"I trust them," he said.
The two pairs of eyes swung to him, assessing him. Doric frowned. The cloak was definitely the same cut as a Ranger's cloak, but it was patterned in black and white. Will ignored the Battlemaster and addressed Meralon.
"Will. Ranger fifty," he said. The other Ranger nodded.
"Meralon. Twenty-seven." He put a little stress on the number, to imply that he was senior to Will. In fact, he wasn't. Aside from Crowley and a select command group of senior Rangers, all members of the Corps were equal in rank. Their numbers were assigned as they became available, when other Rangers retired or died. It was sheer chance that Will, as the newest recruit to the Corps, had received the number fifty."You're Halt's apprentice, aren't you?" Meralon added disparagingly.
"I was," Will replied.
Meralon nodded once or twice, then continued in a patronizing tone, "Yes, well, as you grow a little older, Will, you'll learn that Skandians aren't to be trusted. They're a treacherous race."
Will forced himself to take a deep breath before he answered. There weren't many fools in the Ranger Corps, but he realized he'd just met one. He doubted the man had any personal experience of Skandians.
"You're wrong," he said firmly. "I trust them, and we need a garrison here."
Doric interrupted, waving toward the ranks of men in the courtyard. "We can supply that. I'll leave fifty men here."
"And you'll leave Norgate weakened if you do. You must have stripped the garrison to put this force together."
Doric hesitated. The young Ranger was right. It was all very well to put together an expeditionary force for an emergency rescue. But to leave a large number of them here would weaken Norgate seriously.
Before the Battlemaster could answer, Will added, "And there's a Scotti army just across the border who might well decide to attack Norgate if they see its garrison is under strength."
He was right again, Doric realized. The fact did nothing to soften his brisk manner. He turned on Orman.
"What happened to your normal garrison?" he demanded, an accusing note in his voice.
" The usurper, Keren, got rid of them. They're scattered all over the countryside. It'll take months to get word to them and get them back here."
"Well, you've made a right mess of things, haven't you?" Doric burst out.
For a moment, Orman flushed angrily. This was a delicate situation. As chatelain, he was equal in rank to the fief's Battlemaster. Both of them answered to the Baron at Norgate, and it was difficult to know who had the final say in matters here. It was a situation that called for large amounts of tact and diplomacy, qualities that Sir Doric seemed to have left behind at Castle Norgate.
"And we remedied the situation, thanks to the Skandians," Orman said smoothly. "Without their help, the castle would be in Scotti hands by now. So we've made an arrangement with them to stay on as garrison until I can recruit enough local men."
"An arrangement?" Meralon said incredulously. "Who exactly made this arrangement?"
"I did," Will replied.
Meralon nodded again. He was still fuming over Will's blunt statement that he was wrong. "Yes, I might have known. Everyone says you and Halt have a blind spot where these pirates are c oncerned."
Still controlling his anger, Will replied, "The Skandians need a place and materials to build a ship. We've agreed to give them that. In return, they'll garrison the castle as long as necessary. We need them. They need us. It's a good arrangement all around."
"But it's not up to you to make arrangements, is it? This is not your fief. I am the Ranger here, not you. And I don't approve of the deal you've made with these pirates."
Meralon was slightly taller than Will, and he leaned down to bring their faces level. Will was tempted to step backward, but he realized this would be a mistake. He held his ground. He drew breath to answer, but Horace stepped forward and fore-stalled him.
" Two things," the young knight said, deciding it was time he took a part in this discussion. "First, I'd like everyone to stop referring to the Skandians as treacherous pirates. They're friends of mine."
His voice was quiet and calm. He spoke deliberately. But there was no mistaking the underlying threat in his words. He studied the Norgate Ranger. Like Will, Horace had been briefed by Halt and Crowley before he came north. He had asked the same question: Why couldn't the local Ranger take care of the problem? They had told him that the mission was secret and the local man would be recognized. He realized now that their reasoning went deeper. The job required energy and imagination and the ability to improvise. Meralon simply wasn't up to the task.
