Hero Born Read online

  Brann pulled his boots back on. ‘Anyway,’ Konall continued, ‘even given all that, I would still not have come. There is no advantage to Ravensrest for those three to be saved: none of them knows enough to be a risk to our security, and none would probably survive long enough to tell much anyway. There was no reason strong enough, if I was being purely logical, for the heir to the title to risk himself.’

  ‘So,’ Brann persisted, ‘what was the reason for the heir to the title to risk himself after all?’

  Konall threw the stone that he had retrieved at last from his boot into the trees. ‘It is you, damn your soul. I could not stand the thought of your little accusing face looking at me wherever I went for the interminable period until you leave. If this is what I have to do to escape that, then so be it.’

  ‘So you thought you would bring me for my invaluable assistance,’ Brann grinned.

  ‘So I thought I would bring you in case I needed to shield myself with someone, so do not push your luck,’ Konall grunted, wrapping his heavy cloak around him and curling up against the rock wall. ‘And,’ he added quietly, ‘a slave who I had tied up in the woods and left to his fate saved my life and, as if that were not enough, he was willing to sacrifice himself to let me escape – though I, my town and even my land mean nothing to him.

  ‘Unlike your precious Captain, I have done my duty to my father and my people. Now I must do my duty to him.’

  Brann looked curiously at him. ‘Why do you hate Einarr so much? He must have been gone for much of your life, if not all of it. How can you know him enough to feel so strongly?’

  Konall stared into the trees. ‘One does not have to be in another’s presence to know someone if the other’s actions speak for themselves.

  ‘You have kings in your country. Therefore you have corruption at the highest level and rulers who know nothing of most of their territory or people.’ Brann thought this a bit of an assumption, but nerves – and curiosity – kept him silent. ‘We have warlords. Their territory is smaller than a kingdom, but they know their lords beneath them and their people beneath them. The warlords may fight one another over disputes of various origin, but that keeps us ready for invaders and means that each man must rule well or lose his position. Not like your complacent kings.

  ‘Einarr’s father, Sigurr, is our warlord. My father is his brother, fifteen years his junior. He adores and looks up to Sigurr, though he would never admit it, and though the gods only know why. Sigurr has not extended his borders by one hand’s width in forty years of rule. Neither my father nor two other minor lords have gained through his rule. We have kept what we have, and no more.’ He spat on the stone floor, his opinion of this state of affairs evident.

  ‘Einarr had it all,’ he continued, his voice still bitter. ‘He would have taken over from his father and was born to rule some of the richest fishing shores in the land. But he wasted it over a woman. The daughter of Lord Styrr, of Blackcliffe, the next town along the coast, she was promised to the son of another warlord. But Einarr fell for her charms, and she for his. As if they wanted to demonstrate to the world the feeble extent of their weak natures, they surrendered to their feelings. The night before she was to leave with her suitor to travel to his father’s hall for their wedding, the young lovebirds tried to flee. The fools did not get far – how did they ever think they would? When they were stopped, her husband-to-be had the warriors accompanying him relieve Einarr of his sword and, justifiably and honourably, drew his own sword to dispense justice to the dog who had tried to steal his bride. Einarr had a knife in his boot, though. He threw off those gripping him and killed the lord’s son, and taking his sword, slew the two warriors, also.

  ‘In the confusion, the girl took a fatal blow as one of the warriors fought against the bride-stealing dog. Distraught, Einarr returned to his father, having destroyed a marriage, killed a bride and groom, and brought two warlords to the brink of all-out war. Amazingly, his father spared him. He exiled him, and somehow war was averted.

  ‘But now he comes sweeping in as if he has a right to be here. He will bring war to us, at a time when our warriors are stretched by bandit trouble, rather than at a time when we are strong and could seek to gain advantage from it – and all because of his stupidity and vanity. The warlord he wronged is three times more powerful than we are and surely must seek vengeance. Our only chance against him, if we were at full strength, would be to use our knowledge of our land and terrain, and hope that our cunning was greater than his might.

