"How do you know she hasn't scented a deer, or a badger?" he asked. Will looked at him for a few seconds.
"If you've got a better idea, now's the time to mention it."
Xander made an apologetic gesture with his hands. "No, no. Carry on," he said mildly. Will turned back to the dog. As ever, she was watching him and waiting for new orders. He moved to her, pointed to the ground where she had found the scent, and said: "Follow."
The dog barked once and bounded away. She went a few meters, then stopped and turned back, looking at him. She barked again, the message obvious: Come on if you're coming. We haven't got all day.
29
The trail wound and twisted and seemed to double back on itself. There were side trails and forks in the path as well, and Will began to wonder if the dog really knew what she was doing or if she was just wandering at random. There seemed to be so many choices, so many different ways they could go. Then, as he realized how focused she was on her task, he knew she was definitely following something. The question remained, though: what was it? He realized that Xander could be right. They could well be hurrying through the wood in pursuit of a badger or some other animal.
Skilled as he was in woodcraft, it wasn't long before Will was totally disoriented, and he knew that he would be hard-pressed to retrace their path if he had to. He realized that Orman's life was now well and truly in the care of the dog and, from the worried glances that Xander kept darting at him, he knew the secretary was aware of the fact as well. They didn't speak. There was no point in voicing their fear and the looming nature of the dark wood discouraged idle conversation. It was as if Grimsdell itself had a presence-a character. Dark, depressing and threatening, it weighed down on them, alleviated only by the occasional clearing and chance view of the sky overhead.
They had been traveling for over an hour, Will estimated, when they came to a three-way fork in the trail. For the first time since they had started out, the dog hesitated. She cast down the right-hand fork for a few meters, then stopped, nose down, forepaw raised uncertainly. Then she snuffled her way back and tried the left fork.
"Oh God," Xander said quietly, "she's lost the scent." He looked fearfully at his master, lolling in the saddle, eyes closed, head sagging, held in place only by a rope they had lashed to his hands and tied to the saddle pommel. If they were to be left blundering through the wood, without any sense of direction or purpose, Xander knew it would spell the end for Orman.
The dog glanced at him, as if in reproach, then uttered a short bark and started down the left fork, all traces of uncertainty now gone. Will and the secretary urged their horses forward to follow. They had gone fifty meters, winding and twisting and perhaps making only twenty meters of progress, when Will heard Xander let out a gasp.
He looked up-his attention had been fixed on the dog, he realized-and saw what had caused the cry of alarm. There was a skull set on a pole to one side of the trail ahead of them. A rough, lichen-covered board below it carried an indecipherable message written in ancient runes. The words might have been enigmatic but the message was clear.
"It's a warning," Xander said.
Will slid an arrow from his quiver and laid it on the bowstring.
"Then consider yourself warned," he said dryly. "Personally, if I'm planning to ambush someone, the last thing I ever do is let them know in advance."
He leaned forward to study the skull more closely. It was yellowed with age. And it was not quite human. The lower jaw seemed to thrust forward more than a man's, and there were fang-like canine teeth on either side.
The dog was waiting impatiently and Will signaled her forward. She started down the trail again, and suddenly she broke into a run, dashing forward and around the next bend, out of sight.
At Will's cue, Tug broke into a canter to follow the dog and they rounded the bend after her…
… and found themselves in a large clearing, with a substantial one-story building, constructed from dark wood and thatched with straw, on the far side. He heard the other two horses come clattering after him, then slide to a stop beside him.
"Looks like we're here," Will said quietly. Xander looked around the clearing, searching for some sign of human habitation.
"But where's Malkallam?" he said.
Then they saw movement in the trees on the far side of the clearing, and as if the sorcerer's name had summoned them, figures began to step out of the surrounding woods.
