“Of course. Please wait a moment.” The clerk set his quill pen down and rose, hurrying to the door that led to the inner office. He disappeared inside for less than a minute, then emerged once more, beckoning to Gilan.
“Please come in. Seneschal Philip is at your service. Can I get you some refreshments?”
Gilan hesitated. It had been a long ride and the sea breeze over the last ten kilometers had been chilly.“Coffee, if you have it,” he said.
The clerk bowed and gestured him through the doorway.
“I’ll bring it right away,” he said as Gilan entered the office.
The seneschal was an elderly man. His long hair was completely gray and his face was lined. Although, thought Gilan, that might be the result of the rigors of his office, rather than age. He was rising from behind his desk as the Ranger entered, his hand outstretched in greeting.
“Welcome to Highcliff, Ranger Gilan,” he said. “It’s an honor to have such a distinguished guest.”
The words could have been obsequious, but Philip seemed genuine enough. Yet there was something about him that bothered Gilan. He seemed ill at ease in Gilan’s presence. He ushered Gilan to a chair in front of his large desk.
“Please sit down, Ranger. I’m sorry to say you’ve caught us unprepared. Baron Douglas is out hunting. He won’t be back for several hours. But if I can help you in any way?”
Gilan waved the apology aside.“I’m in no rush,” he told the man. “I’m happy to wait for the Baron’s return. In the meantime, you might be able to provide me with some information.”
As he said the words, Gilan was sure he saw the beginnings of a guilty start, hastily covered. His eyes narrowed slightly. Philip was definitely nervous about something. And Gilan already had suspicions that there was an informant in the castle—someone placed high enough to have known about the recent pay convoy and its route.
“Information?” Philip said. By now he had his reactions under more control and his voice was steady and his manner noncommittal. “What would that be about?”
There was a tap at the door and the clerk entered, bearing a tray with a cup of coffee. Gilan decided not to answer immediately. He wanted to give the other man time to wonder what information he might be looking for. He accepted the cup, added sugar and took a deep, appreciative sip. He nodded his thanks to the clerk, who withdrew from the room. As the door closed behind him, Gilan turned back to Philip.
“I’m trying to track down a man called Foldar,” Gilan said. “You may have heard of him.”
Now Philip’s face darkened, anger replacing the former nervousness. “Foldar?” he said. “I’ve never known a man so evil. In my opinion, he was worse than Morgarath himself.”
Gilan looked up quickly. “You knew him?”
Philip nodded several times before answering. When he did speak again, his mind was obviously far away. “Oh yes. I knew him,” he said. “Knew both of them, as a matter of fact. Evil, they were. I suppose that’s what attracted Foldar to Morgarath. As they say, like clings to like.”
“How did you come to meet them?” Gilan asked, fascinated. He hadn’t met many people who had actually known Morgarath, even though the former baron’s shadow had loomed over Araluen for so many years.
Philip’s eyes rose to meet his.
“At Castle Gorlan,” he said. “I began my training in service there as a junior steward. Of course, I wouldn’t actually say that I knew them—not in the sense of sharing time with them or meeting them. But I saw plenty of them around the castle. And that was enough for me. I couldn’t wait to leave the place.”
“When was that?” Gilan asked. He was feigning only polite interest, but his senses were tingling. In spite of Philip’s claim that he couldn’t abide Morgarath’s former lieutenant, he had admitted that he knew Foldar in the past. Perhaps that had been enough to secure Philip’s current services for the outlaw.
“Must have been three or four years before Morgarath’s revolt,” Philip told him.“I could see something bad was coming and I wanted no part in it. So I got out. Cost me a year’s seniority and three months’ pay, but I figure I got the best of the deal in the long run.”
Interesting, Gilan thought. The man would have little reason to be loyal to Morgarath or Foldar. But then again, he might have been a carefully placed agent, with his departure from Gorlan Fief a cunningly planned ruse. Morgarath had been a man more than capable of such devious planning and advance plotting.
