The Book of Dreams(100)

I selected an arrow and ran my thumb along the barb. It was murderously sharp. I had a vague recollection that I had used the identical arrow to despatch the Vascon slinger who had ambushed me in that same area.

‘How many arrows should I carry?’ I asked.

‘Four or five. That building looks as if it contains no more than one or two men. If I can get close enough, I should be able to rush the place before anyone knows what is happening.’

We waited until the sun was dropping towards the horizon before we began our climb. We had to grope our way up the steep face of the mountain, handhold by handhold, and made such slow progress that I feared the count had left it too late. He was in the lead and I tried to avoid being directly behind him because he occasionally dislodged large stones which bounced down around me dangerously. Once or twice I nearly came to grief through my own fault when a stone that I was holding worked loose. There was a very bad moment when my foot slipped and I slid backwards for several yards towards the lip of a small precipice. I came to a stop just short of the edge, my heart pounding. Ahead of me Hroudland paused only to look back down at me, glare, and gesture to me to hurry. Soon the muscles of my arms and shoulders were aching with the strain, and I began to worry that even if we reached our objective before dark, my hands would be shaking so much that I would be useless as an archer.

Eventually Hroudland halted his upward climb and waited for me to come level with him. Then he began to angle sideways across the face of the mountain. I followed close behind him, hampered by my bow slung across my back. The going was easier now and we made better progress, stretching from one handhold to the next, spread-eagled in our effort to cover the most ground. When we crossed the ridge line and into view of the building we chanced on to the faint vestige of a trail made by sheep or, more likely, by wild goats. It meant we could move more quickly. Otherwise we would have found ourselves scrambling about the mountainside in the gathering dark.

After we had crept within a long bowshot of our target, Hroudland waited until I was close behind him, and then said quietly, ‘I don’t see any sign of life. Maybe they haven’t posted a lookout.’

I looked past him. We were high enough to see over the surrounding wall and gain a better idea of the unknown building. It was on the far side of the walled-in enclosure, overlooking the cliff face beyond. Constructed of cut stone blocks, it had an unusual barrel-shaped roof of weathered tiles. It was definitely not a shepherd’s hut. There was no chimney or soot marks from a smoke hole, and, from where I was positioned, I could see only a low wooden door and no window. Nor was there any sign of fortification and it was much too small to hold a garrison.

‘More like a tiny chapel than a mountain stronghold,’ I said to Hroudland.

He turned his face towards me and I saw the gleam of excitement in his eyes.

‘Just the place for the Graal!’ he said. ‘Another fifty paces, then I want you to find a spot from where you can put an arrow into anyone who might put his head up over that wall. I’ll go on alone.’

A slight ruffle of breeze made me glance up at the sky. The weather was changing. The leading edge of a heavy veil of cloud was advancing over the mountain crest to the north. Once it moved over us, we would quickly lose the evening light and then it would be a black and starless night.

‘Better hurry. But be careful,’ I told him.

For a moment he was his old, blithe self as he treated me to a confident, light-hearted smile. Then he scurried off, stooping as he picked his way from boulder to boulder and made towards the building.

I found my place, half-hidden behind a great slab of tumbled rock, took my bow from my back, and tied on an arm guard of stiff leather. It might help steady my aim. My muscles were still shaking from the exertion of the climb. Below me Hroudland was sprinting in short, quick bursts from one hiding place to the next. There was still no movement from what I now thought of as the mountain chapel. Everything was eerily quiet.

When Hroudland was not more than twenty paces from the surrounding wall, he stopped, unsheathed his sword, then turned and waved to me. I stepped out into the open, nocked an arrow to my bow, and took aim at a spot just above the flimsy-looking wooden gate. It would be an easy shot. Hroudland ran the last few yards and I saw him give the gate a heavy kick. It flew open and he dashed inside. Afterwards there was an occasional glimpse of his head and shoulders above the wall as he searched the enclosure.

In a short while he reappeared at the gate and called up to me, ‘There’s no one here. The place is empty.’

The tension drained from me. I let my bow go slack, and then began to descend the slope to where Hroudland stood waiting.