In his left hand, he carried a small, iron-studded shield, a little bigger than a dinner plate.
His men were similarly dressed, in the same dull red-and-blue-checked tartan. But the paint on their faces extended around the eyes only, forming a blue mask on each of them and marking them as common soldiers. One or two wore swords, although none as large as the general's broadsword. Most of them carried clubs – heavy affairs studded with spikes – and the same small, round shields. In each boot top, Will could make out the hilt of a long dirk, for fighting at close quarters.
The Ranger stood, unmoving and wrapped in his cloak, less than two meters from the edge of the track, as the nine men moved past him at a steady jog. Horace, some five meters farther back in the trees, marveled at the way his friend could merge so successfully into the background as to become virtually invisible. Even Horace, who knew exactly where Will was standing, found it hard to pick him out. The ability to get so close to a potential enemy was a real benefit, Horace thought. One could observe so much more detail at that distance.
The shuffling crunch of the Scottis' boots in the thickening snow died away as the small column rounded a bend in the track. Horace watched the last trace of dull red tartan fade among the trees, then stepped forward to where Will was waiting. "What now?" he asked.
The Ranger glanced up at him. "We'll follow at a distance, make sure they've gone to Macindaw. Then we'll arrange a reception for them when they head home."
Horace voiced a doubt that had been nagging at him for some time. "What if they go home by a different route?"
Will was silent for a few seconds.
" Then we'll have to improvise something," he said, then added, with a flash of annoyance, "For god's sake! Stop trying to make me worry!"
13
Alyss was standing by the window, staring out over the bleak snowscape that surrounded Macindaw. Through the low-lying cloud cover, she could make out a diffused, watery glow low in the eastern sky that told her the sun had risen. At any other time, she thought wryly, she might well have been entranced by the wild beauty of the scene, the white fields flanked by the dark mass of trees, their own tops crowned with snow.
But in her current situation, she found the view bleak and depressing. She longed for some spot of color in the world outside. The gray walls of the castle were grim and forbidding, and even the standard that Keren had chosen for himself added to the lack of color – a black sword imposed on a shield background of alternating white and black diagonal strips.
The window was a tall one, with the lower sill coming up barely past knee height. This afforded her an excellent view of the courtyard below, although there was usually little of interest to see there, just the regular changing of sentries and the occasional figure passing from the keep tower to the gatehouse or stables. There were few visitors to Macindaw at this time of year, which was probably why Keren had chosen winter as the time to stage his coup.
The key rattled in the door to the outer room and she turned, incuriously. It was probably one of the servants come to clear away the remains of her breakfast. But any break in the monotony was welcome. She was surprised, then a little alarmed, as the door opened to admit Keren.
Her first assumption was that something had happened to arouse his suspicions once more, and she slipped her hands behind her back, feeling for the small, shiny black stone concealed in the cuff of her sleeve. Her surprise grew as she realized that the renegade was carrying a tray, bearing a coffeepot and two mugs. He smiled at her as he closed the door with his foot, then moved to set the tray down on the table.
"Good morning," he said cheerfully.
She said nothing, nodding warily at him, wondering what this was all about. Unbidden, her eyes dropped to the wallet on his belt, where she knew he kept the blue gemstone. He saw the movement and spread his hands out in a reassuring gesture.
"No tricks. No mesmerism. I just thought we could have a mug of coffee together," he said.
Alyss eyed the coffeepot suspiciously. Perhaps Keren had placed some kind of drug in it, a drug that couldn't be countered by the stellatite pebble.
"I've just had breakfast," she said coldly. Keren smiled at her, understanding her doubts.
"You think the coffee might be drugged?" he said. He poured a cup and took a deep sip, sighing with pleasure as he tasted it. "Well, if it is, it's an excellent-tasting drug."
He paused thoughtfully, as if waiting for something to happen. After several seconds, he shook his head, smiling.
"No. I don't feel any ill effects at all – other than the desire for another sip."
He took another and gestured to the chair opposite him.
Alyss was still unconvinced. "Of course," she said, "before you came in, you could have taken an antidote to any drug that might be in the coffee."
He nodded, conceding the point. Then he said, quite pleasantly, "Alyss, if I wanted to drug you, do you think I'd come in here with a jug of coffee to do it?"
"I don't see why not," she replied.
"Well, think of this: If I did plan to drug you, why would I put you on your guard? Wouldn't it be a lot simpler to slip the drug into the breakfast you've just eaten?"
He indicated the empty platter, cup and teapot on the table, awaiting collection, and Alyss realized that he was right. His appearance with the coffee had set her on guard. But she'd eaten the meal quite happily, with no thought of drugs entering her head.
"I suppose so," she said reluctantly. Once again, he gestured to the chair, and this time she sat, puzzled as to his motives.
He poured a cup for her and gestured for her to drink. She did so, warily, sitting on the edge of her chair, alert for anything. The coffee was excellent, as he had promised. And, apparently, it was nothing but coffee. She felt no sudden dizziness, no compulsion to speak only the truth.