“What makes you think Foldar is anywhere in this region?” Philip asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“There was a report of an attack on a pay convoy. Men killed in cold blood, gold stolen. It had all the hallmarks of the sort of thing Foldar would get up to.”
Philip nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes. I remember that,” he said. “I was the one who sent in the report. At the time, I never associated it with Foldar. Although, come to think of it, one of the survivors did say that the leader of the bandits wore a black cloak. Still, it seems a pretty thin connection to Foldar. Are you sure it was him?”
“No. Not at all. I’m chasing down leads all over the kingdom. This seemed one of the most likely. I’ll stay a few days, nose around the area, ask people if they’ve seen any suspicious gatherings of men, do a bit of scouting through the forest. If there’s a robber band anywhere in the district, that’s where they’ll most likely be. I’ll see what I come up with.” It all sounds vague and indefinite, he thought. He didn’t mention that he was hatching a plan to entrap the bandits. He wasn’t sure yet where Philip’s loyalties might lie. The seneschal shrugged.
“I suppose that’s all you can do,” he agreed.“Who knows? Something might turn up.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Gilan replied. He set his cup down and rose from his chair. “Now, if you can have someone show me to my quarters, I’ll let you get back to work.”
Philip rose also, accompanying him to the door.
“My clerk will show you to your rooms,” he said. As he opened the door, the clerk looked up.“Take Ranger Gilan to the guest apartment on the fourth floor,” Philip told him. Then, turning to Gilan again, he said, “I’ll send word when the Baron returns from hunting. I’m sure he’ll want to see you immediately.”
The guest accommodation was a comfortable suite of three rooms, overlooking the ocean. In a building like this, Gilan thought, sited as it was, most rooms would overlook the ocean. A clean salt breeze swept in through the open windows, sending the heavy curtains billowing out. There were shutters but Gilan chose to leave them open. He liked fresh air, and the cold that accompanied it didn’t bother him.
After he’d settled in, he went to the stables to check on Blaze. There was another bay—a gelding—in one of the stalls near the entrance. For a few seconds, in the dim interior, he mistook it for Blaze. Then he heard her familiar nicker and realized she was stabled four stalls away.
The stable hand had done a good job and Blaze was comfortable in a dry stall, with plenty of fresh straw and a bin half full of grain. The water in the bucket hanging from a hook was fresh and clean. Nodding approval, he patted her muzzle and then turned away just as a castle servant entered, looking for him.
“The seneschal said to tell you Baron Douglas has returned. He’ll see you now.”
Douglas had his office and sleeping quarters on the third floor. Gilan frowned slightly at that. A careful commander would site his command position high in the tower, not in the more easily accessible lower levels. Douglas had possibly grown lazy, he thought, and maybe had an aversion to climbing too many stairs.
His first sight of the Baron of Highcliff confirmed the guess. Baron Douglas was seriously overweight. Gilan knew that other barons, like Arald of Redmont, struggled to maintain their waistlines. But Douglas seemed to have no such inhibitions.
He was tall—about the same height as Gilan—and his hair was thinning on top. As if to compensate for that fact, he kept it long on the sides. Gilan guessed that on formal occa
sions, he might well comb it over the top to disguise the pink scalp showing through. He was clean shaven, fleshy in the jowls, and his blue eyes were set close together. That gave him a slightly shifty look, Gilan thought. Then he discounted the idea. Douglas couldn’t be blamed for the positioning of his eyes any more than he could be blamed for his tendency to baldness.
The baron spoke a little too loudly, as if he were conscious of his own importance and constantly trying to assert it. His manner was abrupt, although he stopped short of actual rudeness. No wise man was ever rude to a Ranger.
“Philip tells me you think that devil Foldar is somewhere in Highcliff,” he said, after they had gone through the polite formalities of introduction.
Gilan shrugged. “I’m following leads,” he said. “There’s a chance that he could be here. I’m sure Philip mentioned the raid on the pay convoy some weeks back.”
Douglas snorted. “That? Shouldn’t think that was Foldar. Just bandits if you ask me.”
“You’re probably right. Although your seneschal did agree that the attack was the sort of thing Foldar would organize. Apparently he knew him some years back. How about you? Did you ever meet him?”
