The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans

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СКАЧАТЬ the Rockers.

      ‘So, they kill with rocks?’ I whispered, examining once again the rock lying exactly where my head had been.

      ‘That is their way,’ whispered Valla, ‘and rarely do they fail at it. You were lucky.’

      ‘We were all lucky,’ said Carl. ‘If Brand hadn’t woken us, there would certainly have been more rocks in the dark … although, perhaps not for you.’

      I couldn’t see Valla’s face, but I laughed softly, despite the continuing threat from the darkness.

      ‘Aren’t you going to tell us again that all men are beasts?’ I said, and to my vague dismay, Valla said, ‘Yes, all men are beasts … but know this Brand. I would gladly rut with the foulest peasant before I lay with you. So keep that in mind next time you picture me naked and lying beneath you. It will never happen.’

      I had no idea how to respond to that, but it left me feeling sad. And of course, the serpent again began to uncoil.

      Chapter 6

      A Strange Device

      We took it in turns to snatch a little rest, with always two watching, but sleep had not come easily with the constant threat and also the knowledge that you would be woken as soon as you shut your eyes.

      And yet, we did shut our eyes. Carl and I had been watching, as Valla slept, and the next I knew I was waking with a start – in cold, grey mist which hung about us but swirled with every breath or movement like gossamer pricked with tiny crystals. Beyond the clearing, the trees were dark shadows, like brooding chessmen from an unfinished game.

      Carl and Valla were asleep, and the forest was quiet. I sensed the Rockers were not close, but climbed to my feet and stretched, pulling my sword from its scabbard and examining the half-dried blood on the tip. I knew that I ought to be cleaning and sharpening the sword after blooding it, but felt a strange unwillingness. The blood marked my first effort as a warrior and I was loath to lose it.

      We were in a small clearing, only twenty paces across, but so thick was the mist it was almost impossible to see from one edge to the other. I strained ears and eyes but caught no warning, so began collecting more fuel and added kindling to the fire which had all but died. I dug into the coals, found some still faintly pink and blew, crumbling dried bark onto the embers as they glowed. Soon the fire was crackling once again and Carl stirred. So I decided to leave the clearing discreetly.

      As I’ve said before, there are some stinks I cannot bear – one in particular. Some might suggest that my experience of lying all night in a latrine might have inured me to the stench of turd, but if anything it had made me even more squeamish. There were certain conventions about shitting near camp sites. At least thirty paces into the woods was regarded as good manners, but that was never enough for me so, sword in hand, I crept through the misty bracken, twisting and turning past rocks and huge trees, until I found a place sufficiently remote for my taste.

      After completing my ablutions I began to retrace my steps, and soon realised I’d lost the trail.

      I stopped – the loudest sound being my own breathing – and turned slowly in a complete circle, trying to recognise a landmark leading back to the clearing. Nothing seemed familiar, so I chose the most obvious path – and found myself back at the place of my ablutions.

      The faintest stirrings of panic began to grip me, but I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was only fifty or so paces from the clearing. Dare I risk a shout? Or a whistle perhaps?

      My low, tuneless whistle sounded dead against the ever-swirling mist, so I tried a little louder. There was no response, and I began to feel terribly alone. Again, I shook my head and breathed deeply to clear the beginnings of panic. I felt the urge to start running and shouting but quelled it, knowing that panic would only lead me astray, and shouting could bring the Rockers.

      Picking a direction slightly to the west of the first I had tried, I determined to go as straight as possible for fifty paces and then if necessary, return and try again – gradually radiating until I found my companions.

      Halfway through my third attempt, I heard Carl shout, but it sounded far behind me and I immediately turned and headed in the direction of the shout. Then he shouted again, and Valla screamed, and I started running, pulling the sword from its scabbard as I leapt over logs and crashed through bracken.

      Then I heard strange voices and rough laughter and raced toward the new danger. I could see shapes moving in the mist up ahead and smell the smoke of the fire. Then there was the sound of a blow and a cry, so I cast all caution aside and leapt into the clearing.

      Which was filled with men dressed in fine clothes and heavily armed, and immediately I assumed that another of Malgard’s assassin troops had found me and swung my sword at the nearest – who ducked effortlessly and kicked my legs from beneath me.

      ‘No Brand!’ screamed Valla, but I heeded her not, jumping back to my feet and brandishing the sword – threatening all six of the strangely clad men.

      Who all started laughing.

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      Such was my surprise, and so friendly did they seem despite being large, fierce-looking and arrayed for war, that I lowered my sword.

      ‘A fighting man with a blooded sword,’ boomed the largest of them – a tall man with blondish hair and a fine moustache. ‘And offering battle to all six of us. Who’ve you been killing lad? One of these?’

      He had an unusually loud voice, like an actor playing a role, but exuded a natural authority, to which I submitted without question. Lying on the ground and groaning was a filthy looking creature dressed in skins and rags not unlike Valla, although not as clean and fair.

      ‘The Rockers,’ I stammered, ‘ … the people of the wood.’

      ‘Indeed … so you’re on our side,’ he said. ‘But there is a strange tale here … three travellers … two dressed as Danes but speaking our tongue … the third dressed as one of the forest folk whom we have sworn to scour from these woods.’

      ‘Scour from the woods?’ I repeated in sudden doubt. ‘These are my woods. Why would you wish to do me such a service?’

      Once again the men roared with laughter.

      ‘Your woods?’ asked the blonde leader, smiling. ‘By what authority do you claim the woods?’

      ‘By this authority,’ I said, holding up my fist with the ring of office outermost. ‘I am Brand, son of Holgar … thegn and reeve of Stybbor.’

      In the distance a horn blew and the men all turned in that direction.

      ‘The hunt is on!’ cried another man, younger and shorter than the leader, but not unlike him of face. Like the leader, he was heavily muscled and dressed more richly than the others – all of whom wore moustaches in the style of the leader.

      ‘I would hear your tale Brand Holgarsson,’ said the leader, ‘but we have work to do for the present … to finish the fight you started.’

      He nodded once again at my sword, grinning, then lifted a hunting horn that hung on a baldric at his side and blew a great double blast. Then all but one of them took off into the mist, which was now thinning enough to let a few stray beams of sunlight СКАЧАТЬ