John Flanagan: The sorcerer of the North

Will shifted his feet irritably. Malcolm was right of course, but he was desperate to do something. Anything. To get moving. Every minute that passed put Alyss in greater danger, as the likelihood grew that Buttle would recognize her. He couldn't bear to just sit here waiting.

"Perhaps we could think it through a little, rather than just go charging off without any plan of action," the healer suggested. Reluctantly, Will acknowledged that the little man was making sense. He patted Tug's neck absentmindedly, then stepped up onto the narrow verandah to join Malcolm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's driving me crazy knowing that she's still in there. Knowing I left her there."

"As I understand it, you had no other choice," Malcolm said and Will sighed as he sat down.

"That doesn't make it any easier to bear. I've been racking my brains trying to figure out where Buttle sprang from," he added.

"He's the one you saw in the castle-just before Orman sent for you?"

Will nodded. "Yes. But by all rights, he should be hundreds of kilometers away from here. I gave him to a boatload of Skandians as a slave."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up slightly. "You gave him?" he said, and Will nodded seriously.

"It would have been against the law to sell him," he replied. Malcom nodded sagely, several times.

"Of course. Far more law-abiding to give him, I suppose." He paused to see if there was any reaction, but there was none. This boy does have a lot on his mind, he thought. Then he added: "Perhaps these Skandians of yours came ashore again. I'll ask if there's been any sign of Skandians in the area. My friends here range far and wide through the forest and there's little that escapes their attention. They've become very good at seeing without being seen."

"We're a long way from the sea here," Will said doubtfully. Malcolm nodded agreement.

"Perhaps eighty kilometers. But the River Oosel runs inland from the coast and it's a lot closer. At this time of year, if you were to come ashore, you'd want to get well away from the storms that hit the east coast. Of course," he went on, changing the subject slightly, "the question isn't really how he got here, but what he's planning to do."

"It'll be no good, whatever it is," Will said. "What's killing me is the uncertainty of it all. I don't know if she's been recognized. And if she has, I've no idea where they might be holding her."

He turned, hearing the door beside them close gently as Xander returned from checking his lord.

"I take it Lord Orman is comfortable?" Malcolm asked, and Xander nodded.

"He's resting comfortably," he said. Then he had the grace to look a little apologetic. "Thank you for what you've done." Malcolm gave a little self-deprecating shrug. Xander turned his attention to Will.

"If you're planning to go back into the castle," he said, "you might be able to use a little inside information." Will looked at him quickly. The little secretary felt somewhat guilty that he hadn't been able to pass Will's warning on to Alyss.

"I'm assuming that if they've discovered her identity, she'll be in the dungeons," Will said. "There are dungeons at Macindaw, I take it?"

"There are," Xander agreed. "But at this time of year, they're often flooded. My bet is that if she's imprisoned, it'll be in the tower cell. It's right at the top of the keep tower-and a lot harder to reach than the dungeons. There's only one staircase leading up to it, so it's easy to guard. And once you're up there, it's easy to keep you up there as well."

Will considered the problem. It made sense, he thought. There were often several ways to get into the dungeons in a castle. But a tower was a different matter altogether.

"Perhaps," said Malcolm, "you might be better to abandon your plan for the moment and hope that your friend hasn't been recognized?"

But Will was shaking his head before the healer had half finished the sentence.

"No. I've wasted enough time," he said firmly. "I'm getting her out. Tonight."

"How?" Malcolm persisted. "Be reasonable. You'd need a force of armed men to fight your way up the stairs to a tower like that."

"I wasn't planning on using the stairs," Will told him.

In the tower cell, Alyss was feeling decidedly uneasy. Once Buttle had recognized her, there had been little purpose in trying to continue the pretense that she was a dizzy-headed noblewoman on the way to her wedding.

But surprisingly, Keren had made no attempt to extract any further information from her. He had simply frowned, called his guards and had her escorted to this prison. Max, armed only with a belt dagger that was more decorative than functional, had been prepared to defend her, but she'd stopped him. She didn't want to be responsible for his death. He and the two maids were escorted to a locked storeroom. She had no doubt that her men-at-arms would join them before long.

It was Keren's apparent lack of action or interest that had her worried most of all. Obviously, he was the center of the strange happenings that had been going on at Castle Macindaw. To what purpose? she wondered. The most logical one was the intention that he had ascribed to Orman and Will-that he was planning to hand over the castle to Scotti invaders. After all, having usurped the rights of both Syron and Orman, he could hardly expect to gain King Duncan's endorsement as lord of Macindaw. His only alternative would be to look outside the kingdom for reward.

Whatever he had planned, he was obviously up to no good. It seemed strange that he hadn't tried to question her to find out what she and Will had been planning and how much they knew. Frankly, she would have expected to be questioned most rigorously, even tortured.

Instead, she had been placed in this tower room. And while not luxurious, it was relatively comfortable.

Except for the heat, she thought. The fire in the corner was blazing brightly and the room was hot and stuffy. Her mouth was dry-probably the effect of the adrenaline-charged situation where she had found herself confronting Buttle. She was desperately thirsty but there was nothing to drink in the room.

She turned, startled, as the single door opened to admit Keren.

He looked around, taking in the scant furnishings: a table, two chairs, and a wood-framed bed with a thin straw mattress and two threadbare blankets. A single oil lamp with a polished metal reflector provided light in the room. The window, barred with vertical iron stakes, could be covered by a heavy curtain if the wind became too strong. At the moment, there was no wind and the curtain was drawn back.

"Nice and comfy?" he said cheerfully. Alyss shrugged. "Things could be worse," she said, and he nodded heartily. "Oh, yes, indeed they could. And I think you should bear that in mind."

"I assume my people are safe?" she asked. Keren shrugged.

"They're all nice and comfortable, under lock and key. One of your men-at-arms tried to argue. He was slightly injured, but he'll recover."

"I hope you don't expect me to thank you for that," she said. Again, he shrugged as if it was of little interest to him. He dismissed the matter of her bodyguard and gestured toward the table and chairs.

"Let's sit down. I think it's time we had a little chat."

So it's starting, she thought, considering him warily. But there was no point in resisting and she moved to the table, pulled one of the chairs out and sat, straight backed.

"There's nothing to drink. It's very hot in here. I'd like some water," she said. She did it partly to take the momentum of the conversation away from him. And partly, she realized, because she was parched. Instantly, he became concerned for her welfare.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I had no intention of making you uncomfortable." A frown crossed his face and he moved to the door, opening it and calling roughly to one of the guards in the next room.