Will faced Keren calmly, waiting for death. Then he saw Alyss moving behind the renegade.
"Alyss! Run!" he yelled. "Get Horace!"
It was only natural that Keren, poised to thrust the sword into Will's throat, should turn as the Ranger called to her. As he did, she flung the contents of the leather-covered bottle into his face.
His scream was terrible as the acid burned into his skin and eyes. The pain was excruciating, and he dropped the sword, clawing at his face, trying to ease the dreadful burning. He stumbled in wild circles around the room, screaming all the while. Alyss watched in horror as Keren reeled blindly, trying in vain to find some respite from the agony. She backed away, felt Will's arm go around her.
They both became aware of a stench of burning flesh.
Keren's movements became wilder and more erratic. His throat was hoarse from the nonstop screaming, and he stumbled and whirled in uncontrolled circles, one moment throwing his arms out to regain balance, the next clutching his hands to his ravaged face once more. He staggered into a wall, rebounded, lurched a few paces, then lost balance and reeled backward.
Toward the window.
His back and shoulders struck the bars, and for a moment they supported him. Then the thin threads of metal that held the two center bars in place gave way, opening a wide gap behind him. He teetered backward for a second, but the low sill of the window caught him just behind his knees.
His scream was long and drawn out – a mixture of pain and blind fear. It hung in the night above his falling body, like a long ribbon trailing behind him.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
Alyss turned to Will, her face troubled.
"Will, what happened here?" she asked. She surveyed the wrecked room, chairs and table upended during Will's desperate fight with Keren, the sword discarded again on the floor, the empty bottle lying beside it where she had dropped it. Her mind seethed with images, but they seemed so bizarre and unlikely that she knew they couldn't be true.
Will smiled, his arm still around her shoulder. He pulled her to him and let her rest her head on his shoulder.
"What happened," he told her, "is that you just saved my life – twice."
He kissed her forehead gently to calm her. He sensed the confused tangle of thoughts in her mind. But she pushed back a little from him, searching his face with her eyes.
"Twice?" she asked. "When was the first time?"
Will smiled at her. "Never mind."
38
Will tapped gently on the infirmary door, heard Malcolm's call of "come in" and entered.
The healer was bent over Trobar, who was stretched out on four mattresses set on the floor in a corner. There was no bed large enough in the castle to accommodate him, so he had to remain on the floor until he was strong enough to make his way back to Healer's Clearing. Malcolm turned as Will entered and smiled a greeting.
"Good morning," he said.
"Morning. How's the patient doing?"
Malcolm pursed his lips before answering. "Far better than he should be. He'd lost enough blood to kill two normal men by the time I got to him. Lord knows how he survived."
"I suppose he started out with enough blood in him for three men," Will said."He's certainly big enough." He smiled at Trobar. The giant looked weak, and far paler than normal. But he was smiling at Will's joke, and his eyes were clear and alert – far better than the glazed, feverish look he had about him when he had first been brought down from the ramparts after the battle.
Will heard a familiar thump thump on the floor. He turned to see
Shadow lying on her belly in the far corner. Her chin was on her forepaws, but her eyes never stopped moving as they took in everything in the room.
"Morning, Shadow," he said. Thump thump went the heavy tail. He glanced at Malcolm. "Is it acceptable to have a dog in the sickroom?" he asked.
The healer allowed himself a thin smile.
"I'd say it's essential," he said. "Both of them drove me mad until I let her in here."
"Hmm," said Will noncommittally. He was going to have to address this situation when he headed south, he thought. And it was going to be difficult. Then he pushed the awkward thought aside. He'd be here for some time still. He'd face it later.
"I thought I'd drop in on Alyss, if you think that's a good idea," he said.
Malcolm nodded. "I think it's an excellent idea. It's time she had some company."
It was two days since the battle. Keren's men, already defeated, had surrendered immediately when they learned of their leader's death. They were now confined in the castle's dungeons.
Alyss had spent the time in a state of bewildered shock. Malcolm said it was almost certainly the result of her being snapped out of Keren's mesmeric trance and finding herself with a sword raised, only a second away from murdering Will. It was similar, he said, to the way sleepwalkers could be sent into shock if they were roused suddenly from sleep.
The healer had given her a sleeping potion and had put her to bed.
"Rest will be the best thing for her," he said."She's a strong-willed girl, and she'll heal herself, eventually. But she'll do it sooner if she's rested and strong."
Now, apparently, he thought that process was far enough along to allow her a visitor.
Will mounted the keep stairs. Alyss had been returned to her comfortable rooms on the fourth floor. He had looked in on her several times, but had hesitated to wake her as she had been sleeping. He'd hesitated over something else as well. In the tower, he had told Alyss he loved her, and he realized that he had spoken the truth. In a way, he had always loved her, he knew. She was his oldest and dearest friend in the world. But there was an even stronger bond between them now that they had grown up. Somewhere along the way, that friendship and that long history of companionship had turned to love.
Or at least, it had as far as he was concerned. He wasn't sure if she felt the same way.