But still, she waited for him to have another sip before she drank again. The effect could be cumulative, she reasoned. Once again, he seemed to read her thoughts, and he smiled.
"We'll drink sip for sip, if that makes you feel more secure," he said. "You really don't trust me, do you?"
He smiled at her, but she remained stone-faced.
"You're an oath breaker," she said. "No one will ever trust you again. Not even the Scotti."
For a brief moment, she saw the light of pain in his eyes, and she realized that Keren was only too aware of what his actions had cost him. He was an outcast now, enemy to everyone he had known. He would have all of Araluen against him. People whose trust and respect he had won over years of service would now be his sworn enemies. People he had never known would revile his name.
And his new comrades would never replace the old, because they would never thoroughly trust him. A man who breaks his oath, who turns traitor once, can always do the same thing again. He knew it because he knew the caliber of men he had recruited to his banner. Men like John Buttle. Keren could never really trust his second in command. John Buttle, Sir John as he liked to style himself now, would stand by Keren only so long as it benefited John Buttle. Then, when he saw a better, more profitable alternative, he would betray him.
Alyss wondered if that was why he was here now. Keren was a leader who had nothing in common with his own followers. They were rough, uneducated men, men without principles or morals. Aside from providing a constant reminder to Keren of what he had become, they would provide him with no company, no stimulation, no amusement.
Surrounded by followers, he was alone.
She looked at him now with a new interest. Perhaps there was a chance here for her to turn this whole debacle around, without further loss of life.
"It's not too late," she said, leaning forward on her elbows, looking into his eyes. "You can put an end to this."
His eyes slid away from hers. He wouldn't meet her gaze. I knew it, she thought.
"I can't go back now," he said. "I can only keep going along the path I've chosen."
"That's ridiculous!" she said, with conside
rable spirit. "It's never too late to admit you've made a mistake! Are you concerned about Buttle? He wouldn't dare dispute with you! The man's a coward."
He laughed harshly. "I'm not worried about Buttle," he told her. "Nor any of the brigands and gutter sweepings he's recruited. But you said it yourself, I'm an oath breaker. Who'll trust me now?"
"All right," she admitted, "your life will never be the same. You've made a mistake, and it's one that could take years to live down. But if you abandon this course now, if you declare your loyalty to Araluen once more, at least you won't be an outcast for the rest of your life."
He said nothing, but she could see he was deep in thought. She pressed harder.
"Keren," she began. She used his name intentionally. She needed to reach him, to convince him. "You're expecting some Scotti general – " She paused as he looked up at her, suddenly suspicious. She made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, for god's sake, I'm not stupid!" she said impatiently. "One of your men said the name the other day." He relaxed as he remembered the occasion and she continued. "Look, send him packing. Tell him the deal's off. Or lie to him. Say you'll go ahead with the plan, whatever it is. Just stall him for the time being and get some loyal troops back in the castle. The men you got rid of can't be too far away. Will can help you."
But Keren was already shaking his head.
"It's too late," he said. " There's no turning back now. If I betray the Scotti, they'll kill me. Buttle's men won't fight to save me. He' ll take my place. The Scotti won't mind, so long as they know there's no Castle Macindaw threatening their supply lines when they invade."
She recoiled. "Invade?" she repeated, incredulously. "I thought they were planning to simply raid across the border." He smiled sadly.
"Oh, no, my dear girl. This is much more serious than a few skirmishes and raids. They plan to occupy Norgate Fief and make it part of Picta."
She felt the blood drain from her face. Her training as a Courier meant that she understood the strategic importance of the situation. If the Scotti were to occupy Norgate, the way would be open for them to raid any of the adjoining fiefdoms, and Araluen could never tolerate that. It would trigger a war that would drag on for years, bleeding both countries dry.
"Keren," she said, leaning forward again and taking his hands in hers to impress her sincerity on him, "you have to stop this!" As he began to shake his head, she raised her voice angrily."And stop saying it's too late! It's not too late! For god's sake, I'll speak for you. Stop this now and I'll speak to the King himself."
"A slip of a girl like you?" he said sardonically.
Alyss bit back the angry retort that sprang to her lips.
"You forget, I'm a Courier," she said instead. "And a Courier's word carries a lot of weight, even with the King. If you give up this madness now, I will do all I can to help you. I swear it."
There was a rattle at the door lock, and one of Keren's men threw the door open and entered. Keren looked up at him, his face dark with anger.
"Get out, damn you!" he flared. The man made an apologetic gesture but remained in the doorway.
"Sorry, Lord Keren, but Sir John thought you should know. The Scotti general is approaching the castle."
Keren stood quickly, the tray rattling as he jostled the table in his haste. He gestured briskly to the man, who left the room, leaving the door open behind him.
"Well," said Keren, "it seems the die is cast."
Alyss tried one more time. "Keren, I can help you. Trust me."
He smiled at her again, but she realized the smile was a mask for the pain he was feeling.
"You know, up until two days ago, that might have been true. But Lord Syron died the night before last."
Alyss stood up as well.
"He's dead?" she asked. Keren nodded.
"I didn't mean it to happen that way, but it is my fault. So unless you can bring a dead man back to life, you really can't help me at all."
