John Flanagan - The siege of Macindaw

Keren let go a long, pent-up breath. He was on edge. She sensed he was expecting something, some event to take place. His next words confirmed her suspicions.

"Well, I can't waste any more time with this. General MacHaddish is due in the next day or two." He was speaking to himself, secure in the knowledge that his words wouldn't register with her in her mesmerized state. He rolled the blue stone back toward him and removed it from the table.

"All right, Alyss. Until next time. You can wake up now."

She assumed that she should not make any pretense of coming out of a trance but simply continue with normal conversation. But her mind was racing. MacHaddish was a Scotti name. There was a Scotti general due here in the next few days. Will would have to be told.

"So," she said evenly, "what did you wish to talk about?" Keren smiled at her. "We've already talked," he said. "But of course, you don't remember it."

That's what you think, Alyss thought.

Will and Horace rode along the winding path through Grimsdell Wood, following the dog's unwavering lead. Horace shook his head at the impenetrable tangle of trees and foliage around them.

"No wonder Malcolm's been safe in here all these years," he said.

Will smiled. "It's been his best defense," he agreed. "Of course, he has a few other ways to discourage visitors."

"He'd hardly need them. You could lose an army in here, and they'd never find their way out… good grief!"

The last two words were drawn from him as they rounded a bend in the track and he saw the gruesome skull warning sign among the trees. He suspected that Will had intentionally neglected to tell him about it.

"Oh, that's Trevor. Pay him no mind. He's harmless," Will said.

Horace could hear him chuckling quietly to himself as they rode on.

"Hilarious," he muttered to himself.

They came to the clearing in the woods quite abruptly. One moment they were in the semidark tunnel formed by the track among the gloomy old trees. Next, they were in the sunlight, and Malcolm's pleasant little thatched cottage was before them, smoke curling from its chimney.

A table had been set up in the late-afternoon sunshine, and Will could see Malcolm, Xander and, to his surprise, Orman sitting around it. The sallow-faced castle lord appeared to have lost weight. His face, beneath the receding hairline, was even paler than normal and there were dark shadows under his eyes. The eyes themselves, however, were bright and alert.

There were two vacant chairs. Will guessed that Malcolm had delayed lunch until they arrived. In all probability, Will thought, he had been receiving constant updates on their progress.

After introductions all around, Will and Horace sat at the table with the others. The dog took off like an arrow, catching sight of Trobar on the far side of the clearing.

"Go ahead, then," Will said belatedly.

"We waited lunch for you," Malcolm told them.

Will made a disclaiming gesture. "We ate lunch at the inn," he began, but Horace interrupted before he got any further.

"Still, there's no harm in an early supper," he said. He was forever hungry, although his lean, muscular frame showed no evidence of the amount he could eat.

"It's good to see you up and around, my lord," Will told Orman. The castle lord allowed himself a wry grimace.

"Up, perhaps, Will Barton. But I'm definitely a long way from being around."

"We're very pleased with his progress," Malcolm put in.

Will indicated Horace, who had already begun demolishing a bread roll.

"And the good news continues, my lord. With Horace to help us, we'll soon have you back in your castle." Horace reddened slightly at Will's fulsome praise, and Will realized he might be laying it on a little thick, but he was inordinately pleased and relieved to have his old comrade by his side again. He sensed that the others hadn't realized the significance of Horace's identity, so he added, "You might know him better as the Oakleaf Knight."

The name meant nothing to Xander, who scowled and muttered, just loud enough to be heard,"And how much are we paying this one, I wonder?"

Horace reddened further, but said nothing.

Orman shot Xander a warning look. The little man subsided, mumbling. Then a thought struck Orman.

"The Oakleaf Knight?" he said thoughtfully. "Then surely you're the one who was involved in that business with Morgarath some years back? And with the Skandians, as I recall."

Horace shrugged. "A lot of that was exaggerated, my lord."

But now Orman's gaze had turned to Will as realization dawned.

"And I recall that he had a friend who was a Ranger," he said. " That was you, wasn't it? Will Barton, my foot! You're the one they now call Will Treaty?"

It was Will's turn to shrug.

"All of that was exaggerated," he said. He noticed that Malcolm was oblivious to the events that Orman was discussing. Of course, Will thought, he'd been secluded in the forest for years. Xander, however, was looking disconcerted as he realized he had just insulted one of the Kingdom's most capable warriors. Will grinned. Served him right.

Horace coughed gently. He had more important matters on his mind than a surly insult from Orman's attendant.

" There was some mention of food?" he reminded them. Horace always did have a good grasp of priorities.

The meal was excellent, consisting of cold roast venison, some plump wood ducks and a salad of slightly bitter winter greens. There was warm, fresh, crusty bread as well. All in all, it more than lived up to Horace's expectations. He tipped his chair back contentedly and grinned at Will.

"Good food," he said. "What's for dessert?"

Will rolled his eyes to heaven.

Malcolm smiled indulgently. "He's a growing boy," he said. He had been impressed by Horace's self-effacing, cheerful demeanor. He gathered that the young man was something of a celebrity in the Kingdom and it was his experience that famous people usually behaved as if the rest of the world should step aside and be impressed by them. Nothing could be farther from the truth with Horace.

The young warrior reached across the table and poured himself another mug of black coffee. Like Will, he drank it generously laced with honey, a habit he had learned from the Ranger when they had traveled to Celtica years previously.

Malcolm winced slightly as he watched. Pleasant young man or not, if Horace and Will kept drinking coffee at this rate, he was going to run out. He made a mental note to send one of his people to the Cracked Flagon to trade for more beans.

There was a small commotion at the far side of the clearing, and they all looked up.

A file of roughly dressed, heavily armed men emerged from the forest, led by a smaller man with a withered right arm held close to his body. As Horace looked at him, he realized that the man also had a hunched right shoulder.

The new arrivals peered around the clearing uncertainly, shading their eyes from the sudden light after hours in the dimness of the woods. Some of Malcolm's people, alarmed at the sight of a group of armed men, had let out startled cries, then faded away into the forest. The Skandians, in turn, muttered among themselves at the sight of them. Each of Malcolm's followers suffered some significant form of disfigurement, and the superstitious sea wolves, who believed all forests were inhabited by spirits and ogres, closed ranks a little and made sure their weapons were free and ready for use.

Unlike the others, Trobar didn't attempt to hide. Instead, he moved to interpose himself between the new arrivals and his master. At the sight of the giant, the muttering and uncertainty among the Skandians increased. They were all big, burly men, but Trobar towered over the biggest of them.