Keren had said she would remember nothing that was said or done while her mind was under his control. But Will's declaration had broken that control, and he suspected that, since that was the case, she might have some memory of what he had said. He had asked Malcolm about this, not telling the healer what he had actually said to the girl. Malcolm had been uncertain in his answer.
"Perhaps she will remember," he replied. "Perhaps not." He saw the frustration on the young man's face and added, apologetically, "We just don't know enough about the workings of the mind for me to give you a straight answer. What might be true for one person might be utterly false for another."
The only way, Will decided, would be to see if Alyss raised the matter herself. If she didn't, it would mean that she was embarrassed and awkward because she didn't feel the same way about him, or that his words had not had sufficient impact to remain in her memory – which, to his way of thinking, amounted to the same thing.
Will had spent the previous five years almost exclusively in Halt's company, and he was not really equipped to deal with a social situation like this. Now that he had admitted the depth of his feelings for Alyss, he dreaded the thought that she might not return them – that she might reply with the statement that, over the years, has proved the death knell for so many relationships: Can't we just stay as friends?
He'd discussed it, in the strictest confidence, with Horace. Horace, after all, was a knight who moved in the highest social circles at Castle Araluen and was far more used to spending time in female company.
The tall warrior had claimed to be completely unsurprised when Will confessed how he felt.
"Of course you love her!" he'd replied. "She's been your best friend since you both could walk, and now she's grown up to be beautiful, talented, intelligent and witty. What's not to love about all that?"
Horace's solution to the problem was typical. Just come right out and tell her. But then, as a warrior, he always favored the direct approach. Rangers, Will told him, were more inclined to look for the subtle nuances of a person's behavior to deter
mine their true feelings.
"You're more inclined to be devious, you mean," Horace had said, dismissing the statement as pretentious balderdash.
Will couldn't find a suitable reply to that, so they dropped the subject.
Altogether, it was a confusing and awkward situation for the young Ranger. He paused now outside Alyss's door, wondering if he should wait another day. Then he decided that he was only trying to postpone the inevitable, and he rapped on the door, a little more sharply than he had intended.
"Come in."
He felt a surge of nervousness at the sound of her voice, then he opened the door and went in.
Alyss was sitting up in her bed, close to the window, where she could look out over the surrounding countrys ide. The last of the snow clung stubbornly to the treetops and gleamed in the sunshine. She turned from the view and smiled at him.
"Will," she said. "How lovely to see you."
She wore her pale blond hair down, brushed till it seemed to shine. She looked tired, but pleased to see him. He moved to the side of the bed. There was a straight-backed chair there, and he sat down. She reached out and took his hands. It was a natural, unaffected movement. A gesture between friends, he thought.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her. His throat was dry, and the banal words seemed to stick in it as he spoke them.
"I'm fine. A little tired is all."
He nodded. He couldn't think of what to say next.
"I've got a million questions to ask," she said.Tve been having the wildest dreams." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I've been wanting to ask you about everything that happened in the tower the other night."
He watched her carefully. "You don't remember anything?" And he thought he saw a momentary flicker of hesitation in her eyes. It was only there for a fraction of a second, but he was sure it was there.
"Not really," she said, and he knew he'd been right about the hesitation. She did remember – but didn't want to admit it.
Truth be told, Alyss was feeling every bit as confused as Will. She had indeed been having dreams. She dreamed that they were back in the tower and she was about to hurt him in some terrible way when suddenly, out of the blue, he was telling her that he loved her – words she had been hoping to hear from him for longer than she could remember.
But she didn't know if the dream reflected what had really happened or something she wanted to have happened. They looked at each other, both uncertain, both unwilling to declare themselves.
He shrugged.
"Perhaps we should leave it until you're stronger," he said. She studied him carefully. "Was it really that awful?" she asked.
A dark look entered his eyes as he remembered those grim moments.
"Yes. It was, Alyss. But as I told you on the night, you saved my life. And that's the important thing." There was a long silence.
"Any sign of the relief column from Norgate?" she asked. She sensed that he was relieved to hear the conversation move on to a safer, more general, topic.
"Our scouts say they're ten days away."
"What about the Scotti?" she asked. After all, they were an immediate threat, and they were closer than the Norgate forces. But Will shrugged.
"I doubt they'll be coming. You knew we let MacHaddish go, didn't you?"
She sat up straighter at that news. "Let him go? Whose idea was that?"
"Mine, actually. And everyone else reacted pretty much the way you just did when I suggested it."
"Well, then – " she began, but he cut her off.
"We brought him here first and showed him that the castle was fully garrisoned by wild Skandians. Plus some of Orman's original men have begun to filter back in. So we showed him around, told him the relief force from Norgate was due any day, then turned him loose to report back to his commander."
He didn't mention that he had also taken MacHaddish to one side and made him a personal promise: If your army comes back here, you will be the first one I look for. The Scotti general hadn't been frightened by the threat. But he knew it was genuine, and he respected it.
"So," Alyss said thoughtfully, "he'll report that Macindaw is back in enemy hands, and probably a tougher nut to crack than it was before."