There must have been more than thirty of them. And even as he had the thought, Will noticed that there was something unusual about them. They were… he searched for the right term, and hesitated. He was not totally sure of what he was seeing. Even in the clearing, the light was dim and uncertain, and the people, if they were people, were staying close to the dark mass of the forest behind them, where the shadows were thick and heavy. He heard Xander's quick intake of breath, then the secretary spoke softly.
"Look at them," he said. "Are they human?"
Then Will realized what it was that had caused him to hesitate. They were certainly human, he thought. But it was as if they were all dreadful caricatures of normal people. They were terribly misshapen-all of them. Some were dwarflike, barely four feet tall-others were tall and painfully thin. One was huge-he must have been two and a half meters tall and massive across the chest and shoulders. His skin was a pallid white, and aside from a few random wisps of yellowish hair, he was bald.
Others were hunched over, their bodies twisted and bowed. There were several who were hunchbacks, their movements awkward and painful as they shuffled forward.
Will's throat went dry as he saw that among the thirty-plus people facing him, there was not one who could be described as normally shaped. Obviously, this was the result of Malkallam's black sorcery, he thought, and as he thought it, he also realized that they had made a mistake bringing the unconscious Orman here. A wizard who would create such painful disfigurement among people was hardly going to help the castle lord recover from the poison that was destroying him.
After their first movement out of the shadow of the trees, the creatures stopped, as if in response to some silent command. Will glanced down as the dog sank slowly to her haunches in front of him. He could feel the low, continuous rumble of warning in Tug's chest. It was an impasse, he realized. There was no sign of the wizard, unless he happened to be one of the misshapen creatures that faced him across the clearing-and somehow, he doubted that.
"Ranger…" Xander's voice was low and edged with fear. Will glanced at him and the little man nodded to the far side of the clearing. Following his glance, Will felt his own throat constrict with fear.
The pallid-skinned giant had begun to advance across the clearing toward them, one ponderous step at a time. As he advanced, there was a low, wordless mutter of encouragement from his companions. Will slowly raised the bow, an arrow still nocked and ready, from where it had rested across his pommel.
"That's far enough," he said quietly. The giant was nearly halfway toward them. He took another pace. Now he was in the very middle of the clearing and Will sensed he could not let him get any closer. Those massive hands could tear him, Xander and Orman limb from limb. And probably their horses as well, he thought.
"Stop," he said, a little louder, with more of an edge in his voice. The giant met his gaze. Even though Will was seated astride Tug, their eyes were on the same level. The giant frowned and Will saw his muscles tense as he prepared to take another step. He slid the arrow back to full draw, instinctively sighting on the giant's chest, right where the heart should lie.
"Big as you are, this arrow will go right though you at this range," he said, deliberately keeping his voice calm.
The creature hesitated. He saw the frown deepen on its face. Puzzlement? Anger? Fear? Frustration? He wasn't sure. The grotesque features were so bizarre, it was difficult to read them with any accuracy. The important thing was that the giant had stopped advancing on them. From the silent watchers at the edge of the clearing, he heard a
collective sigh. Urging him forward? Advising him to stop? Again, Will had no idea.
What next? he thought. Do we sit here until the next snowfall, facing each other across this clearing? He had no idea what to do. On his own, he would have trusted Tug to get him clear of the situation. But he couldn't desert Xander and Orman.
"Ranger, look!" said Xander in a breathless whisper.
He glanced away from the giant, who had, understandably, been occupying all his attention. Xander was gesturing toward the dog.
She had risen from her crouched position in front of them and was advancing across the clearing toward the giant. Will caught his breath to call her, then stopped and released the tension on his bow as he noticed something.
Her heavy tail was wagging slowly from side to side as she went.
The giant looked down at her as she reached him, stopping just in front of him. Her head was lowered and her tail was still wagging. The frown disappeared from the huge creature's face and he went down on one knee, one massive hand out to the dog.
She moved forward again to sit as his feet and he fondled her ears and scratched under her chin. Her eyes half-closed in pleasure, she turned her head slightly to lick his hand.