Douglas sat upright. “Me? No. Never laid eyes on him. I never want to either. Why do you ask?” he added, leaning forward suspiciously.
Gilan waved a hand casually. “I’d be interested in getting a more complete picture of the man. The more I know about him, the easier it might be to predict his moves.”
“Well, I can’t help you there,” Douglas said, his tone indicating that he felt this interview had gone on long enough.“Anything else I can do for you, just ask. Better still, ask Philip. He’s the man to get things done.”
“I’ll try not to be too much of a bother,” Gilan said, smiling. Douglas shook his head emphatically. He did most things emphatically, Gilan thought.
“No bother. No bother at all.” Already he had dismissed Gilan as a concern.
4
THE TEMPORARY ABSENCE OF THE LOCAL RANGER, GILAN thought, might well have influenced Foldar’s decision to choose Highcliff as a site of operations—assuming that he had, in fact, done so.
A day had passed since his arrival and he was riding through the farmland surrounding the castle. It was good, rich land, with the majority of farmers concentrating on dairy cattle. The countryside seemed peaceful enough, and when he stopped for his midday meal at a small village inn, the people seemed content and welcoming.
It was a sunny day and he chose to sit at a table outside the inn. The innkeeper was an attractive woman, around thirty years of age. She had a friendly nature and she smiled as she took his order. He noticed she was wearing a plain ring on the third finger of her left hand, but there was no sign of a husband anywhere in the building. When she returned and set a tankard of ale down in front of him, he looked around the inn.
“Is your husband away?” he asked, and the woman’s smile faded. Sadness filled her eyes.
“He was killed in the war,” she said.
Gilan shook his head in apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, regretting that he’d caused her pain. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
She shrugged philosophically. “I’m not the only woman left without a man,” she said. “And I’m better off than most. At least I have a business that I can run. Some widows are left with a farm to tend on their own, and that’s no work for a woman.” She smiled again, not quite as brightly as before, and changed the subject. “So what brings you to our doorstep, Ranger?”
“Please, call me Gilan,” he said, and she reached forward to shake hands.
“I’m Maeve,” she told him. She studied him frankly. He was tall and good-looking, with a hint of humor, or even mischief, in his eyes. And he had an air of confidence about him. Quiet confidence, not arrogance like some young men. He was probably a year or two younger than she was. But it wasn’t a great difference in age and she wondered if he was married.
“You were saying?” she prompted, and Gilan remembered her question.
“Oh . . . just a little business at the castle,” he said carelessly. “Administration details really, getting things back in order after the war.” He paused, then added, “Do you know Philip, the seneschal, at all?”
In the past, he’d found that innkeepers were usually well informed about local gossip. And they were often more than willing to share their knowledge. Maeve proved to be no exception.
She nodded. “A good administrator,” she said, “if he can keep away from the dice.”
“He gambles?” Gilan asked, and she paused, pursing her mouth thoughtfully before she answered. She liked Philip and didn’t want Gilan getting the wrong idea about him.
“He used to. He and some of the local merchants used to gamble regularly in the Swan tavern.” She jerked her head toward a single-story building on the far side of the village’s main street. “But I haven’t seen him there for the last month or two. I think he’s sworn off it now. He ran up quite a debt with the other players. Some of them were going to report him to Baron Douglas, but he persuaded them not to.”
“That wouldn’t have done him any good,” Gilan said. As seneschal, Philip would be in charge of the castle’s treasury. Douglas would hardly be comfortable if he knew his financial administrator was running up gambling debts in the village.
“Agreed. Not that anyone around here has much time for the Baron . . .” Maeve stopped warily as she realized she might be speaking out of turn.
Gilan smiled sympathetically.
“I’ve met him,” he said. “He’s a little pompous, isn’t he?”
Maeve seemed to relax. “As I say, none of the others felt they owed him any favors. They already owe him enough in taxes,” she added darkly. “He’s somewhat heavy-handed when it comes to taxing local businesses.”
