The sorcerer of the North ra-5

by John Flanagan

  "Welcome!" he called and Will returned the greeting, then slid down from the saddle. As Gundar strode closer, picking his way through the fires and the racks of smoking meat, he realized that the bundle slung across the second horse's back was a man-unconscious, and tied hand and foot. He jerked a thumb at the still form.

  "Somebody get on your wrong side, Ranger?" he asked.

  Will smiled slightly in reply. "You could say that. He's been making a nuisance of himself around here. It occurred to me that he could be useful to you."

  Gundar frowned and wiped grease from his chin with the back of his hand. "Useful?" he said. "I've got all the crew I want, thanks. I don't need any untrained southerners on board Wolfcloud." He hesitated, then added, "No offense meant."

  Will shook his head. "None taken. No, actually I didn't mean to offer him as a crew member. I thought you might like to take him as a slave. You do still have slaves in Skandia, don't you?"

  Hardstriker regarded the young man with renewed interest. This one was full of twists and turns and no mistake, he thought. It had been a meager voyage for Wolfcloud, as Will had guessed when he first encountered the Skandians. A good healthy slave would be a saleable item when they finally got back to Hallasholm.

  "Yes. We still have slaves," he said, stepping closer to the horse and examining the unconscious man more closely. He seized a handful of hair and lifted the man's face to look at it. Aged around thirty. Looked big and strong.

  "He healthy?" he asked, and Will nodded.

  "Aside from a slight bout of concussion, he's fit as a flea." Will remembered the cruel wound in the dog's side and the rumors that Buttle was responsible for a string of murders in the area. "He'd be good for hours of work on the paddles."

  The paddles were a punishment for Skandian slaves. They were large wooden blades that were suspended in the wells during winter. Slaves worked them back and forth and up and down to keep the water moving and stop ice from forming too thickly. In the process, they were invariably splashed until they were soaked to the skin with the freezing cold water. In his time as a Skandian slave, Will had been assigned to the paddles. The assignment had nearly killed him before Erak had taken pity on him and helped him to escape.

  Gundar was shaking his head. "The Oberjarl did away with the paddles as a punishment," he said. "Besides, a valuable slave like this would be wasted on them." He considered Buttle's still form once more, then came to a decision. "All right," he said. "How much do you want for him?"

  Will reached around and tugged at a knot that held Buttle in place across the horse's back.

  "Take him as a gift," he said, heaving on the bandit's collar so that he slid off the horse and fell in a heap on the ground. Buttle moaned softly as he did so, then went quiet. Gundar's eyes widened in surprise.

  "A gift?"

  Will nodded. "He's made a damn nuisance of himself around here and I don't have time to attend to him. Take him and welcome. You can owe me a favor sometime."

  The Skandian captain regarded him thoughtfully. "You're one for surprises, all right, Ranger," he said. Then he called to two of his crewmen who had been standing by, interested spectators. "Get this cargo aboard," he told them. "Stow him in the forepeak."

  Grinning, they lifted the unconscious man and carried him away. Gundar held out his hand to Will and the Ranger took it, shaking hands firmly.

  "Well, you're right, Ranger. I'll owe you a favor for this. Not only have you fed my men for the winter, you've given us a small profit on the trip as well."

  Will shrugged. "You're doing me a service by taking him," he said. "I'll be glad to know he's out of Araluen. Fair winds and strong rowers, Gundar Hardstriker," he added, in the traditional Skandian farewell.

  "And an easy road to you, Ranger," Gundar replied.

  Will swung back up into Tug's saddle. As he rode away, he pictured Buttle's future as a slave in Skandia. Even without the paddles, his life would be a hard one.

  10

  Will reined Tug in and looked around the almost deserted Gathering Ground. It was strange to see it so empty, he thought. There was a melancholy feeling to it.

  Normally, the lightly wooded meadow would be filled with the small green tents of the fifty active members of the Ranger Corps as they came together for their annual Gathering. There would be cooking fires, the clank and rattle of weapons practice overlaid by the buzz of a dozen or more conversations and sudden bursts of laughter as old friends called greetings to new arrivals riding in.