He saw he had everyone's attention, so he addressed Meralon directly.
"And if you're in charge here, as you claim, where the devil were you when you were needed?"
Meralon opened his mouth to reply, but Horace waved his words aside. "I don't recall seeing you coming up with a plan to take the castle. I'm sure you didn't provide a force to do it with. And I certainly didn't see you storming the battlements with me."
There was a moment's silence. Horace reflected that he had never had the nerve to speak to a Ranger this way. He respected and admired the Corps too much for that. And as he had that thought, another realization struck him.
"In fact, if you're the local Ranger, how did you let this situation develop in the first place? I thought you people were supposed to keep an ear to the ground?" He waved his arm around the castle courtyard. "All this should never have happened. And that's what I'll be saying in my report."
Meralon spluttered, too furious to speak. Sir Doric took up the challenge for him.
"And who the devil might you be?"
Horace looked at him and smiled, but without the slightest trace of humor. He was a self-deprecating person and he usually eschewed titles. But he felt it was time for a little rank-pulling. He folded his arms across his chest.
"I am Sir Horace, knight chevalier of the Oak Leaf, B company commander, Araluen Royal Guard and Appointed Champion to Cassandra, the Princess Royal."
Now, that really did stop the conversation. Words like Ryal Gard and Princess Cssandra gave Horace considerable cachet. He was a man who had access to the highest authority in the land, and he was planning a report – a report that said he found arrangements here unsatisfactory.
Doric allowed himself one bitter sidelong glace at Meralon. Why did you let this happen? it said. Then he addressed Orman in a more placatory tone.
"Lord Orman, perhaps I spoke in some haste. Forgive me if I've caused offense. After all, it's been a long, hard ride to get here – "
"And of course, you and your men are tired and need rest," Orman took the proffered olive branch smoothly. Will was impressed by the chatelain's tact. Orman had no wish to score points or gloat. All he wanted was an amicable solution to the situation. "Perhaps my people could show your men to their quarters?"
"I'd be grateful, sir," Doric said, with a slight bow.
Orman turned to his secretary. "Xander, take care of it, please." Then, turning back to Doric, he said, "And perhaps we could continue this discussion over luncheon, after you've had a chance to rest and bathe and change?"
Doric's bow was more evident this time. "Again, sir, you're too kind. We could use a rest, eh, Meralon?"
Meralon, tight-lipped, muttered agreement. Rangers, of course, enjoyed the highest level of independence, being answerable only to the King. But Horace's royal connections had trumped that ace very neatly. Besides, Meralon knew that Will's actions, while unorthodox, had been successful. And success tended to make the unorthodox acceptable. Brushing past Will, he followed Doric and Orman into the keep, leaving Will, Horace and Malcolm to bring up the rear.
"Since when have you been Evanlyn's champion?" Will asked in an aside. Horace grinned at him.
"Well, I'm not, actually. But I'm sure it's just a matter of time."
40
Farewells were the hardest part of life as a Ranger, Will thought as he led Tug out of the castl
e stable, Shadow following at his heels. He had hoped that perhaps he and Horace and Alyss might be able to slip quietly away, but, of course, that was impossible. They had made friends here over the past months, and those friends wanted the chance to say good-bye.
The situation at Macindaw was virtually back to normal. Sir Doric and Meralon had led the relief column north, to the border with Picta, to ensure that the Scotti army had actually withdrawn. Doric and his troops would remain on patrol in the immediate area until he was sure the local situation had stabilized. As time passed, his force would be progressively reduced, but he planned to maintain a strong presence in the area for at least the next few months.
The Skandians continued to man the walls as a temporary garrison. Those who weren't on duty were busy at a small creek a kilometer away – a tributary that ran down to a larger river that in turn led to the sea. The skeleton of their new wolfship was already laid out on the bank.
