair in her voice, and it puzzled him. 'Your parents? What about you? Isn't it what you want?'

Stella stopped walking. Her hair hung lankly over her down¬cast face; it shone in the moon's silver light. For some time she said nothing, as if weighing whether or not to speak her mind.

Leith could think of no prompting words. He moved ahead in order better to see her face, but she started walking too, as though she didn't want him to look at her. She walked faster and faster as they approached the end of the village. Suddenly she stopped.

'Oh, Leith, I hate him so much!' Her voice was thinner, more vulnerable than he had ever heard it. 'Druin has been after me ever since he heard about our parents' plans. He forces himself on me. He never lets me out of his sight! All the others think he is wonderful, but he isn't! For a while I tried to like him, but every day brings some new thing to loathe him for.

I'm not going back, Leith; I'm not! No matter what!' Then she began to cry.

Leith had never seen a woman cry before, except his mother. He wanted to reassure her, to hug her like he hugged his mother, but he could not force himself to take the risk. The fear of her rejection, as real as a physical pain, almost buckled him over.

'We'd better go back,' she said aloud.

'Yes,' Leith replied lamely. He knew he had let himself down, but he was powerless to tell her how he felt.

'I'm sorry about the Midwinter Play,' he said eventually.

Stella laughed bitterly. 'It was perfect! I've never seen Druin so angry! If you hadn't been killed - I mean, if you hadn't pretended to be killed ... Anyway, I was going to warn you if I could. Druin was so jealous, I'm sure he would have come after you the next day. His was the only happy face at your funeral.'

'He wouldn't have done that, would he?' Leith asked uncer¬tainly.

'You don't know him,' Stella replied simply. 'He has two faces. Well spoken and well mannered in public, but uncouth and abusive in private. I hope he dies before I get back!' The vehemence in her voice was frightening.

Leith did not answer. It seemed to him that he was losing himself, falling, falling down a deep well into darkness.

Kurr stared across the table at the Haufuth of Mjolkbridge. 'Now you know something about these riders and their captives. Is there any way you might be able to help us, or that we might be able to help you?'

'You can help us very simply,' came the reply. 'Kill these riders. Let no mercy be shown to the unmerciful! Or if you do not wish to kill them, bring them back to Mjolkbridge where they will stand trial for what they have done!'

'A neat trick if we could do it,' muttered the Haufuth of Loulea.

'What you ask is also what we wish,' the old farmer responded. 'Is there anyone here who could help us do it?'

'No one in their right mind would come with you,' replied the Mjolkbridge headman.

'Vengeance aside, it is the wrong time of year for such a venture, if there ever is a right time for the pursuit of such fearsome men. However, we have two young men who have not been in their right minds since their father was killed. We were hard pressed to stop them stealing horses and setting off in pursuit and into certain death. But by now, unfortunately, they will hear that there is a party of strangers riding after these men, and will not be denied their revenge. They will seek to join you. To let them even speak to you is against my better judgment, for they are young and foolhardy, but I don't think I can stop them. Do you wish to see them?'

The Haufuth leaned over to Kurr. 'What's to be gained from talking to them? We don't need more people getting in our way.'

'I agree with you,' Kurr whispered in reply. 'If we rely on strength of numbers we haven't a hope of rescuing Mahnum and Indrett, let alone taking one of the Bhrudwans alive. And yet...'

'What?'

'If these youngsters know the moors, they might be invaluable. On the other hand, we're already taking three children into danger.'

The Haufuth nodded, then turned to his Mjolkbridge counter¬part. 'What about yourself?

Would you come with us?' he asked his fellow headman.

At that moment the door crashed open and two men burst in, drowning out the reply. 'Where are they?' one shouted, knocking a chair to the floor with a loud clatter. Other people crowded around the door to the inn's main room, but were careful not to be seen by their village Haufuth. No one wanted to appear too inquisitive.

'Where are they?' the man repeated, looking wildly around the room.

The Haufuth of Mjolkbridge sighed, then turned to face the intruders.

'Sit down, Farr,' he said, pushing a chair towards him. 'There's another chair over in that corner,' he said to the second man. Then, wearily, he got to his feet and went to the door.

'Sorry, boys,' he said cheerfully. 'Private business.' And he shut the door.

'Well?' demanded the first man, a thin, angular fellow with a beaked nose and a perpetual scowl. 'Are these the ones? Is this all? I thought there were five. Where are the others?'

The man sat down reluctantly when it became obvious that he was not going to get immediate answers to his questions. His brother, who had not yet said anything, was already seated.

The young Haufuth sat back in his seat. 'I apologise for the intrusion,' he said, addressing the men of Loulea. Then he turned on the newcomers. 'You were told to wait outside,' he scolded, but his voice was too gentle to carry much of a rebuke. 'Could you not have waited? What will the men of Loulea think of you? Will they believe that you would respond with obedience and maturity in a time of crisis?'

The first man tried to reply but was interrupted by his headman.

'Farr, be patient. These men have had a long and tiring day, and will not be well disposed towards youngsters who come between them and their well-earned rest.'

The younger brother stood. Shorter than Farr, this man's wide shoulders bespoke strength. 'My name is Wira Storrsen,' he said to Kurr and the Haufuth of Loulea. 'Please forgive our impatience. We are eager to hear of your plans for the horsemen who killed our father.'