  Today, the campsites between the trees were bare. There were only two tents pitched, at the far end of the field, where the large command tent was normally placed. Halt and Crowley were already here, he realized.

  Another week had passed since Alyss's visit to Seacliff Fief. The elegant Courier had given him his final instructions, telling him to wait for two days after her departure, then to leave quietly, without letting anyone know he was going, and to make his way to the fathering Ground, where Halt and Crowley would explain his assignment. As she was leaving, she placed her hands upon his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. She was taller than Will by half a head and she had always liked the fact that this didn't bother him In truth, most people were taller than Will, so it wasn't an issue with him. In his turn, he admired the way Alyss never tried to stoop or conceal her height. She stood proudly, with a firm, straight carriage that gave grace to all her movements.

  As their gazes met, he saw the light of sadness in her eyes. Then she leaned forward and her lips touched his-light as a butterfly's wings and amazingly soft to the touch. They remained so for many seconds, then Alyss finally stepped back. She smiled sadly at him, sorry to be leaving so soon after seeing him again.

  "Take care, Will," she said. He nodded. There was a huskiness in his throat and he didn't trust himself to speak immediately. Eventually he managed to reply.

  "And you."

  He had watched her ride away with her two-man escort until the trees hid her from sight. And he had remained watching for some time after that.

  Now, here he was, ready to find out more about this assignment-anxious and uncertain, and just a little saddened by the thought of his last moments with Alyss and the sight of the empty Gathering Ground. Then the uncertainty was dispelled and the melancholy lifted as he saw a familiar stocky figure moving near one of the tents.

  "Halt!" he cried out gladly, and a slight pressure with his knees set Tug galloping through the deserted Gathering site. The dog caught by surprise, barked once, then shot in pursuit like an arrow from a bow.

  The grim-faced Ranger straightened from the fire at the sound of his former student's voice. He stood, hands on hips and a frown 0n his face as Will and Tug careered toward him. But inside, there was a lightening of his heart that he never failed to feel when in Will's company. Not for the first time, the realization hit Halt that Will was no longer a mere boy. No one wore the Silver Oakleaf if he hadn't proven himself to be worthy. Despite himself, he felt a surge of pride.

  Tug, forelegs braced stiffly, leaning back on his hind legs, slid to a halt beside the Ranger, driving a thick cloud of dust into the air. Then Halt felt himself seized in a bear hug as Will threw himself from the saddle and embraced him gleefully.

  "Halt! How are you? What have you been doing? Where's Abelard? How's Crowley? What's this all about?"

  "I'm glad to see you rate my horse more important than our Corps Commandant," Halt said, one eyebrow rising in the expression that Will knew so well. Early in their relationship, he had thought it was an expression of displeasure. He had learned years ago that it was, for Halt, the equivalent of a smile.

  Will finally released his mentor from his embrace and stepped back to study him. It had only been a few months since he had seen Halt, but he was surprised to see that the gray in the older Ranger's beard and hair was thicker than he remembered.

  Thank goodness we went to all the trouble of keeping this meeting secret so you could ride in here bellowing at the top of your lungs, Ha
lt said. Will grinned at him, totally unabashed.

  "There's no one nearby to hear," he said. "I circled the site before came in. If there's anyone within five kilometers, I'll eat my quiver."

  Halt regarded him, eyebrow arched once more. "Anyone?"

  "Anyone other than Crowley," Will amended, making a dismissive gesture. "I saw him watching me from that hide he always uses about two kilometers out. I assumed he'd be back in here by now."

  Halt cleared his throat loudly. "Oh, you saw him, did you?" he said. "I imagine he'll be overjoyed to hear that." Secretly, he was pleased with his former pupil. In spite of his curiosity and obvious excitement, he hadn't forgotten to take the precautions that had been drilled into him. That augured well for what lay ahead, Halt thought, a sudden grimness settling onto his manner.

  Will didn't notice the momentary change of mood. He was loosening Tug's saddle girth. As he spoke, his voice was muffled against the horse's flank. "He's becoming too much a creature of habit," he said. "He's used that hide for the last three Gatherings. It's time he tried something new. Everyone must be onto it by now."