Will stopped. Horace and Alyss, leading their horses behind him, followed suit. Orman, Xander and Malcolm stood waiting for him. Behind them, he could see the bulky forms of Gundar and Nils Ropehander. And behind them, the even larger form of Trobar, now sufficiently recovered to leave the infirmary and limp painfully down the stairs to bid his own good-byes. Will thought he knew whom the giant wished to farewell.
Orman spoke first, as was only fitting.
"Will, Horace – and Lady Alyss, of course – I owe you far too much to ever try to repay you. Please accept my gratitude and my friendship as a totally inadequate reward for your services."
Horace and Will shuffled awkwardly and mumbled their inarticulate replies. Alyss, naturally, took the lead.
"Lord Orman, it has been our privilege to serve you. You've proved yourself a loyal servant of the King."
Orman bowed. "You're too kind, Lady Alyss," he said. Then he turned to Will. "It occurs to me, Will, that I made some unkind remarks about your musical ability when you first arrived. I shouldn't have done that."
Will shook his head ruefully."I think your comments were pretty accurate, Lord Orman." When Will had first arrived at Macindaw, posing as a jongleur, Orman had made scathing comments about his lack of classical training and the fact that he sang"country ditties and doggerel."
The ghost of a smile touched Orman's mouth. "Oh, I know they were accurate. I just shouldn't have made them." He became serious for a moment. "I'm sorry you lost your mandola, by the way."
Will shrugged. Buttle had smashed the mandola in a rage after Will, Orman and Xander had escaped from the castle.
"It may be a blessing in disguise, my lord," he said, and the smile returned to Orman's face.
"Best if I don't comment on that. But Xander has something to say," he prompted.
The little secretary stepped out from behind his master. He bowed his head briefly to Will.
"My gratitude, Ranger," he said. "You saved my master's life, and you saved the castle." He looked at Horace."Gratitude to you as well, Sir Horace."
Horace bowed.
Will couldn't resist a final dig at the secretary. "Have you forgiven me for overpaying the Skandians, Xander?" he asked.
Humor was not the secretary's strong suit. His air of gratitude was instantly replaced by the harried manner he usually assumed. "Well, you know, I'm sure we could have got them for much less. You really should have consulted me before you – "
"Xander?" It was Orman.
The secretary stopped in midflow and looked up at his master. "Drop it."
"Yes, my lord." Xander hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled to
Will.
Will shook his head. The man was irrepressible. "Don't ever change, Xander," he said.
"He won't," Orman told him with some feeling.
Then it was time to grasp Malcolm's hand. The thin, birdlike little man smiled at him.
"You did well here, Will Treaty," he said. "I think all of us will be safer in the future. We understand one another a little better."
Will knew that Orman had offered Malcolm a position in the castle. He hadn't heard if the healer had accepted.
"Are you going to move your people into Macindaw?" he asked.
Malcolm shook his head. "They're shy. They don't like being in the public view. I'll stay in the forest with them. If Orman needs a healer, I'll be available."
"But no more Night Warrior? No more lights and noises in the forest?"
The little man tipped his head thoughtfully to one side. "Oh, I don't know about that. Orman has agreed to keep our secret, and the Skandians will move on eventually. I think I'd prefer it if the locals still regarded Grimsdell as a place not to go."
"You're probably right," Will agreed. "That reminds me. This is yours."
He fumbled in a pocket and produced the black stellatite stone. The day after the battle, he had returned to the tower room and searched the floor until he found it.
The healer smiled. "Oh, that? Keep it if you like. It's just a pebble."
"But… it's stellatite. It's invaluable! You said – "
"I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest with you," Malcolm said, not the least contrite. "I told you mesmerism was a matter of focus.
This gave Alyss something to focus on, and that broke the power of the blue stone."
Alyss and Will exchanged puzzled looks. Then Will turned back to the healer.
"It's worthless?"
"Not completely. The fact that you both believed in it made it valuable. As I said, mesmerism is a matter of belief. You believed this river pebble was a star stone, so it became one."