The stout Haufuth of Loulea struggled to his feet, smiling at the younger man. 'If we were to make youthful enthusiasm a subject for forgiveness, the world would eventually become a sterile place!' he said, holding out his hands to Wira in the Firanese gesture of peace. 'I am the Haufuth of Loulea, and this is Kurr, one of my companions. Together with three others we are pursuing the riders who attacked your father. Please sit down; it is our pleasure to talk with you.'

The Haufuth of Mjolkbridge sighed his relief. But Farr was not to be denied.

'So what did they do to your village?' he snapped at the Loulea headman.

Kurr's eyes narrowed. 'Much the same as with yours,' he snapped back, forestalling the softer answer of the Haufuth. 'Only they captured rather than killed. Two of our villagers have been taken and we want them returned to us.'

'No deaths in your village?'

'No deaths. At least, we hope that our friends are still alive,'

Farr kept pressing. 'The other three - your companions - they are fighting men?' He looked at Kurr with blazing eyes.

The Haufuth cleared his throat. 'Not exactly,' he admitted. 'In fact, if it comes to a fight I suspect we will be dispatched very quickly. But we will rely—'

'Then you need us!' Farr exclaimed triumphantly. 'We Storrsens are good with sword and stave. We are mountain men of Vinkullen, not soft coastlanders. Mountain men are more than a match for any southern horsemen! When do we leave?'

That was enough for Kurr, who drew in his breath sharply. Who did this boy think he was?

He was about to answer back when, to his disbelief, his Haufuth began to laugh.

'You two men are just what we need! We leave tomorrow morning, one hour before dawn.

Will you be ready?'

A wolf-like grin appeared on the thin features of the older Storrsen. 'We are ready!' he shouted, then stood, knocking his chair backwards. His brother stood beside him. With a swift motion Farr drew a knife from his belt and held it aloft in front of him, point aimed upvalley.

'Let our enemies beware!'

At that moment Stella came through the open door, followed by Leith and a limping Hal. Two men, one brandishing a knife, stood confronting the men of Loulea. Were these men two of the riders? The three youngsters froze.

Farr turned on them in amazement. 'Are these the rest of your companions? But they are mere children!' He let slip the knife, and it dropped to his side. 'Do we go as fighters or as nursemaids?'

Wira clapped him on the shoulder. 'Children? No, brother; take a closer look! I see two determined young men, and—' here his eyes opened a little wider - 'a woman of rare beauty!'

Stella blushed at the frank look of admiration on the man's face.

'Farr,' the younger brother continued, 'it may be you who needs a nursemaid, since you cannot restrain yourself. Don't let grief rob you of good sense! They have accepted us, and we have a chance to avenge the death of our father. What else do you want?'

Farr mumbled something, picked up his knife and sat down. His brother followed, eyes resting for a moment on the Loulea girl. Her eyes sparkled at the attention. Deep inside himself Leith took hold of the bottle and pressed hard down on the cork.

The Company eventually tumbled into beds in musty rooms at the end of a long, dark corridor. But Leith could not sleep, and he listened through the wall as Kurr talked with the Haufuth.

'Why did you accept the offer? What do we want with a couple of hotheads?' The old farmer was angry.

'Only one of them is a hothead,' the Haufuth replied languidly, already drifting towards sleep.

'Those boys would have gone after the riders, whether with us or on their own. You could see that for yourself! This way, there will be no surprises. We can keep an eye on them. I'd rather have them with us, knowing where they are, than have them getting in our way.'

Kurr grunted. 'Something in that,' he acknowledged.

'And now we have two fighters,' the Haufuth reminded him.

'If their boasts can be believed,' Kurr said doubtfully. 'According to Kroptur, no Firanese could call himself a fighter in comparison with these Bhrudwans.'

'Perhaps. But it may yet come to swordplay, and what use would you or I be - or the others, for that matter?'

'Slim chance that these mountain boys could defeat four battle-trained Bhrudwans!'

'Slim chance is better than no chance,' replied the Haufuth.

As Leith lay there it seemed that he was a detached observer, watching another young boy called Leith lying in a strange bed. The young boy looked small, weary and powerless. Go to sleep, he told the young boy. Don't think about it. Think about something eke.

The young boy took his advice, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Surely this was too real to be a dream.

Leith could see his mother sitting trussed to a horse ridden by a grey-cloaked rider. She jerked from side to side as the horse scrambled up an ice-covered path that wound through dark, snow-laden trees. Ahead were two more horses, a smaller northern steed and a large Bhrudwan stallion, both carrying heavy-booted warriors. Further ahead still another horse bearing his father and a fourth Bhrudwan picked its way cautiously up the path.

The fourth rider held a sword against his father's shoulder blades.

A deep wound defiled Mahnum's cheek, and his father raised his hand to touch it, as though it gave him pain. The horseman barked orders in a strange tongue. In response his father pointed ahead into the murky forest. Leith seemed to keep pace with them easily as they rode on up the tree-covered slope. Then they came to a level place and a circular clearing, in the centre of which lay a small blue-green pool. Leith watched as his father was pushed roughly from his horse and forced to gather sticks for a fire. It was cruel work, scrabbling in the snow for wood. His mother they left tied to the horse. She shivered as she sat there, too far away from the warmth of the fire, her face bruised and swollen, her eyes dull with pain and fatigue.