  Rangers constantly competed with each other to see before being seen and each year's Gathering was a time of heightened competition. Halt nodded thoughtfully. Crowley had constructed the virtually invisible observation post some four years previously. Alone among the younger Rangers, Will had tumbled to it after one year. Halt had never mentioned to him that he was the only one who knew of Crowley's hide. The concealed post was the Ranger Commandant's pride and joy.

  "Well, perhaps not everyone," he said. Will emerged from behind his horse, grinning at the thought of the head of the Ranger Corps thinking he had remained hidden from sight as he watched Will's approach.

  "All the same, perhaps he's getting a bit long in the tooth to be skulking around hiding in the bushes, don't you think?" he said cheerfully. Halt considered the question for a moment.

  "Long in the tooth? Well, that's one opinion. Mind you, his silent movement skills are still as good as ever," he said meaningfully.

  The grin on Will's face slowly faded. He resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder.

  "He's standing behind me, isn't he?" he asked Halt. The older Ranger nodded.

  "He's been there for a while, hasn't he?" Will continued and Halt nodded once more.

  "Is he… close enough to have heard what I said?" Will finally managed to ask, fearing the worst. This time, Halt didn't have to answer.

  "Oh, good grief no," came a familiar voice from behind him. "He's so old and decrepit these days he's as deaf as a post."

  Will's shoulders sagged and he turned to see the sandy-haired Commandant standing a few meters away.

  The younger man's eyes dropped.

  "Hullo, Crowley," he said, then mumbled, "Ahhh… I'm sorry about that."

  Crowley glared at the young Ranger for a few more seconds, then he couldn't help the grin breaking out on his face.

  "No harm done," he said, adding with a small note of triumph, "It's not often these days I manage to get the better of one of you young ones."

  Secretly, he was impressed at the news that Will had spotted his hiding place. Only the sharpest eyes could have picked it. Crowley ad been in the business of seeing without being seen for thirty years or more, and despite what Will believed, he was still an absolute faster of camouflage and unseen movement. He noticed another Movement now-a wagging movement-and he dropped to one knee to consider the dog.

  "Hullo," he said softly, "who's this?"

  He held out one hand, knuckles slightly flexed and fingers pointing down, and the dog crept forward a few paces, sniffed at the hand then wagged her tail once more, her ears rising into a pricked-up alert position. Crowley loved dogs and they sensed it, seeming to single him out as a friend at the first moment of contact.

  "What's your name, girl?" the Commandant asked.

  "I haven't named her yet. I found her when I was on the way to Seacliff," Will explained. "She'd been hurt and was nearly dead. Her previous owner had tried to kill her."

  Crowley's face darkened. The idea of cruelty to animals was abhorrent to him. "I trust you had words with this man?" he said.

  Will shifted his feet uncertainly. He wasn't altogether sure how his superiors might view his treatment of John Buttle.

  "Well, in a manner of speaking, yes," he said. He noticed Halt's raised eyebrows. His old teacher could always tell when Will hadn't told him the full facts of a story. Crowley, his hand ruffling the fur behind the dog's ears, looked up curiously as well.

  "In a manner of speaking?"

  Will cleared his throat nervously. "I had to deal with him, but not because of the dog. Well, not directly. I mean, it was because of the dog that he turned up at my cabin that night and overheard what we were saying and then… well, I knew I'd have to do something about him because he'd heard too much. And then Alyss said maybe we'd have to… you know… but I thought that might be a bit drastic. So, in the end, it was the best solution I could think of."

  He paused, aware that the two men were staring at him, total incomprehension on both their faces.

  "What I mean to say is," he repeated, "it sort of involved the dog but not really directly, if you get my meaning."

  There was a very long pause, then Halt said slowly, "No, actually, I don't."

  Crowley looked at his longtime friend and said: "You had this young man with you for… what, six years?"

  Halt shrugged. "Near enough," he replied.

  "And did you ever understand a word he was saying?"

  "Not a lot of the time, no," Halt said.

  Crowley shook his head in wonder. "It's just as well he didn't go into the Diplomatic Service. We'd be at war with half a dozen countries by now if he was on the loose." He looked back to Will. "Tell us, in simple words and, if possible, completing every sentence that you start, what the dog and this person and Alyss have to do with each other."