  ‘But we are not at full strength and Einarr has destroyed us. Yet my father welcomes him back with an embrace. He is a fool. If our dominion were a bear, Einarr would be the poisoned thorn in its paw. Unless the thorn is removed, the bear will die.

  ‘Now get some sleep, you will need it.’ Brann started to answer, but was met with a wave of the hand. ‘We have talked enough. I will wake you at dawn.’

  Curling into a ball beside Konall, he felt fatigue sweep over him as quick as his blanket.

  True to his word, Konall woke him with a rough shake just as the sun was rising. With scarcely time to stretch, they set off once more, eating as they walked. They kept their cloaks round them at first but, as the exercise worked up their body temperature, they took them off and, rolling them up, strapped them to their packs.

  They came to a stretch of land where cover was sparse and, with the sun high in the sky again, the glare from the snow was painful. Konall halted.

  ‘Your tunic has a hood on it. Pull it up,’ he said.

  Brann frowned. ‘I’m not cold. I have a cloak with me if I want to be warmer, although the colour doesn’t exactly match the rest of my outfit. But in any case, I’m actually too warm walking in this sunshine.’

  ‘It is because of the sun that you need it. Rolled up at the front of the hood is some light gauze. Untie it and let it fall over your face. If the wind gets up, you can tie it to the neck of your tunic to stop it flapping. You will be able to see through it. Without it, the glare will have you blind shortly, and will burn your face.’

  Pulling the cover over his face, Brann felt ridiculous. After a moment’s reflection, however, he snorted in derision at his own vanity as he reminded himself of the number of people around him who could judge his appearance.

  Konall had started to walk once more, and he hurried to catch up.

  Brann looked around them. ‘I do not recognise this way from before. I thought we would be heading for the clearing where we last saw them so we could follow their trail from there.’

  Konall shrugged. ‘You feel free to go along two sides of a triangle if you want. I know the direction they went, so I would rather head straight for that area and look for them from there.’

  ‘I think I’ll stick with you,’ Brann decided. ‘So, now that we are agreed on that, what are we going to do when we find them?’

  ‘It is pointless to try to plan for a situation when we have yet to see what we have to deal with, in terms of enemy numbers, terrain or defences. In the meantime, we shut up. In this situation, ears are just as useful as eyes in discovering danger.’

  His advice was proved correct later that morning. Konall’s hearing, keener than Brann’s (it would be, Brann thought, less than charitably), picked up the murmur of voices ahead. The two boys were moving through sparse trees and had their hoods down, but even when he stopped and concentrated, Brann was unable to hear anything. He was, however, happy to follow Konall’s signals when he realised what the boy was communicating to him.

  They drew swords slowly and quietly. Brann’s blade had felt heavy when he picked it up that morning; now, with the possibility looming of having to use it, it felt twice as heavy and ten times more awkward. Konall gestured that the voices lay ahead and slightly to the right, where the ground rose sharply and rockily. The easiest, and most obvious, way forward lay straight ahead, veering slightly to the left to pass in front of the steep ground; it was almost certain that those who lay ahead of them were watching that pa
th, either in ambush or as sentries. Konall led Brann slightly back on their tracks and to the right, creeping through the widely spaced trees in a broad loop to take them well behind the source of the noises. The ground rose, not as sharply as the hillock they had originally faced, and they soon found themselves on the higher level.

  They crept forward, trying not to dislodge any rocks underfoot or to let their packs or, even more importantly, their swords knock against any of the hard surfaces they passed. Konall peered carefully and painstakingly around the edge of every gap they passed until, as they were about to clear a large boulder, he froze. He lowered himself flat, and used his fingers and toes to lift and edge himself forward until there was enough room for Brann to follow. When he did so, moving alongside the older boy, he copied Konall’s example and raised his head just enough to see over the crest of a small rise, his heart pounding so hard that he could hear it in his head. The ground dropped sharply before them and, in a small hollow around twenty feet below them and thirty feet ahead, sat two men, similar in appearance to those they had faced the day before. The sight, although expected, made him jump so hard that he ducked back down out of sight. It was one thing to see the enemy in his mind’s eye, but a different prospect altogether to see them in the flesh.

