John Flanagan - The siege of Macindaw

It was Poldaric, a young man whose spine had been badly twisted in a childhood accident. He was permanently stooped to one side and could not look straight ahead, as his head was set crookedly on his shoulders. Yet Horace had noted how quickly the young man could move among the trees. Amazing how the body could adapt, he'd thought. Poldaric saw Will now and sidled up to him so he could look up at the young Ranger.

"Your friend," he said, "she's signaling!"

Two hours later, Malcolm's small living room was crowded with people. Horace, Malcolm, Orman, Gundar and Xander were grouped around the fireplace.

Will finished deciphering the last few words of Alyss's message and sat back, frowning.

"Bad news?" Horace prompted. His friend shrugged.

"Could be. Apparently Keren is expecting a visit from a General MacHaddish in the next few days." He glanced at the faces around the table. "Does that name mean anything to anyone?"

Gundar shrugged, as did Malcolm. Orman frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head.

"Other than he's obviously a Scotti and the son of someone called Haddish, no. Have you heard the name, Xander?"

The little man thought carefully and shook his head. After his recent confrontation with Will, he was grateful to be included in the discussion and wished he could provide more information.

"I'm afraid not, my lord."

"Well," said Horace, practical as ever, "at least it confirms your theory that Keren's in league with the Scotti."

"True," Will said. "But I wish I knew a little more. For example, it'd be nice to know if this MacHaddish is bringing an army with him."

Orman rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I shouldn't think he'd be bringing a large party at this stage," he said, and they all turned to him. "The main route through the border will be almost impassable at this time of year. The snows won't melt for at least another three weeks."

He reached for Will's pen and a spare sheet of paper and drew a quick sketch of the surrounding countryside.

" The mountains here form the natural border," he said. "As you can see, Castle Macindaw lies right across the road from the main pass into Araluen. But the pass is closed during the winter by snow. That's why we've never needed a large winter garrison at Macindaw. We've never had to contend with more than small raids."

He quickly drew a series of thin slashes through the mountains on his chart."There are a lot of small side roads, but they're steep and tricky. You might get a small party through one of them, but not an army with its baggage train."

Horace had leaned over his shoulder to study the chart. He nodded thoughtfully.

"In addition," he said, "no general would move a large force into hostile territory without initial reconnaissance."

Will nodded agreement. "So we can assume MacHaddish will have a small party with him. Which means they'll probably travel by night." He glanced around and saw the others nodding. Except Gundar, who was looking totally disinterested by now. Skandians hated planning, Will remembered.

"So what do you have in mind?" Horace asked.

"We keep watch on the castle so we know when he arrives," Will said. "Then, when he's heading back to Picta, we take him prisoner and ask him a few questions."

Horace nodded agreement. "Not bad," he said. "But don't expect to get too much out of a Scotti. From what I've heard about them, you'll never get one to talk."

It was Malcolm's turn to smile."Oh, I think I might know a way," he said.

It was snowing again. The heavy cloud cover masked the arrival of dawn, particularly in the forest where Will and Horace were camped. Consequently, there was no moment when Will knew the sun had risen, just a gradual brightening in the dull gray light that covered the countryside. Without noticing the transition from dark to light, Will realized he could see his hand clearly when he held it up, where, a few minutes previously, he had been conscious only of a dark blur.

Their little camp, consisting of a low two-man tent and a canvas shelter strung between two trees, was in a clearing they had hacked out, twenty meters to the side of the track that led toward the border with Picta. They were far enough from the track to remain unseen by anyone passing by, close enough to hear if anyone did.

Two days had passed since Will had read Alyss's message. The two companions had decided to keep watch over the track, in order to intercept and observe the mysterious Scotti general whenever he arrived. Once they knew the size of his party, they could organize an ambush for his return trip.

In addition to their observation post, Malcolm had placed a screen of observers in the woods, keeping watch over the trails and paths that led down from the mountains that barred the way into Picta. His people were used to seeing without being seen, he told them. Their safety had depended for years on their ability to remain hidden.

In the tent, Will heard Horace stir. Then the warrior's face, tangle haired and bleary eyed, appeared at the small triangular entrance. Will was sitting on his heels under the canvas shelter.

"Morning," Horace said grumpily. Will nodded, saying nothing. Horace crawled out through the tent entrance. He reflected that it was impossible to exit from a small tent like this without ending up with two wet patches on the knees. He stood stiffly, stretching himself and groaning slightly.

"Any sign of them yet?" he asked.

Will looked at him. "Yes," he said. "A party of fifty Scotti came through just twenty minutes ago."

"Really?" Horace looked startled. He wasn't fully awake yet.

Will rolled his eyes to heaven. "Oh, my word, yes," he said."They were riding on oxen and playing bagpipes and drums. Of course not," he went on."If they had come past, I would have woken you – if only to stop your snoring."

"I don't snore," Horace said, with dignity.

Will raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?" he said. "Then in that case, you'd better chase out that colony of walruses who are in the tent with you."

Horace reached for the canteen hanging from a tree nearby and took a long draft of the icy water. Then he rummaged in a pack for a piece of hard bread and some dried fruit. He frowned at it. "Breakfast," he said distastefully.

Will shrugged unsympathetically. "I've had worse."

Horace bit off a piece of bread and hunkered down beside the Ranger under the canvas awning. Already, there were snowflakes in his hair and dusting his shoulders from the few minutes he had spent in the open air.

"So have I," he said. "But I don't have to like it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Horace shifted restlessly every so often. Will, trained to remain silent and unmoving for hours at a time, regarded his old friend sympathetically. Warriors were, by definition, men of action. It went against all their training to simply sit and wait for events to take place.

More to take Horace's mind off the boredom of waiting than for any other reason, he asked, "Do you see much of Evanlyn these days?"

Horace glanced at him quickly. Evanlyn was the Crown Princess Cassandra of Araluen. When Will and Horace had first met her, she had been traveling under the name Evanlyn. Horace knew there had been a special bond between Will and the Princess when they had both been captives of the Skandians. He wondered how strong that bond was these days. It was the first time Will had mentioned her since Horace had arrived. Not surprising, really, he thought. They'd had little opportunity to discuss personal matters since he'd arrived in the fief. The recruiting of the Skandians, Alyss's signals and now the imminent arrival of the mysterious Scotti general had taken up most of their attention.

"I see her from time to time," he said briefly.

Will nodded, giving nothing away. "Unavoidable, I suppose," he said."After all, you are based at the castle. I suppose you'd bump into her occasionally, wouldn't you?"