14
Will and Horace stayed several hundred meters behind the Scotti party as they followed them through the woods. Had he been alone, Will could have maintained much closer contact, but with Horace along, he felt it wiser to remain at a distance. The tall warrior wasn't clumsy by any means. In fact, as far as knights went, he was quite graceful.
But that meant nothing in comparison with a Ranger's ability to move silently through the forest. As he followed Will along the narrow track, Horace felt as coordinated as a one-legged bear.
"I don't know how you do it," he said at length. Will looked back at him, his eyebrows raised in inquiry, so that Horace felt compelled to elaborate. "How you Rangers move so quietly," he explained. Will frowned slightly, then moved back to his side.
"Well, for a start," he said in a low voice, "we Rangers don't blunder along, yelling out 'I don't know how you do it.' "
Horace was a little crestfallen. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Oh… right. Sorry."
Will shook his head and moved off again. Horace followed some five meters behind, watching where he placed his feet and stepping with exaggerated care. The thick carpet of snow on the track helped matters, he thought. And the falling snow would conceal them from sight. In fact, Will, in his black-and-white-mottled cloak, kept disappearing from Horace's view even at five meters' range.
Leading the way, Will gritted his teeth with every twig that snapped under Horace's feet. The warrior seemed to have exceptionally big feet, he thought. They certainly seemed to find a lot of twigs to snap. Still, he knew they were far enough behind the Scotti to make Horace's noise indiscernible as Will followed their tracks in the new snow. Fortunately, it wasn't falling fast enough to blanket them completely. They were obviously heading for Macindaw, as this track led to the castle and nowhere else. The woods they were in were relatively new growth, nothing like the thick, impenetrable tangles that marked Grimsdell Wood, which lay to the east. In Grimsdell, if you found a path to follow, it would be half the width of this relatively clear track. And it would twist and turn and wind upon itself like a demented serpent so that after a few minutes, you had no sense of where you were heading.
They were approaching the end of the trees now, and Will moved more slowly, motioning for Horace to remain where he was for a few minutes while Will scouted ahead.
As the trees thinned out, he could see the small party of Scotti warriors more clearly. They were still moving at that slow jog, crossing the open ground, where the gorse and bracken grew only knee high. They were almost up to the castle, whose main entrance was on the southern side. As he watched, the Scotti detoured toward the main entrance.
Even from this distance, Will could see the flurry of movement on the ramparts of the castle as the small party approached. But there were no sounds of alarm. No gongs, no shouts. The Scotti were obviously not regarded as a threat.
Turning, he trotted back through the forest to the spot where he had left Horace.
" They're going to Macindaw, all right," he said. "And they're expected. Let's go."
He led the way to the southeast, angling through the forest to the spot where it gradually merged into the thicker growth that was Grimsdell. There was no way he and Horace could move across open ground to follow the Scotti. They would have to stay under cover of the tree line. That meant covering two long sides of a triangle while the Scotti took the shorter, more direct route.
By the time they reached a point where they could keep the south wall in sight, the castle gates had opened, admitted the Scotti general and his men, and closed again.
The two friends lay belly down in the shadow of the trees, staring at the castle.
"What do you think they're up to?" Horace asked.
Will shrugged. "MacHaddish is a general, and generals usually command more than a handful of men. My guess is he has a larger force waiting across the border and he's making final arrangements with Keren to bring them south – discussing numbers of men, how much they're going to pay Keren. That sort of thing."
"So it's a raiding
party?" Horace asked, and Will nodded thoughtfully.
"At least. Maybe something bigger. Whatever it is, I don't like the look of it."
Horace wriggled uncomfortably. Unlike Will, he could never lie unmoving in one place for long.
"We need to know what they're up to," he said.
Will smiled at him."I'm sure Malcolm will be able to find out for us when we capture our friend MacHaddish."
Horace nodded thoughtfully."We've got to manage that first," he pointed out.
"True. How many men did you count?" Will asked. He thought he knew himself but it never hurt to make sure. "Counting the general? Nine."
"That's what I thought. So I figure you, me and ten of the Skandians should be able to do the job."
Horace looked skeptical. "Twelve of us? Do we really need that many? After all, we'll be taking them by surprise."
"I know," Will told him. "But we want to take him alive, re member?"
" That's true. When d'you think we'll do it?"
Will shrugged. "I can't see them spending more than a day here. The castle guards were expecting them. I'd say they've been planning this for some time and now they're settling last-minute details. We'd better be in position before dark. Back at the spot where we camped."
"That's as good a place as any," Horace agreed. "So do you want me to go and collect Gundar and some of his men while you keep an eye on things here?"
Will rolled on his side to study him. " You're sure you can find your way back to Malcolm's clearing?" he asked, and Horace grinned at him.
"I think even clumsy old noisy me can manage it," he said. "Will we meet you here or back at our campsite?"
Will thought about it for a few seconds. On his own, he'd be able to ghost across the open ground once it was dark. That way, he could wait till he was sure the Scotti were on their way and still beat them to the ambush site.
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