  He peered down once more. The pair were definitely sentries, anyway. That much was apparent from the fact that, although their position was well chosen for reasons of attack – with good vision of, and cover from, the area below and easy exit behind them – they were paying scant attention to the possibility that anyone may pass below them and were, instead, intent upon some simplistic game involving what Brann, at first, thought were animal bones but then realised with a surge of nausea were human fingers – some still bearing fragments of skin. These were obviously two men who were passing their time as they performed a chore, and were not expecting to see, never mind ambush, anyone.

  Brann sensed movement beside him and turned to see that Konall had silently laid out two arrows beside himself. He gestured to Brann to do likewise, and started to inch his bow from its fastenings.

  Eyes wide in alarm, Brann grabbed Konall’s hand, stopping the movement. Unaccustomed to anyone ever restraining him, or even touching him, never mind at a moment such as this, Konall glared round, eyes blazing in fury.

  He mouthed, ‘What?’

  Brann pointed at the bandits, drew his hand across his throat, and shook his head violently. Konall’s expression was eloquent enough; he did not have to utter the word ‘lunacy’ to tell what was going through his mind, and he reached again for his bow.

  Brann leant over and breathed into his ear, ‘If we kill them, we leave a sign we were here.’

  Konall twisted so that his mouth was over Brann’s ear. ‘You do not leave enemies behind you. It is suicide.’

  Brann, exasperated, whispered back, ‘If they do not know we were here, they will stay far behind us. If they are relieved and corpses – or no one at all – are found, we will be hunted. We will be caught between those behind us and the others that we seek in front. And we lose any surprise we may have.’

  Konall stared hard at him, weighing what Brann had said against any alternatives he could imagine. After a long moment, his face tightened but he nodded once and began to slip his arrows back into the quiver. Brann breathed a silent sigh of relief, and they eased themselves back from the position. Once they had retired a reasonable distance and, now knowing that they would not chance upon the sentries around any more corners of this rocky outcrop, they were able to move at a reasonable pace once more.

  Still, though, they did not dare to speak until they were well clear of the area.

  Konall said, in his usual emotionless tone, ‘That was good thinking.’

  Brann smiled. ‘It just seemed obvious.’

  Konall grunted. ‘Not to everyone. Sometimes it is good to have a mind uncluttered by military doctrine.’ It was a few more paces before he added, ‘And now that we know where they are, we can get them on the way back.’

  Brann had been thinking more of avoiding them on the way back, but knew that his chances of dissuading Konall on that occasion were less than nil.

  Konall continued, ‘Anyway, it has told us one thing.’

  Brann was already out of breath from the combination of the current exertion and the nerves of their recent near-encounter, and was finding speech less easy with each passing step. Only the thought of Gerens and Grakk drove his fatigued legs forward. Instead, he made a strangulated grunt that he hoped sounded both as if he were interested and he wished Konall to continue. It worked, to his relief.

  ‘We are closer than we thought. Their base must be in the general area I had thought, but at the side of it that is nearest to our lands. It is good for us, right now, because we have less distance to travel and, more importantly, less distance to travel back when we may be pursued. But it is also extremely worrying that these scum live only maybe one full day’s forced march from Ravensrest.’

  He stopped. ‘At any rate, if we are this close, we should be more careful – and ready.’ He pulled out his bow and strung it, before unbuckling the protective flap from the top of the quiver and tucking it in to reveal the arrows. This time Brann had no thoughts of stopping him, and did likewise. ‘And we had better drop the pace. It would be wise to be more alert.’ Brann agreed.