And then Xander drew Will's attention to yet another remarkable detail in a wholly remarkable day.
"He's crying!" he said softly. And sure enough, there were tears coursing down the pale white cheeks. "You know, I think he's quite harmless. Thank God you didn't shoot him."
"I must say I agree," said a voice from behind them. "Now would you mind telling me what the devil you're doing in my woods?"
30
Will spun in the saddle, the bow coming up, arrow fully drawn. Then for the second time, he hesitated. He had no real idea what he had expected Malkallam to look like. If pressed, he would have surmised that the sorcerer would be somehow larger than life-perhaps extremely tall and thin, or huge and grossly overweight. Certainly, he would be dressed in a voluminous black robe, perhaps marked with obscure, mystical symbols or whirling suns and moons.
And of course he would wear a tall, pointed hat that would take his overall height to nearly three meters.
What he didn't expect was a small, thin person who was a few centimeters shorter than Will himself. He had wispy, thinning gray hair, combed over a balding crown, a rather large nose and ears, and a slightly receding chin. His robe was a simple brown homespun habit, rather like a monk's, and he wore sandals on his feet, in spite of the wintry weather.
But the biggest surprise of all was the eyes. A sorcerer's eyes should be dark and forbidding, full of mystery and arcane danger. These were hazel and there was an unmistakable light of humor in them.
Confused, Will lowered the bow.
"Who are you?" he asked. The small man shrugged.
"I thought I was the one who should ask that question," he said mildly. "After all, this is my home."
Xander, however, concerned about the rapidly deteriorating state of his master, was in no mood to bandy words.
"Are you Malkallam?" he asked rudely. The small man inclined his head toward the secretary, his lips pursed a little as he considered the question.
"I have been called that," he said, the light of humor disappearing from his eyes.
"Then we need your help," Xander said. "My master has been poisoned."
Malkallam's bushy eyebrows formed into a frown and his voice took on a threatening tone.
"You're begging help from the most feared sorcerer in these parts?" he said. "You enter my realm, ignore my warning signs, risk the anger of the dreadful Night Warrior who protects me, then demand my help?"
"If you're truly Malkallam, yes," Xander replied, uncowed by the threatening tone of the words.
The sorcerer's eyebrows returned to their normal position and he shook his head in some admiration.
"Well, you've certainly got some nerve about you," he said, in a lighter tone. "Perhaps we'd better take a look at Lord Orman in that case."
"You know who this is?" Will said, as the small man stepped toward Orman, who was swaying unconsciously in his saddle, muttering wordless little sounds. Malkallam laughed briefly.
"Of course I do, Ranger," he said. Will shrugged his shoulders in defeat. So much for his careful disguise. First Orman and now Malkallam had seen through it almost immediately.
"How do you…?" he began, but the sorcerer silenced him with a hand gesture.
"Well, it's not exactly alchemy, is it?" he said crisply. "You've been nosing around my forest for the past couple of days. You ride the sort of horse Rangers ride. You carry a bow and you have that big saxe knife at your side-I'll wager you have a throwing knife somewhere else on your person. Plus that cloak of yours has the most disconcerting habit of blending into the background. What else could you be? A jongleur?"
Will opened his mouth to reply but no words came. Xander, however, was less inclined to silence.
"Please!" he said. "My master could be dying while you two prattle on."
Again, Malkallam's eyebrows shot up. "A Ranger and a sorcerer," he said in some wonder, "and he tells us we're prattling on. This is a bold fellow indeed."
Yet, even as he said it, his keen eyes were scrutinizing Orman's face. He stretched up to touch the castle lord but couldn't quite reach.
"Trobar!" he called. "Leave the dog for a moment and get Lord Orman down for me."
The giant reluctantly rose from where he had continued to pet the dog and shambled toward Orman's horse. Xander slipped down from the saddle and placed himself between his master and the massive figure. Will, feeling that events were moving a little too quickly for him, dismounted as well. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Tug. The horse seemed to shrug. How should I know? the movement said. I'm just a horse.
