John Flanagan - The siege of Macindaw

Orman, wearing a heavy gold chain from which hung the official seal that marked him as chatelain, stepped forward to meet the two riders. Will, Horace and Malcolm stayed back, in deference to Orman's reinstated authority.

Sir Doric raised his hand and called the order for his men to halt and stand at ease. He and Meralon continued to walk their horses forward. It was a formal moment, but the formality was shattered when a figure burst from the second rank of mounted men. He was riding a horse much smaller than the battlehorses who surrounded him, and up until now, he hadn't been visible. Now, however, he slid out of the saddle and raced across the intervening space, falling to his knees before Orman.

"My lord!" said Xander. "We're here at last. I'm sorry it took so long! I did all I could!"

Will, watching Sir Doric, saw a frown of disapproval cross his features. There was a certain protocol that should be followed at moments like this, and the Battlemaster seemed to feel the secretary should know that.

Sir Doric, it should be noted, was something of a snob.

" That's all right, Xander," Orman told him. Then, in a lowered tone, he added, "Do stand up, there's a good fellow. The leader of the relief force wants to tell us that we're safe."

Xander took up his position behind Orman. Doric and Meralon brought their horses to a standstill, and both men dismounted. It was Will's turn to frown. Politeness dictated that they should have waited until Orman invited them to step down. If Orman was offended, however, he showed no sign of it.

"Welcome to Castle Macindaw. Sir Doric of Norgate Fief, isn't it?" he said. "I'm Orman, castle lord."

Sir Doric slapped his gauntlets on his thigh once or twice. He looked around the courtyard before answering brusquely, and a little distractedly, "Mmmm? Yes. Yes. What the devil are all these Skan-dians doing here?"

A tiny frown creased Orman's forehead. In the weeks since he had been forced to flee his own castle and hide in the forest, he had lost much of the sardonic behavior and superior attitude that Will had first noticed in him. It was remarkable what a few weeks spent roughing it in the forest could do for a man, Will thought.

" They appear to be defending the castle," Orman said quietly. "Surely Xander told you they were helping us?"

But Doric's eyes were still roving the battlements. "Mmm? Yes. Your man said something about mercenaries. But I thought you would have got rid of them by now. Not safe to have them inside the castle, what?"

"Some of their friends died getting in here," Orman told him. "I thought it would be churlish to ask them to leave straightaway."

Doric made a shooing gesture with the back of his right hand, rather as if he were brushing flies away. "No. Get rid of them. My men are here now. You don't need these damned Skandians!"

" They can't be trusted, after all." That was the Ranger, Meralon, adding his contribution.

Will felt a slow heat rising in his face and started forward. A hand gripped his forearm and stopped him. He looked up at Horace, who mouthed the words, "Easy now." He nodded. His friend was right. He reined in his temper, then stepped to Orman's side.

"I trust them," he said.

The two pairs of eyes swung to him, assessing him. Doric frowned. The cloak was definitely the same cut as a Ranger's cloak, but it was patterned in black and white. Will ignored the Battlemaster and addressed Meralon.

"Will. Ranger fifty," he said. The other Ranger nodded.

"Meralon. Twenty-seven." He put a little stress on the number, to imply that he was senior to Will. In fact, he wasn't. Aside from Crowley and a select command group of senior Rangers, all members of the Corps were equal in rank. Their numbers were assigned as they became available, when other Rangers retired or died. It was sheer chance that Will, as the newest recruit to the Corps, had received the number fifty."You're Halt's apprentice, aren't you?" Meralon added disparagingly.

"I was," Will replied.

Meralon nodded once or twice, then continued in a patronizing tone, "Yes, well, as you grow a little older, Will, you'll learn that Skandians aren't to be trusted. They're a treacherous race."

Will forced himself to take a deep breath before he answered. There weren't many fools in the Ranger Corps, but he realized he'd just met one. He doubted the man had any personal experience of Skandians.

"You're wrong," he said firmly. "I trust them, and we need a garrison here."

Doric interrupted, waving toward the ranks of men in the courtyard. "We can supply that. I'll leave fifty men here."

"And you'll leave Norgate weakened if you do. You must have stripped the garrison to put this force together."

Doric hesitated. The young Ranger was right. It was all very well to put together an expeditionary force for an emergency rescue. But to leave a large number of them here would weaken Norgate seriously.

Before the Battlemaster could answer, Will added, "And there's a Scotti army just across the border who might well decide to attack Norgate if they see its garrison is under strength."

He was right again, Doric realized. The fact did nothing to soften his brisk manner. He turned on Orman.

"What happened to your normal garrison?" he demanded, an accusing note in his voice.

" The usurper, Keren, got rid of them. They're scattered all over the countryside. It'll take months to get word to them and get them back here."

"Well, you've made a right mess of things, haven't you?" Doric burst out.

For a moment, Orman flushed angrily. This was a delicate situation. As chatelain, he was equal in rank to the fief's Battlemaster. Both of them answered to the Baron at Norgate, and it was difficult to know who had the final say in matters here. It was a situation that called for large amounts of tact and diplomacy, qualities that Sir Doric seemed to have left behind at Castle Norgate.

"And we remedied the situation, thanks to the Skandians," Orman said smoothly. "Without their help, the castle would be in Scotti hands by now. So we've made an arrangement with them to stay on as garrison until I can recruit enough local men."

"An arrangement?" Meralon said incredulously. "Who exactly made this arrangement?"

"I did," Will replied.

Meralon nodded again. He was still fuming over Will's blunt statement that he was wrong. "Yes, I might have known. Everyone says you and Halt have a blind spot where these pirates are c oncerned."

Still controlling his anger, Will replied, "The Skandians need a place and materials to build a ship. We've agreed to give them that. In return, they'll garrison the castle as long as necessary. We need them. They need us. It's a good arrangement all around."

"But it's not up to you to make arrangements, is it? This is not your fief. I am the Ranger here, not you. And I don't approve of the deal you've made with these pirates."

Meralon was slightly taller than Will, and he leaned down to bring their faces level. Will was tempted to step backward, but he realized this would be a mistake. He held his ground. He drew breath to answer, but Horace stepped forward and fore-stalled him.

" Two things," the young knight said, deciding it was time he took a part in this discussion. "First, I'd like everyone to stop referring to the Skandians as treacherous pirates. They're friends of mine."

His voice was quiet and calm. He spoke deliberately. But there was no mistaking the underlying threat in his words. He studied the Norgate Ranger. Like Will, Horace had been briefed by Halt and Crowley before he came north. He had asked the same question: Why couldn't the local Ranger take care of the problem? They had told him that the mission was secret and the local man would be recognized. He realized now that their reasoning went deeper. The job required energy and imagination and the ability to improvise. Meralon simply wasn't up to the task.