Valderen

Chapter 1
The castle gates swung open.
Nilsson turned to watch the swaying silhouette that was moving slowly through the shade of the archway. He had been assiduously resurrecting the old, long-forgotten habits that had, in the past, ensured both his survival and his advancement, though it took him some effort to keep his demeanour neutral as Rannick, astride his foul-tempered mount, emerged into the light. For while Rannick might not yet be the man that Nilsson's erstwhile master had been, his power was increasing almost daily and, as it grew, so his humanity inevitably diminished. Nilsson knew only too well that now he had chosen to stand by his new Lord his life depended solely on the value that Rannick placed on him, and that this value depended in turn not only on his willingness to serve but on his ability to read and anticipate Rannick's moods accurately.
And it was especially important now, for he was certain that something had gone amiss during the fiery demonstration that Rannick had given the previous day. True, the roaring column of fire that had appeared out of nothingness had been both awe-inspiring and terrifying, and it had sent Gryss and the others away suitably cowed and humiliated. Yet, increasingly sensitive to his master's behaviour, Nilsson was sure that he had felt Rannick falter. Only slightly, admittedly, but the memory of it had lingered with him since. It was as if Rannick had been assailed in some way. And he had sensed, too, a grim, almost desperate, anger begin to mount in the man; an anger that had seemed to be building towards some appalling conclusion until it had suddenly evaporated into a surprised vagueness at the unexpected collapse of Gryss and the others on to their knees.
Rannick had stood for a long time apparently staring after the retreating figures as they stumbled away from the castle, supporting the beaten Farnor. But Nilsson, fearfully willing himself to absolute stillness lest he inadvertently attract Rannick's attention, saw that his eyes were abstracted and distant.
Then, as if in confirmation of Nilsson's conclusion, Rannick had silently beckoned for his horse and, without comment, ridden north.
Later, Nilsson had started violently from a troubled sleep to hear, he thought, the distant shrieking howl of Rannick's creature. Though whether it had been reality or a lingering remnant of some nightmare, he could not have said.
And now Rannick had returned.
Nilsson took a slow, silent, very deep breath as Rannick came to a halt in front of him. 'Lord,' he said, bowing slightly.
'We begin today,' Rannick replied tersely as he dismounted.
'Lord?'
But Rannick was walking away from him. Hastily Nilsson turned and strode after him across the courtyard. What had he missed? As they reached a doorway, Rannick turned and looked squarely at him. 'We begin our conquest of this land, Captain,' he said. 'I am fully ready now. All opposition has been ended.'
Opposition? There was more in Rannick's tone than a reference to the mere quelling of Gryss and the others. So something had happened yesterday. Yet too, there was a strange exhilaration about Rannick that Nilsson had not known before. Something else must have happened during the night: something profound. He asked no questions, however. Time, and silent, watchful awareness, would eventually give him such answers as he needed. Petty curiosity now might well kill him. 'As you command, Lord,' he replied, as Rannick turned and disappeared into the building.
Thus Rannick's early cautious steps along what he knew as the golden road of his destiny became a purposeful and determined march. Having finally had his own way in the matter of the treatment of the villagers, Rannick seemed content now to leave the day-to-day pursuit of his schemes in Nilsson's hands and, beyond a general overseeing of matters, he interfered scarcely at all with detailed plans.