“Couldn’t leave the boy on his own, could I?”
We walked on. I pondered the fear that made the Tor an island cut off from the outside world. It was, no doubt, based on the supposed presence of an eldritch host in these woods, a host that had once been real, unless the written records of both Nechtan and Conan had been the ravings of madmen. And yet here we were, halfway down the hill, with not a single monster to be seen. The forest was peaceful under the morning sun; birds exchanged eloquent calls up in the canopy. Certainly, this was a melancholy place. But there were no-
“Magnus?” My voice had gone small and shaky.
“Mm?”
“There’s a man under the trees, over there—in a dark cloak—” Even as I pointed, the figure I had seen became no more than a shadow.
“Just keep your eyes on the path,” Magnus said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Something rustled, and I whipped around the other way.A woman this time, half glimpsed amid ferns, white face, staring eyes, enveloping hood. Even as I looked, she was gone. A phantasm, perhaps conjured by my fearful imagination out of the glancing of light on stones or the dance of leaves in the wind.
“Take my arm, Caitrin.” Magnus’s voice was steady as a rock. “Look ahead. Remember what I told you.You’re one of Anluan’s folk now, and you’re safe with me.”
And by the time we were twenty paces further down the hill, there was nothing to be seen. I knew better than to ask questions. We covered the rest of the distance to the settlement in silence, and the bristling barricade was opened to let us in.
My arrival in the settlement was greeted with expressions of astonishment. Clearly, nobody had expected that I would survive my trip up the hill in one piece, let alone return apparently none the worse for wear. Tomas, it emerged, had taken the risk of accepting Duald’s wager that I would reach the top alive, and now stood to collect his winnings.
“I had my doubts,” he told me as Magnus and I waited outside the inn while folk went off to pack up the supplies we needed.“I won’t deny that. But you seemed so set on getting there, I thought, if anyone can do it, she can.”
“Thank you for your faith in me,” I said. “Might I go inside and talk to Orna awhile? We’re in no rush to get back.” Judging by what I’d seen of Magnus’s last visit here, we were likely to be handed our provisions and seen swiftly back out through the barrier. Now that we were here, I found that I did, in fact, want some female conversation, even if it was full of dire warnings about uncanny warriors and giant dogs.
“Why not?” said Tomas, glancing sideways at Magnus. I sensed it was not usual for my companion to be invited in; I had not forgotten how fearful Orna had appeared in his presence last time, as if Magnus had brought the taint of the Tor into the settlement with him.
“Take your time, Caitrin,” Magnus said. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Inside the inn, Orna was scrubbing the floor, while a red-haired woman worked energetically with a long- handled brush, cleaning away cobwebs. Both stopped work to stare at me as I came in.
“By all the saints and crawly creatures,” Orna said, sitting back on her heels. “You’re back.”
“I am, and hoping you may have time to sit down and talk awhile. Maybe some ale? Magnus has funds.”
“Of course.” Perhaps aware that I must have an interesting tale to tell, at the very least, Orna got up and fetched the ale jug, introducing her friend, Sionnach, as she set three cups on the freshly scoured table. “Now tell us,” she said. “What did you think of Lord Anluan? What’s it really like up there?”
It transpired, as I told them what little I believed Anluan would think it reasonable for me to tell, that very few people in the village had ever seen him in the flesh.There were some young folk who had done a day or two of work up on the Tor before they fled in fright, Orna said, and some old folk who recalled seeing Anluan as a child, but Orna,Tomas and Sionnach had never clapped eyes on him, and neither had any of their friends.
“So he never comes down here,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Not at all. We see Magnus. Sometimes we run into the fellow with the dog, a curse on the two of them. But not
“Anluan’s an ordinary man,” I said, realizing as I did so that this was an inadequate description. “He has a slight physical deformity, but it does not make him a monster. He is a little—well, he has a tendency to lose his temper rather easily. But he’s no freak. I think he has the makings of a good chieftain, but . . . there are some difficulties. I don’t see much of him. I work on my own most of the time.” I felt a sudden sense of disloyalty; it would be wrong to talk too much, to expose more of the wounds that lay on Anluan and his loyal retainers. Somewhere in my mind was the big question, the question of
They were only too happy to oblige. Orna got out her sewing box and Sionnach ran next door to fetch hers. A lively discussion of hemming methods ensued, during which I managed to insert some careful questions about recent visitors to the settlement, and whether anyone might have been asking about a young woman traveling on her own. The reply was not unexpected: that nobody came to Whistling Tor. It must be somewhat of an exaggeration. Certain supplies would have to be brought in, and certain goods must go out, accompanied by people to convey them. But there was no reason for Orna to lie about this. She and Tomas knew I did not want to be found, and as innkeepers they would be more aware than most of any comings and goings in the district. “Though there have been some rumors,” she added darkly. “They say the Normans are getting closer. A troop of them was seen riding on Silverlake lands.There’s talk they might press on right into this region. Sets a chill in the bones, doesn’t it? Who’d stand up for us if they came?”
Probably thanks to my presence, Magnus was eventually invited inside the inn, where he and Tomas, with a couple of other men, sat with us women over ale and oatcakes. I noticed how skillful Magnus was at extracting information without quite asking for it. By the time we got up to leave, he had discovered the name of the Norman lord whose warriors had been seen at Silverlake—Stephen de Courcy—that there had been twelve men in the party, and that Tomas’s informant had been a monk from Saint Crio dan’s, where the Normans had stopped to say prayers and ask for directions. There had been no formal visit to Fergal, chieftain of Silverlake; not yet.
