The sorcerer of the North ra-5

by John Flanagan

  Alyss sipped at the water. Then she realized how parched she was and drank most of the contents of the glass. Her training had taught her that, if you were a prisoner, it was always good technique to make your captors accede to a small demand. Something small at first, then, as they became used to granting requests, the demands could become bigger.

  Keren dropped into the chair opposite her and lolled back, one leg crossed over the other. He grinned easily at her.

  "Relax," he said. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

  "It's not the questions that bother me," she said. "It's what will happen when you don't get any answers."

  He frowned at her, actually looking a little hurt.

  "You surely don't think I'd torture you?" he said. "I'm not a monster, you know. I am a knight, after all."

  "You seem to have forgotten some of your duties as a knight," she countered. She yawned. The hot room seemed to be making her sleepy. She blinked several times as Keren continued.

  "Well, perhaps it looks that way. But it's easy to take that point of view when you don't know the full picture. For years, I kept this castle strong and well defended. All I asked from Syron was a little consideration, a little gratitude for my efforts. But no. He channeled everything to his son. There was nothing for me. Not even a guarantee that I'd even be employed once Orman took over. I've spent the greater part of my adult life safeguarding the kingdom's border and I've received no more than a free lance's pay for it. I deserved better than that."

  "Perhaps you did. But you had no right to look for your rewards from the Scotti," she ventured, waiting to see his reaction. It wasn't long in coming. He looked at her keenly.

  "So you figured that out, did you? I wonder how much else you know?"

  She smiled. "I'll bet you do," she told him.

  He peered closely at her. "You must be feeling tired. It's been quite a day."

  She nodded. She did feel tired, now that he mentioned it. She blinked her eyes and rolled her head from side to side to ease the tension in her shoulders.

  "That's the way." Keren's voice was deep and soothing. Strangely, she thought, it seemed to be coming from a distance-not from just across the table. "Close your eyes if you want to," he continued. "We can always talk later if you're sleepy now. Are you sleepy now?"

  Her eyelids were feeling heavy. They drooped shut. She flickered them open again but the effort was too great to sustain. Slowly, they slid down.

  "Those eyelids look heavy," he said in that strange, calming voice. "Aren't you sleepy?"

  "Sleepy…" she mumbled in reply. In a distant part of her mind, she could feel a faint warning signal stirring. She shouldn't be this sleepy, she thought. But she pushed the thought aside because she was. Incredibly sleepy. Why? Why would she feel so tired all of a sudden?

  Keren's voice continued. It was very soothing and it seemed to fill her world.

  "Of course you're sleepy. You can sleep. Sleep is good. Your eyes are very tired…"

  And they were. Then, once again, that little sentient part of her mind was trying to say something. Something about the water she'd drunk. Had he put something in it? Some kind of sleeping potion? She'd been so clever, making him accede to her wishes. But maybe she'd outsmarted herself and the water…

  But who cared? She was sleepy and he was telling her she could sleep and his voice was so calm and trustworthy. The little warning signal in her brain flickered and died.

  "I've brought you something. Something to help you sleep. Look at it."

  She forced her heavy eyelids open and looked at what he was holding.

  It was a strange blue gemstone, about the size of a quail egg, and he began to roll it back and forth in his hands. It was very beautiful, she thought, and she marveled at the way it seemed to draw her in so that she felt she could dive into the stone as if it were a deep pool of clear blue water. She leaned forward, looking more closely, smiling. It was a beautiful stone.

  "Look into the blue," he said gently. "It's beautiful."

  He was right, she thought. It was perfectly round and the blue seemed to grow deeper as you looked into it. She had the fascinating impression that, if she looked hard enough, she could see beneath the surface of the stone, and into the depths beneath.