  Their bows strung and held in their left hands, they headed on, more cautiously than before. Brann became particularly jumpy, wheeling around frequently and jerking his head towards one side and then the other. Aiming to be as ready as he could, he drew an arrow from his quiver and held it with his bow. He stopped short of nocking it to the string, but held it along the length of the bow, ready to grab it if the occasion arose.

  ‘I know what you are thinking,’ Konall said. ‘But you would be better keeping it in the quiver. It will only be a further encumbrance in your hand, and we have enough open country around us to see anyone coming, so any time you would save by holding the arrow there would be unimportant. In any case, if you do not have enough time to get it from the quiver, you will not have enough time to use the bow. You would be better with your sword.’

  Brann could see the sense of Konall’s words and replaced the arrow.

  ‘And while we are on the subject,’ Konall continued.

  Oh, gods, Brann thought. There is no stopping him. He stays silent for days, but when he speaks, he can’t shut up.

  ‘Try not to be so nervous.’

  The colour rose in Brann’s cheeks. ‘I’m not nervous!’ He was, but he was not about to admit it to Konall.

  ‘Well try not to be so “cautious”, if you prefer,’ Konall shrugged. ‘I am nervous. It is not a bad thing. It keeps your senses on edge and your reactions sharp. It is just that if you are overly so, it works against your reactions and you lose any smoothness of movement you might have had. And you start finding enemies in every shadow and every noise of the wind. So, when they appear for real, it still catches you by surprise after so many false alarms.’

  Konall glanced over and saw Brann’s irritation. ‘I am only trying to help you stay alive. You are no use to me dead. If you would rather narrow your chances, I will keep quiet.’ Brann smiled. More at the thought that this was possibly the first time that Konall had voluntarily explained himself to anyone than an attempt to show that all was well, but it had the same effect. Konall, apparently satisfied, returned his attention to the terrain around him.

  Brann, also, returned to his watchfulness but, acknowledging the sense of Konall’s advice, irritating though it was, he tried to calm himself down. It was not easy. He was nervous. Very nervous.

  In watching around him, Brann was able to observe the terrain more closely than he had been able to – or had the energy to – do before. As someone who had been brought up in rolling countryside, where the highest peak was a comparatively gently sloping hill, he had always envisaged mountainous countryside to comprise nothing but near-vertical slopes clad in shee
ts of lethally smooth ice. He had become amazed, however, at the variety around him. True, there were treacherous slopes – but they merely avoided those. Elsewhere there were wide plateaux, some with shrubs and trees, some bare; there were wooded slopes of various gradients, complete with streams and glades; there were dells and small lakes, waterfalls and rocky outcrops complete with caves. They walked along narrow paths halfway up deep ravines and slid down snowy slopes. As they did so, they were drifting above and below the snowline, so they were negotiating everything from crisp whiteness to the bare black, grey and brown of rocks and earth, and every patchy combination in between. Their surroundings changed in every conceivable way – sight, sound, smell, conditions underfoot, dark shade or a complete lack of shelter – every few minutes and, under a cloudless sky and majestic sun, Brann could not help musing that it was the most beautiful and captivating journey he had ever taken… if it were not for the savage madmen who could be waiting around the next corner.

  And it was only Konall’s sharp senses (again) that prevented them from walking headlong into such a group of bandits. They were on a natural path that wound its way along the sheer wall of a frighteningly deep ravine: a sharp V-shaped chasm that, Brann thought, looked as if an axe the size of a mountain had, with a single chop, taken a massive notch out of the world’s surface. The path itself was not particularly dangerous or worrying – it would easily have accommodated at least five or six men walking abreast – and there was not a trace of snow or ice to give its flat surface a hint of treachery. It seemed well used, possibly indicating their growing proximity to the enemy stronghold, but also indicating its safety – providing, that the unwary traveller did not look down, an action that produced fear and dizziness. On looking upwards, a distance that appeared to be as far to the top of the cliff as it was downwards to the bottom, Brann found to his surprise that it caused just as much disorientation and light-headedness.