John Flanagan - The sorcerer of the North

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. Encumbered 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.

He blessed the years spent practicing with his bow and the development of his arm and back muscles that had resulted. Now his left foot was back on the ledge and took a little of his weight as well.

Slowly, his eyes came level with the bottom windowsill and he could see into the room, to where Alyss sat, slumped at a rough table, her back to the window, her head in her hands.

Eighty kilometers to the south, an armored knight was riding into the biting north wind.

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon and darkness had flooded quickly over the land. Any sensible person would have stopped to camp and shelter from the wind-driven sleet and snow long ago. Yet the knight continued to force his way northward.

His surcoat was white and his shield was marked with a blue fist, the symbol of a free lance-a knight looking for employment wherever he could find it. The knight's equipment was standard-a heavy lance was couched in a receptacle on his right stirrup and a long cavalry sword could be seen beneath his cloak. Only the shield was unusual. In an age where most knights preferred kite-shaped shields, this one was a round buckler.

The battlehorse beneath him danced a few steps sideways, trying to edge away from the bitter wind and the stinging sleet that it carried. Gently, he urged it back onto its northern course.

"Just a little farther, Kicker," he said, the words coming thick and slurred from his half-frozen lips.

The horse was right, he thought. It was madness to continue traveling in this weather. But he knew there was a small hamlet a few kilometers farther along the road, and the protection of a barn's walls would be more comfortable than any shelter he could rig among the trees. He half regretted that he hadn't stopped in the late afternoon, when he'd ridden through a village with a comfortable-looking inn. That would be a nice place to be right now, he thought.

Then he thought of his friends and the possible danger they were in and he didn't begrudge his decision to keep forging on through the dark cold night.

Although he doubted if Kicker agreed. He tried to grin at the thought but his lips were too stiff and ice-rimmed now.

He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, feeling an icy runnel of water slide down his back, and thought back to his meeting with Halt and Crowley, a few days previously.

"So you want me to go to Macindaw?" he'd said thoughtfully. "What do you think I can do that Will and Alyss can't?"

They were in Crowley's office in one of the soaring towers of Castle Araluen. It was a small room but comfortably furnished and kept warm by an open fire in one corner. Halt and Crowley exchanged glances and the Ranger Commandant gestured for Halt to answer.

"We'd feel better if Will and Alyss had a little more force at their disposal," Halt said.

Horace smiled. "I'm just one man."

Halt regarded him keenly. "You're a lot more than that, Horace," he said. "I've seen you at work, remember? I'd feel reassured to know that you're covering Will's back. And we need to send someone they'll both recognize and trust."

Horace grinned at the prospect. "It'll be nice to see them again," he said. Life at Castle Araluen in winter tended to become a little boring. The idea of being sent on a solo mission like this had definite appeal. He and Alyss had been friends since childhood and he hadn't seen Will, his best friend, in several months.

Halt stood and paced to the window, looking out over the gray winter landscape that surrounded the castle. This far south, there was no snow but the cold bare trees had a desolate look to them that matched his mood.

"It's the uncertainty that's worrying us, Horace," he said. "By now we should have had a routine message from Alyss's man. Or a reply to the pigeon we sent yesterday. After all, they didn't have to wait for the bird to recover. He had another half dozen ready to send."

"Of course, a hawk might have taken the pigeon we sent," Crowley put in. "That does happen."

Halt showed a flash of annoyance and Horace sensed that the two old friends had already been through this conversation-possibly more than once.