  "It's very beautiful, isn't it?" he said. His voice was quiet and relaxing and very soothing. "I often wonder how there can be so many layers in such a small object. Look at it as it turns…"

  He slowly rotated the stone and she saw that he was right. The blue seemed to drop away from the light, in ever deepening layers. It seemed impossible that they could all be in such a tiny gem. And so beautiful. So blue. She loved blue. She had never before realized that blue was her favorite color.

  "You never told me your real name," he said gently.

  "It's Alyss. Alyss Mainwaring." There seemed no harm in telling him that. After all, he knew Lady Gwendolyn was a false identity. Strange, she thought, how that little blue stone seemed to be growing bigger with every second.

  "You don't really have a fiance, do you?" he said, and she could hear the genuine amusement in his voice. She laughed in reply.

  "No. I'm afraid not," she admitted. "I think I'm doomed to be an old maid." It was a shame that they were enemies, she thought. He was actually quite a nice person. She went to look up and tell him so.

  "Keep looking at the blue." His voice was very gentle and she nodded agreement.

  "Of course."

  He was silent for a while, letting her study those shifting blue tones. It was very relaxing, she thought.

  "What about your friend Will?" he asked softly. "No romance there?"

  She smiled quietly at the question, didn't answer for a few seconds. "We've known each other forever," she said. "We were very close before he began his training."

  "As a jongleur, you mean?" he said. She was on the brink of shaking her head when some instinct stopped her.

  "Will's a…" she began, but the same instinct stopped her from saying any more. The warning light in her mind was back, flaring brightly now. She blinked, realizing that she had been on the point of saying Will's a Ranger. She lurched back in her chair, as if rearing back from the edge of a cliff. In a way, she was.

  She tore her eyes from the blue stone on the table, amazed at how much effort it took to do so.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded, horrified that she had been about to betray Will. She racked her brain now, trying to think what she had told him, how much she had revealed to him. Her name, she thought. But that didn't matter too much. So long as she hadn't told him Will was a…

  She stopped herself. Best not even to think of it, she thought. That damned blue stone obviously had some very strange properties. Keren was smiling at her. It was a surprisingly friendly smile, considering.

  "You're a strong one," he told her admiringly. "Once a person gets in that deep, it's very unusual for them to come back. Well done."

  "The water… it was drugged, wasn't it?" she said. She knew now that it was no accident that the room had been so hot. The fire had been deliberately stoked. Keren had known she would want water. He smiled.

  "Just a harmless drink to help you relax-so my little blue stone could do its work."

  "What is that thing?" She pointed at the stone, loathing it. He picked it up from the table, tossed it in the air and caught it, then placed it back in his inner pocket.

  "Oh, just a little bauble I amuse my friends with," he said, rising and turning toward the door. He paused with the door open, then his smile faded.

  "We'll do this again," he said. "And the next time, it will go a lot quicker. It always does after you've given in once. After that, it gets easier and easier every time. I'll see you in an hour or so."

  The door closed behind him. Alyss heard the key turn in the lock and she dropped her head onto her forearms on the table. She felt totally exhausted.

  36

  "This is as far as you come." Will said, dropping into a crouch and signali
ng for Xander and Malcolm to do likewise.

  They had left the horses back behind a crest and now the dark bulk of Castle Macindaw loomed less than one hundred and fifty meters away.

  "You'll get no argument from me," Xander said. He crouched beside Will, studying the castle and its tall central tower. "There. See the light at the top of the tower? I'll wager that's where your friend is. That's the tower cell and it's occupied. There was nobody in there this morning."

  "The windows are barred, of course?" Malcom said and as Xander nodded in confirmation, he continued. "Have you thought how you'll deal with them?"

  Will frowned. "I have a file," he said and Malcolm shook his bead, then passed across a small leather-bound flask.

  "Too slow and too noisy. This will do a much better job."

  Will studied the flask. "What's in it?" he asked.

  "It's a very powerful acid. It will eat through the iron bars in a few minutes." He smiled as Will handled the flask gingerly. "There's a glass bottle inside, but it's padded with straw and protected by the leather covering. It's quite safe. Just be careful how you handle it."