Gilan nodded, keeping a straight face. But inside, he was smiling. He was yet to meet a trader who didn’t think he or she was being asked to pay too much tax.
“So . . . Philip doesn’t come to the village much these days?” he asked.
She shook her head emphatically. “Not to the Swan,” she said. Then she paused. “But I have seen him a few times recently, late at night. I’m a light sleeper and I’ll often sit at my window, watching the street outside.” She didn’t add that her lack of sleep was caused by loneliness in the small hours. It was then, with nothing to occupy her mind, that she felt the loss of her husband most keenly.
“Where was he going?” Gilan asked.
She hesitated for a few seconds. “If it was him. Although I’m sure it was. I never actually saw his face, but he has that way of walking, with his head thrust forward and his shoulders hunched. He seemed to be heading for Ambrose Turner’s house, at the end of the high street. Strange, I thought, since Ambrose was the one he owed the most money to.”
“Did he manage to repay the debt?” Gilan asked.
“I don’t know. He must have. He’d hardly be welcome at Ambrose’s house if he hadn’t, would he?”
Gilan frowned. “No. He wouldn’t be,” he said thoughtfully. Maeve, who had been perched on the edge of his table as they spoke, glanced up as a group of customers arrived, calling cheerfully to her as they went into the taproom.
“I’d best see to them,” she said. “Your meal will be here shortly. Nice to talk to you, Gilan. Call by again,” she said. There was a slightly wistful look in her eyes as she said it.
“I’ll do that,” Gilan said, smiling. But his mind was working overtime as he mulled over what she had told him. He had a lot to think about.
He rode back to the castle slowly that afternoon, still thinking on the information he had gleaned, assembling the facts in his mind.
The seneschal was, or had been, a heavy gambler. Worse, he was an unsuccessful one and he’d run up a large debt with some of the local traders. That was a dangerous combination. As seneschal, Philip had access to the castle’s funds. If he had repaid the debt—and as Maeve had said, he’d hardly be wel
come in the village if he hadn’t—then his most likely source of money was from the castle treasury.
There was another possibility. Philip’s gambling made him a prime subject for blackmail. If the Baron discovered that he was a gambler, and that he owed money to local merchants, he would be dismissed immediately.
Suppose Foldar had discovered Philip’s secret? He might have paid the debt for him, then threatened to expose him. Once he had the man in thrall, he could well have forced him to become his informant in Castle Highcliff, telling him when pay convoys or tax payments were being transported through the fief.
Tax payments! The quarterly tax payment to the King would be due in a week. Had Philip been passing information to Foldar about the amount of money that would be sent to Castle Araluen? Or about the date of departure or the route the wagon containing the money would take?
That might explain his late-night, clandestine trips to the village. What if he were not visiting the merchant Ambrose, but meeting with Foldar or his agents? After all, Maeve had never actually seen him go into Ambrose’s house, and it was at the end of the high street. Philip may well have passed through the village and kept going to a rendezvous with Foldar.
His mind whirling, Gilan nearly missed Blaze’s warning rumble and the toss of her head to the left. Fully alert once more, he glanced left and saw two figures rising from behind the cover of a fallen log on the far side of the stream he was riding alongside. He registered the men and, a fraction of a second later, the fact that they were both armed with crossbows, and those bows were aimed at him.
Kicking his feet from the stirrups, he hurled himself sideways from the saddle, diving to his right so as to keep Blaze between him and the two ambushers. He heard a wicked buzz close to his head as he dived, and felt something pluck viciously at his cloak. Then he hit the ground on his side, rolling to cushion the fall.
He grunted at the impact, then called softly, “Blaze! Panic!”
The bay pricked her ears as she heard her name. Then, at the second word of command, she went into a remarkable performance. She whinnied loudly and reared onto her hind legs, her forelegs thrashing at the air. As her front feet crashed back to the ground, she whirled in a circle, still whinnying and neighing. Then she ran a few meters back the way they had come, stopped, hesitated and ran in the opposite direction, curving in a large circle, tossing her head and mane as she did so.
The Lost Stories Page 7