John Flanagan - The siege of Macindaw

He saw he had everyone's attention, so he addressed Meralon directly.

"And if you're in charge here, as you claim, where the devil were you when you were needed?"

Meralon opened his mouth to reply, but Horace waved his words aside. "I don't recall seeing you coming up with a plan to take the castle. I'm sure you didn't provide a force to do it with. And I certainly didn't see you storming the battlements with me."

There was a moment's silence. Horace reflected that he had never had the nerve to speak to a Ranger this way. He respected and admired the Corps too much for that. And as he had that thought, another realization struck him.

"In fact, if you're the local Ranger, how did you let this situation develop in the first place? I thought you people were supposed to keep an ear to the ground?" He waved his arm around the castle courtyard. "All this should never have happened. And that's what I'll be saying in my report."

Meralon spluttered, too furious to speak. Sir Doric took up the challenge for him.

"And who the devil might you be?"

Horace looked at him and smiled, but without the slightest trace of humor. He was a self-deprecating person and he usually eschewed titles. But he felt it was time for a little rank-pulling. He folded his arms across his chest.

"I am Sir Horace, knight chevalier of the Oak Leaf, B company commander, Araluen Royal Guard and Appointed Champion to Cassandra, the Princess Royal."

Now, that really did stop the conversation. Words like Ryal Gard and Princess Cssandra gave Horace considerable cachet. He was a man who had access to the highest authority in the land, and he was planning a report – a report that said he found arrangements here unsatisfactory.

Doric allowed himself one bitter sidelong glace at Meralon. Why did you let this happen? it said. Then he addressed Orman in a more placatory tone.

"Lord Orman, perhaps I spoke in some haste. Forgive me if I've caused offense. After all, it's been a long, hard ride to get here – "

"And of course, you and your men are tired and need rest," Orman took the proffered olive branch smoothly. Will was impressed by the chatelain's tact. Orman had no wish to score points or gloat. All he wanted was an amicable solution to the situation. "Perhaps my people could show your men to their quarters?"

"I'd be grateful, sir," Doric said, with a slight bow.

Orman turned to his secretary. "Xander, take care of it, please." Then, turning back to Doric, he said, "And perhaps we could continue this discussion over luncheon, after you've had a chance to rest and bathe and change?"

Doric's bow was more evident this time. "Again, sir, you're too kind. We could use a rest, eh, Meralon?"

Meralon, tight-lipped, muttered agreement. Rangers, of course, enjoyed the highest level of independence, being answerable only to the King. But Horace's royal connections had trumped that ace very neatly. Besides, Meralon knew that Will's actions, while unorthodox, had been successful. And success tended to make the unorthodox acceptable. Brushing past Will, he followed Doric and Orman into the keep, leaving Will, Horace and Malcolm to bring up the rear.

"Since when have you been Evanlyn's champion?" Will asked in an aside. Horace grinned at him.

"Well, I'm not, actually. But I'm sure it's just a matter of time."

Farewells were the hardest part of life as a Ranger, Will thought as he led Tug out of the castle stable, Shadow following at his heels. He had hoped that perhaps he and Horace and Alyss might be able to slip quietly away, but, of course, that was impossible. They had made friends here over the past months, and those friends wanted the chance to say good-bye.

The situation at Macindaw was virtually back to normal. Sir Doric and Meralon had led the relief column north, to the border with Picta, to ensure that the Scotti army had actually withdrawn. Doric and his troops would remain on patrol in the immediate area until he was sure the local situation had stabilized. As time passed, his force would be progressively reduced, but he planned to maintain a strong presence in the area for at least the next few months.

The Skandians continued to man the walls as a temporary garrison. Those who weren't on duty were busy at a small creek a kilometer away – a tributary that ran down to a larger river that in turn led to the sea. The skeleton of their new wolfship was already laid out on the bank.

Will stopped. Horace and Alyss, leading their horses behind him, followed suit. Orman, Xander and Malcolm stood waiting for him. Behind them, he could see the bulky forms of Gundar and Nils Ropehander. And behind them, the even larger form of Trobar, now sufficiently recovered to leave the infirmary and limp painfully down the stairs to bid his own good-byes. Will thought he knew whom the giant wished to farewell.

Orman spoke first, as was only fitting.

"Will, Horace – and Lady Alyss, of course – I owe you far too much to ever try to repay you. Please accept my gratitude and my friendship as a totally inadequate reward for your services."

Horace and Will shuffled awkwardly and mumbled their inarticulate replies. Alyss, naturally, took the lead.

"Lord Orman, it has been our privilege to serve you. You've proved yourself a loyal servant of the King."

Orman bowed. "You're too kind, Lady Alyss," he said. Then he turned to Will. "It occurs to me, Will, that I made some unkind remarks about your musical ability when you first arrived. I shouldn't have done that."

Will shook his head ruefully."I think your comments were pretty accurate, Lord Orman." When Will had first arrived at Macindaw, posing as a jongleur, Orman had made scathing comments about his lack of classical training and the fact that he sang"country ditties and doggerel."

The ghost of a smile touched Orman's mouth. "Oh, I know they were accurate. I just shouldn't have made them." He became serious for a moment. "I'm sorry you lost your mandola, by the way."

Will shrugged. Buttle had smashed the mandola in a rage after Will, Orman and Xander had escaped from the castle.

"It may be a blessing in disguise, my lord," he said, and the smile returned to Orman's face.

"Best if I don't comment on that. But Xander has something to say," he prompted.

The little secretary stepped out from behind his master. He bowed his head briefly to Will.

"My gratitude, Ranger," he said. "You saved my master's life, and you saved the castle." He looked at Horace."Gratitude to you as well, Sir Horace."

Horace bowed.

Will couldn't resist a final dig at the secretary. "Have you forgiven me for overpaying the Skandians, Xander?" he asked.

Humor was not the secretary's strong suit. His air of gratitude was instantly replaced by the harried manner he usually assumed. "Well, you know, I'm sure we could have got them for much less. You really should have consulted me before you – "

"Xander?" It was Orman.

The secretary stopped in midflow and looked up at his master. "Drop it."

"Yes, my lord." Xander hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled to

Will.

Will shook his head. The man was irrepressible. "Don't ever change, Xander," he said.

"He won't," Orman told him with some feeling.

Then it was time to grasp Malcolm's hand. The thin, birdlike little man smiled at him.

"You did well here, Will Treaty," he said. "I think all of us will be safer in the future. We understand one another a little better."

Will knew that Orman had offered Malcolm a position in the castle. He hadn't heard if the healer had accepted.

"Are you going to move your people into Macindaw?" he asked.

Malcolm shook his head. "They're shy. They don't like being in the public view. I'll stay in the forest with them. If Orman needs a healer, I'll be available."