"Exactly. Skandians will be much harder opponents than your average provincial soldier. They're professionals, after all." There was a note of pride in his voice, and she couldn't help smiling at him.
"You really like them, don't you?"
"Skandians?" he said. "Yes, I do. Once they give you their word, they will never go back on it. They're terrible enemies, but they make the best allies you could ask for. Horace says if he had an army of them, he could conquer the world."
"Does he want to conquer the world?"
He smiled. "Not really. It's just the sort of thing warriors say."
"And what about you? Any dreams of world domination for you?"
He shook his head. "I just want to get back to my peaceful cabin at Seacliff Fief."
"I seem to recall there was a pretty little innkeeper's daughter back there?" she said. Her tone was light and teasing, but there was a purpose behind the question. Will shrugged.
"Oh, I'm sure she's forgotten all about me by now."
"I doubt it. You're not an easy person to forget."
He said nothing. He didn't know how to answer that, and the silence between them grew longer. Abruptly, he became aware that he was still holding both her hands. He released them and stood, sending the chair skating back on the floorboards.
"I'd… better be going," he said. "Malcolm told me not to tire you out."
She forced a yawn in reply to make things easier for him. She was, after all, a trained diplomat.
"I am a little sleepy," she said. "Come by tomorrow and see me again?"
"Of course." He made his way to the door, unwilling to turn his back on her, and sidled out, half waving, half saluting as he went. "Well, I'll see you then, then." He realized how stupid that phrasing sounded.
She waved, just fluttering her fingers at him, and smiled goodbye. He groped for the door handle, got it open somehow and went out, closing the door behind him.
In the anteroom, he paused, leaning his forehead against the rough stone of the wall.
"Oh, damn it all," he said quietly.
In the bedchamber, Alyss was saying exactly the same thing.
39
The relief force from Norgate clattered across Macindaw's lowered drawbridge and filed through the gatehouse into the courtyard.
There were twenty mounted knights and a hundred marching men-at-arms, and all of them stared around curiously at the grinning Skandians who manned the battlements. Sir Doric, the Battlemaster of Norgate, who was leading the force, saw the small welcoming group waiting in front of the keep and turned his horse toward them. Will noted that there was a Ranger riding beside him. That would be Meralon, he thought, the Ranger assigned to Norgate Fief. He knew little about the other man, but he had heard that he was inclined to be stuffy and a little set in his ways.
Orman, wearing a heavy gold chain from which hung the official seal that marked him as chatelain, stepped forward to meet the two riders. Will, Horace and Malcolm stayed back, in deference to Orman's reinstated authority.
Sir Doric raised his hand and called the order for his men to halt and stand at ease. He and Meralon continued to walk their horses forward. It was a formal moment, but the formality was shattered when a figure burst from the second rank of mounted men. He was riding a horse much smaller than the battlehorses who surrounded him, and up until now, he hadn't been visible. Now, however, he slid out of the saddle and raced across the intervening space, falling to his knees before Orman.
"My lord!" said Xander. "We're here at last. I'm sorry it took so long! I did all I could!"
Will, watching Sir Doric, saw a frown of disapproval cross his features. There was a certain protocol that should be followed at moments like this, and the Battlemaster seemed to feel the secretary should know that.
" That's all right, Xander," Orman told him. Then, in a lowered tone, he added, "Do stand up, there's a good fellow. The leader of the relief force wants to tell us that we're safe."
Xander took up his position behind Orman. Doric and Meralon brought their horses to a standstill, and both men dismounted. It was Will's turn to frown. Politeness dictated that they should have waited until Orman invited them to step down. If Orman was offended, however, he showed no sign of it.
"Welcome to Castle Macindaw. Sir Doric of Norgate Fief, isn't it?" he said. "I'm Orman, castle lord."
Sir Doric slapped his gauntlets on his thigh once or twice. He looked around the courtyard before answering brusquely, and a little distractedly, "Mmmm? Yes. Yes. What the devil are all these Skan-dians doing here?"
A tiny frown creased Orman's forehead. In the weeks since he had been forced to flee his own castle and hide in the forest, he had lost much of the sardonic behavior and superior attitude that Will had first noticed in him. It was remarkable what a few weeks spent roughing it in the forest could do for a man, Will thought.
" They appear to be defending the castle," Orman said quietly. "Surely Xander told you they were helping us?"
But Doric's eyes were still roving the battlements. "Mmm? Yes. Your man said something about mercenaries. But I thought you would have got rid of them by now. Not safe to have them inside the castle, what?"
"Some of their friends died getting in here," Orman told him. "I thought it would be churlish to ask them to leave straightaway."
Doric made a shooing gesture with the back of his right hand, rather as if he were brushing flies away. "No. Get rid of them. My men are here now. You don't need these damned Skandians!"
" They can't be trusted, after all." That was the Ranger, Meralon, adding his contribution.
Will felt a slow heat rising in his face and started forward. A hand gripped his forearm and stopped him. He looked up at Horace, who mouthed the words, "Easy now." He nodded. His friend was right. He reined in his temper, then stepped to Orman's side.
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