  Will drew a deep breath to begin talking. He noticed that both men took an involuntary half step backward and he decided he'd better try to keep it as simple as possible.

  When he finished relating the tale, Crowley and Halt sat back, looking at Will with some concern.

  "You sold him into slavery?" Crowley asked, eventually. But Will shook his head.

  "I didn't sell him. I… gave him into slavery. It was either give him to the Skandians or kill him. And I didn't think he deserved to die."

  "But you did think he deserved to be… given… into slavery?" Crowley asked. Will's jaw set a little more firmly before he answered.

  "Yes, I do, Crowley. The man has a long history of crimes of violence. He's probably been responsible for more than one murder-not that there's any proof that would stand up in a court of law," he added.

  Halt scratched at his beard, looking thoughtful. "After all," he put in mildly, "it is part of our brief to deal with cases where there's insufficient evidence for a conviction." Crowley looked at him sharply.

  "That's not formally acknowledged, as you well know," he said. Halt nodded, taking the point, then continued in the same mild tone.

  "So the case of Arndor of Crewse wouldn't by any means set a precedent?" he asked, and Crowley shifted his feet uncomfortably. Will looked at the two of them, puzzled by the turn in the conversation.

  "Arndor of Crewse?" he asked. "Who was he?"

  Halt smiled at him. "He was a giant-over two meters tall. And a bandit. He terrorized the town of Crewse for several months until a young Ranger dealt with him… in a relatively unconventional way."

  Seeing Will's interest, and Crowley's discomfort, Halt continued, with the barest hint of a grin. "He chained him to a mill wheel in the town and let the people of Crewse use him as a mill pony for a period of five years. Apparently it had a chastening effect on his soul and brought quite a bit of prosperity to the town as well. Crewse flour became well known for the fineness of its grind."

  Crowley finally interrupted this tale. "Look, it was a differen
t situation and I…" He corrected himself a little too late. "The Ranger concerned… couldn't think of any other way of dealing with it. But at least he was making reparation to the people he had wronged. He wasn't just sold as a slave to a foreign power."

  "Well," said Halt, "neither was this Buttle character. And actually, as Will pointed out, he wasn't sold. He was given. A good lawyer could probably make a case that with no money changing hands there was nothing done that was against the laws of the country."

  Crowley snorted. "A good lawyer?" he said. "There's no such thing. All right, young Will, I suppose you acted for the best and as your lawyer here points out, technically speaking, there's no crime involved. Maybe you'd better pitch your tent. We'll talk after supper."

  Will nodded, flashing a grin at Halt, who raised that eyebrow again. As he moved off to pitch his small green tent, Crowley stepped a little closer to his old friend, speaking in a lowered tone so that Will couldn't hear.

  "You know, it's not a bad way of dealing with awkward cases," he said softly. "Maybe you should contact your friend Erak and see if we could do it on a more regular basis."

  Halt looked at him for a long moment in silence.

  "Of course. After all, this country only has so many flour mills, doesn't it?"

  11

  The three Rangers sat comfortably around the fire Will had built. Their evening meal had been a good one. Crowley had brought venison steaks with him and they had cooked them, sizzling and spitting, on flat stones heated in the coals of the fire, supplementing the meat with boiled potatoes, liberally heaped with butter and pepper, and greens that had been blanched quickly in a pot of boiling water. Now, nursing mugs of coffee that Halt had brewed, they sat in a companionable silence.

  Will was eager to know the details of his mission but he knew that there was no sense in hurrying things. Crowley and Halt would tell him in their own time, and nothing he did or said would make them do so any sooner than they planned to. A few years earlier, he would have been in a fever of anticipation, fidgeting and unable to relax. But, along with the other skills of a Ranger, he had learned patience. As he sat and waited for his superiors to broach the subject, he felt Halt's approving eye on him from time to time as his former teacher assessed this newfound quality. Will looked up once, caught Halt's eyes on him and allowed a grin to touch his features. He was pleased that he was able to demonstrate his forbearance.