Trobar stopped before the determined figure who barred his way.
"He won't hurt him," Malkallam said, a little impatiently. "If you want my help it will be quicker if you let him carry your master inside."
Reluctantly, Xander stepped to one side. Trobar moved forward, loosened the ropes tying Orman in place and let the unconscious man slide out of the saddle to cradle him in his arms. He looked inquiringly at Orman, who gestured to the house.
"Take him inside, to my study."
Trobar set off, carrying the unconscious man as if he weighed no more than a feather. Xander trotted beside him, and Will and Malkallam followed.
"Interesting, the way he reacted to your dog," the sorcerer said chattily. "Of course, he had a border shepherd as a child, before the villagers drove him out. It was his only friend. I think it broke his poor heart when it died."
"I see," said Will. It seemed the safest reply he could come up with. Malkallam glanced sideways at him. So young, he thought, and so much responsibility. Unseen by the young Ranger, he grinned to himself. He gestured to a bench on the verandah.
"There's no need for you to come in while I examine Lord Orman," he said. Will nodded and moved to the bench. Xander, however, drew himself up as straight as he could.
"I'm coming in," he said. His tone brooked no argument and Malkallam shrugged.
"As you wish. But you brought him here, after all. It's a little late to start worrying that I might harm him somehow."
"I'm not worried about that," Xander said stiffly. "I'm just…" He trailed off.
Malkallam waited expectantly, urging him to finish. When he didn't, the sorcerer finished for him: "… worried that I might harm him somehow."
Xander shrugged. It was exactly what he did think, but he realized it wasn't politic to say so when he was asking the sorcerer's help.
"Just remember, I'll be watching you," he said awkwardly. His hand dropped to the dagger at his side but he was all too obviously a man who was unaccustomed to using weapons. Malkallam smiled at him.
"I'm sure your master would be proud of you. If I decide to do anything terrible to him, I'll have to turn you into a newt before I do so."
Xander studied him suspiciously for a
few seconds, then decided that he was probably joking. Probably. Without another word, he followed Malkallam inside.
Will sat on the bench and leaned his back gratefully against the rough log walls of the house. The sun was just beginning to sneak under the eaves of the house and it warmed his feet and legs as he stretched out. Suddenly, he was exhausted. The rapidly moving events of the day, the escape from the castle, the search for Malkallam's lair and the subsequent meeting with the sorcerer bad kept adrenaline coursing through his system. Now that there Was nothing further to do for the moment, he felt absolutely drained.
The other inhabitants of Malkallam's domain continued to watch him. He tried to ignore them, sensing no threat from them only curiosity.
He glanced up as he sensed a movement at the door. Trobar, the giant, came out of the house. He looked around the clearing, saw the dog lying watchfully where he had left her and moved to her side. He went down on one knee beside her and fondled her head gently. She closed her eyes blissfully and inclined her head for his touch.
"Dog!" said Will, a little more sharply than he had intended.
The dog's eyes opened and she was instantly alert. Will pointed to the verandah beside him.
"Come here," he said.
She rose and shook herself, then began to lope slowly across the clearing toward him. He looked at Trobar and saw the unmistakable sadness on the disfigured face.
"Oh, all right," he told the dog. "Stay where you are."
He saw the smile break out on the giant's face as the dog allowed herself to be patted once more. He shut his eyes wearily. He wondered what he was going to do about Alyss.
31
Alyss had heard the commotion in the courtyard below her window in the keep tower: shouts and horses' hoofbeats ringing off the cobbles. She had reached the window in time to see three horsemen galloping full pelt for the portcullis gate.
She recognized Will instantly and, even as she watched, she saw his snap shot that sent a crossbowman tumbling from the castle walls. Behind him rode two other men, one of them swaying in the saddle as if he were barely conscious. With a start of surprise, she recognized Orman.
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