John Flanagan - The sorcerer of the North

"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.

"This is as far as you come." Will said, dropping into a crouch and signaling 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.