  Will decided not to point out that those last two statements seemed strangely at odds with each other. He slid the flask into his waistband in the middle of his back. It would be secure there, he thought.

  "Moon's almost set." Malcolm pointed out. Will nodded.

  "I'll be off then."

  But he didn't move immediately. He spent a few minutes studying the landscape and absorbing the natural rhythms of the night. Then he simply melted away into the darkness.

  Will paused in the deep shadow at the base of the wall. This was where he would climb, in the angle between wall and tower. Neither the tower sentry nor the guards on the wall above could see him here. The only possible danger was from the other tower sentry, thirty meters away. But the man was still hunched over the wall, staring fixedly out into the night.

  He explored the wall's surface with his hands, discarding his gloves and tucking them through his belt to do so. The stonework, which appeared smooth and sleek from a distance, was actually rough and uneven, with plenty of cracks, crevices and protrusions to provide hand- and footholds for a climber of Will's experience. In addition, the right angle formed by the wall and the tower would give extra purchase if he needed it. He smiled. He would have been able to climb this wall by the time he was eleven years old.

  He had a long rope coiled around his shoulders under his cloak, but that was intended to help Alyss down, not for him to climb up. With the sentries on duty, he could hardly risk throwing a rope up to catch between the crenellations at the top of the wall. Flexing his fingers, he reached high above his head, found two secure handholds in the cold stone and hauled himself upward.

  He moved slowly and smoothly up the wall. At times, he had to move to the left or right of his original starting position as he sought the best purchase. His fingers ached with the strain and the cold but they were hardened and strengthened by years of practice.

  As he neared the top of his climb, he heard the sentry's approaching footsteps and paused, hanging like a giant spider on the wall, fingers and toes aching with the strain. The sentry stopped at the end of his beat and stamped his feet once or twice. Then he moved off again, heading back the way he had come. Will waited a few more seconds, then swarmed up and over the battlements. Moving like a shadow in a night full of shadows, he crossed the walkway and slipped quietly down the stairs leading to the courtyard below.

  He paused at the base of the stairs. There were no sentries here but there was always the chance that someone might emerge from one of the doors leading into the keep or the gate tower. He studied the situation for long minutes. The open space leading to the keep tower was well lit by burning torches set into the walls. He would be better served by walking directly, without any attempt at concealment. A figure seen walking toward the door would be less likely to raise suspicion than someone who was obviously skulking. He threw back the cowl on his cloak, took a soft, feathered cap from underneath his tunic, straightened it and placed it on his head. Then, walking confidently and without any attempt at concealment, he walked to the stairs leading to the keep's main door.

  As he reached the stairs, he slid smartly to his left and merged into the shadows formed by the stairway itself. He discarded the cap and pulled the cowl up over his head once more. Crouched by the stairs, he surveyed the walls opposite to see if anyone had noticed him. But the sentries' attention was focused outward, not inward, and there were no casual observers around.

  Satisfied that he had gone unseen, he moved around the base of the tower to a point midway between two of the flaring torches. At the extreme edge of the light cast by each, the lighting was uncertain and shifting. He took a deep breath, felt to make sure that Malcolm's leather-clad flask was securely and safely stowed in the small of his back, and began to climb once more.

  As he had expected, the keep tower was built from the same rough stone as the wall and there were plenty of foot- and handholds for him. He climbed steadily. Even with his excellent head for heights, he avoided the temptation to look down. You never knew when vertigo might seize you. The outer wall had been a mere eight meters high. This tower was over three times that height, soaring up to thirty meters above ground level. As he rose higher, the wind picked up, whistling around him, attempting to pluck him from his precarious handholds.

  Three out of four, he repeated to himself-the old dictum he had practiced when climbing since he was a boy. It meant that he never moved a hand or a foot to a new vantage point unless the other three were securely positioned. There were several lit windows in his path and he skirted around them. He was tempted to look in but he realized this could be a fatal error. If an inhabitant just happened to be looking at the window, the sight of a strange face peering in would be sure to raise the alarm.