Will shook his head in disbelief and slipped the pebble back into his pocket. "I'll keep it as a memento," he said, "of a very devious healer. Good-bye, Malcolm. Take care."
"Godspeed to you, Will." Malcolm smiled. "And you, Horace.
Maybe with you two gone, I'll be able to get a cup of coffee for myself."
Will turned to shake hands with Gundar. He should have known he'd never get away with such a formal gesture. The Skandian seized him in a massive bear hug, lifting him from the ground, squeezing him so that he could hardly talk.
"Good fight, Ranger! Good battle! I'll be sad to see you go!"
"Pu' me dow'…," Will managed to gasp, and the Skandian set him back on his feet again. He checked his ribs to make sure they were intact.
"Drop in and see me at Seacliff Fief someday, Gundar," he said.
The skirl roared with laughter. "We'll come for dinner!" he bellowed, delighted at his own joke.
"Just make sure you let us know you're coming," Will warned him. This time, Nils joined in the laughter.
Alyss and Horace were making their own good-byes. As Will waited for them to finish, he caught Trobar's eye. The giant looked away sadly, and Will walked to where he stood behind the assembled group. Shadow followed, of course. She looked up at Will as he stopped a few paces short of Trobar. She was too well trained to leave his side without permission.
"Go on," he told her quietly, and she went to Trobar, her tail wagging in that slow, heavy rhythm of border shepherds.
The gigantic man knelt to farewell her, fondling her ears, rubbing under her chin in the way she loved. Her eyes closed with pleasure at his gentle touch. Will felt a sudden heaviness in his heart. He dropped to one knee beside them.
"Trobar," he said quietly, "look at me, please."
The giant raised his eyes to Will. The Ranger could see the tears freely running down the big face.
"I think a dog belongs with the person who names her," Will said, his voice a little unsteady. "Shadow needs you more than she needs me. She's yours."
He saw the disbelief in Trobar's eyes. The giant couldn't speak. He pointed numbly to his own chest, and Will nodded. "Look after her. If she ever has pups, I'll come and take the pick of the litter."
He held out his hand to Shadow, palm facing her, in the motion that told her to stay.
"Stay, Shadow," he said, then he ruffled her head one last time. "Good-bye, girl," he choked, then
, unable to bear it any longer, he rose and walked quickly to where Tug waited for him. His vision was blurred, and he fumbled with the reins as he prepared to mount.
The little horse turned his head and looked steadily at his master. I'll make it up to you, the look said.
Will swung into the saddle, and Tug's hooves clattered on the flagstones as he trotted toward the drawbridge. Alyss and Horace, caught by surprise at his sudden exit, hurried to complete their farewells and follow him.
They were half a kilometer down the track before Horace noticed something was missing. He looked around them, his eyes seeking a familiar black-and-white form.
"Where's the dog?" he asked finally.
Will kept looking straight ahead. "I gave her to Trobar," he said. Then he touched Tug with his heels and cantered on ahead of his friends. He didn't want to discuss it just now.
41
Winter was on its last frigid breaths as the three old friends rode southward. With each passing day, the snow receded further, going from a complete ground cover to isolated patches of melting snow until, eventually, it disappeared completely, and the wet, brown grass was showing the first tinges of green. Will realized with surprise that it would soon be spring.
He and Alyss maintained a facade of friendship, but there was a subtle undercurrent of tension between them. Neither of them realized, however, that the other felt it. Will thought that the slight awkwardness between them was caused by his own reluctance to bring things to a head. He had no idea that Alyss felt exactly the same way.
A perplexed Horace watched his friends as they tiptoed around the subject of the mutual affection they both stubbornly refused to admit.
They're supposed to be the smart ones, he thought, while I'm just a dumb warrior. So if I can see what's going on, why can't they? Sometimes, he reflected, people can be too intelligent for their own good. Too much thinking could confuse things. He felt tempted to knock their heads together, but Horace was not the type to intrude in such a delicate area.
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