  The wind grew stronger the higher he went, making the freezing air even colder. His hands were growing numb, which worried him. He needed feeling in his hands to seek out only the most secure cracks and protrusions in the stone. If he couldn't feel them properly, there was always the chance that he'd seize hold of a loose stone and have it give way when he transferred his weight to it. Mentally, he shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it now and he was already three-quarters of the way up the tower anyway. He glanced out to one side, where the snow-covered land lay far below. Several kilometers away, he could see the dark mass of Grimsdell Wood itself, the tops of the trees dusted with white here snow had collected. If he'd been climbing for the sheer fun of it, he might have stopped to admire the superb vista. He smiled sadly. It had been a long time since he had climbed solely for the fun of it.

  He glanced up and saw that the narrow ledge around the top of the tower was only a few meters away. He covered the distance and reached up carefully. One never knew what might be found on ledges. Some castle designers liked to set iron spikes in them to discourage climbers.

  There were no spikes, but he frowned as he touched the freezing surface. Ice, he thought. Rainwater had collected on the ledge and frozen as the temperature dropped. That would make it tricky. Most climbers would have reached eagerly for the ledge, transferring all their weight to their hands as they did so. With slippery ice all over the ledge, that could be fatal. Will kept some weight on his feet as he searched for a clear spot to grip. His toes curled with the effort and he could feel the beginnings of a cramp in the arch of his left foot. He found a clear spot with his right hand and heaved himself a little higher, his left foot searching for a new foothold. Three out of four, he repeated. He moved his left hand to the ledge, sliding it back and forth till he found a spot clear of ice. Then his right foot came up and he was able to haul himself up to the ledge, turning carefully to sit upon it, his back pressed to the wall behind him. As he leaned back, a little more forcefully than he'd intended, he was aware of something pressing into the small of his back. His heart leapt to his mouth as he remembered the flask of acid. Encumbe
red as he was by his cloak, if it broke now, there was no way he could get rid of it in time. He leaned a little away from the wall and counted seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. A full minute went by and there was no burning sensation of acid eating into his flesh. He heaved a sigh of relief.

  "Now where's Alyss?" he asked himself.

  As he had done when climbing the outer wall, he had zigzagged up the wall from his original start point, searching for the best handholds. He looked to his right now and saw that the window he assumed to mark Alyss's cell was some three meters away. He shuffled sideways along the ledge to it, his legs dangling over the drop. He frowned as he moved toward the window. There was a lot of ice on the narrow ledge and that was going to make it difficult for him to stand and turn around to look in the window.

  At least, he thought, he'd have the bars to give him a secure handhold. He stopped moving when the window was on his right, the bottom sill a little above the height of his head. He reached up with his right hand, felt along the sill, then found one of the iron bars.

  If the room was occupied by someone other than Alyss, he thought, this could be dangerous. His hand would be in full sight of anyone looking at the window, and as he turned and stood he would be totally exposed as well. He would have to commit himself before he could check the room's occupant. But, given the icy state of the ledge, he had no alternative.

  He swiveled to the right on his buttocks, bringing his left foot up onto the ledge. His weight was supported almost fully by his right hand now and since there had been no outcry from the room, he assumed that whoever was in there wasn't looking at the window. The footing on the ledge was definitely unstable, he decided, as he put more weight on his left leg, slowly turning to his right and straightening the bent knee to lift him higher.

  His heart leapt as he felt the foot begin to slip sideways in the ice, and he turned more quickly, throwing up his left arm to get a good grip on another bar in the window. He was just in time. His left foot slid out over the edge of the icy ledge and he found himself hanging by his two hands. With a soft groan of effort, he heaved himself upward. His right foot found the ledge and took some of the strain-not too much, as he didn't trust the footing.