Sorcerer of the North (25 page)

"Stop," he said, a little louder, with more of an edge in his voice. The giant met his gaze. Even though Will was seated astride Tug, their eyes were on the same level. The giant frowned and Will saw his muscles tense as he prepared to take another step. He slid the arrow back to full draw, instinctively sighting on the giant's chest, right where the heart should lie.

"Big as you are, this arrow will go right though you at this range," he said, deliberately keeping his voice calm.

The creature hesitated. He saw the frown deepen on its face. Puzzlement? Anger? Fear? Frustration? He wasn't sure. The grotesque features were so bizarre, it was difficult to read them with any accuracy. The important thing was that the giant had stopped advancing on them. From the silent watchers at the edge of the clearing, he heard a collective sigh. Urging him forward? Advising him to stop? Again, Will had no idea.

What next? he thought. Do we sit here until the next snowfall, facing each other across this clearing? He had no idea what to do. On his own, he would have trusted Tug to get him clear of the situation. But he couldn't desert Xander and Orman.

"Ranger, look!" said Xander in a breathless whisper.

He glanced away from the giant, who had, understandably, been occupying all his attention. Xander was gesturing toward the dog.

She had risen from her crouched position in front of them and was advancing across the clearing toward the giant. Will caught his breath to call her, then stopped and released the tension on his bow as he noticed something.

Her heavy tail was wagging slowly from side to side as she went.

The giant looked down at her as she reached him, stopping just in front of him. Her head was lowered and her tail was still wagging. The frown disappeared from the huge creature's face and he went down on one knee, one massive hand out to the dog.

She moved forward again to sit as his feet and he fondled her ears and scratched under her chin. Her eyes half-closed in pleasure, she turned her head slightly to lick his hand.

And then Xander drew Will's attention to yet another remarkable detail in a wholly remarkable day.

"He's crying!" he said softly. And sure enough, there were tears coursing down the pale white cheeks. "You know, I think he's quite harmless. Thank God you didn't shoot him."

"I must say I agree," said a voice from behind them. "Now would you mind telling me what the devil you're doing in my woods?"

Will spun in the saddle, the bow coming up, arrow fully drawn. Then for the second time, he hesitated. He had no real idea what he had expected Malkallam to look like. If pressed, he would have surmised that the sorcerer would be somehow larger than life—perhaps extremely tall and thin, or huge and grossly overweight. Certainly, he would be dressed in a voluminous black robe, perhaps marked with obscure, mystical symbols or whirling suns and moons.

And of course he would wear a tall, pointed hat that would take his overall height to nearly three meters.

What he didn't expect was a small, thin person who was a few centimeters shorter than Will himself. He had wispy, thinning gray hair, combed over a balding crown, a rather large nose and ears, and a slightly receding chin. His robe was a simple brown homespun habit, rather like a monk's, and he wore sandals on his feet, in spite of the wintry weather.

But the biggest surprise of all was the eyes. A sorcerer's eyes should be dark and forbidding, full of mystery and arcane danger. These were hazel and there was an unmistakable light of humor in them.

Confused, Will lowered the bow.

"Who are you?" he asked. The small man shrugged.

"I thought I was the one who should ask that question," he said mildly. "After all, this is my home."

Xander, however, concerned about the rapidly deteriorating state of his master, was in no mood to bandy words.

"Are you Malkallam?" he asked rudely. The small man inclined his head toward the secretary, his lips pursed a little as he considered the question.

"I have been called that," he said, the light of humor disappearing from his eyes.

"Then we need your help," Xander said. "My master has been poisoned."

Malkallam's bushy eyebrows formed into a frown and his voice took on a threatening tone.

"You're begging help from the most feared sorcerer in these parts?" he said. "You enter my realm, ignore my warning signs, risk the anger of the dreadful Night Warrior who protects me, then demand my help?"

"If you're truly Malkallam, yes," Xander replied, uncowed by the threatening tone of the words.

The sorcerer's eyebrows returned to their normal position and he shook his head in some admiration.

"Well, you've certainly got some nerve about you," he said, in a lighter tone. "Perhaps we'd better take a look at Lord Orman in that case."

"You know who this is?" Will said, as the small man stepped toward Orman, who was swaying unconsciously in his saddle, muttering wordless little sounds. Malkallam laughed briefly.

"Of course I do, Ranger," he said. Will shrugged his shoulders in defeat. So much for his careful disguise. First Orman and now Malkallam had seen through it almost immediately.

"How do you ... ?" he began, but the sorcerer silenced him with a hand gesture.

"Well, it's not exactly alchemy, is it?" he said crisply. "You've been nosing around my forest for the past couple of days. You ride the sort of horse Rangers ride. You carry a bow and you have that big saxe knife at your side—I'll wager you have a throwing knife somewhere else on your person. Plus that cloak of yours has the most disconcerting habit of blending into the background. What else could you be? A jongleur?"

Will opened his mouth to reply but no words came. Xander, however, was less inclined to silence.

"Please!"
he said. "My master could be dying while you two prattle on."

Again, Malkallam's eyebrows shot up. "A Ranger and a sorcerer," he said in some wonder, "and he tells us we're prattling on. This is a bold fellow indeed."

Yet, even as he said it, his keen eyes were scrutinizing Orman's face. He stretched up to touch the castle lord but couldn't quite reach.

"Trobar!" he called. "Leave the dog for a moment and get Lord Orman down for me."

The giant reluctantly rose from where he had continued to pet the dog and shambled toward Orman's horse. Xander slipped down from the saddle and placed himself between his master and the massive figure. Will, feeling that events were moving a little too quickly for him, dismounted as well. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Tug. The horse seemed to shrug.
How should I know?
the movement said.
I'm just a horse.

Trobar stopped before the determined figure who barred his way.

"He won't hurt him," Malkallam said, a little impatiently. "If you want my help it will be quicker if you let him carry your master inside."

Reluctantly, Xander stepped to one side. Trobar moved forward, loosened the ropes tying Orman in place and let the unconscious man slide out of the saddle to cradle him in his arms. He looked inquiringly at Orman, who gestured to the house.

"Take him inside, to my study."

Trobar set off, carrying the unconscious man as if he weighed no more than a feather. Xander trotted beside him, and Will and Malkallam followed.

"Interesting, the way he reacted to your dog," the sorcerer said chattily. "Of course, he had a border shepherd as a child, before the villagers drove him out. It was his only friend. I think it broke his poor heart when it died."

"I see," said Will. It seemed the safest reply he could come up with. Malkallam glanced sideways at him. So young, he thought, and so much responsibility. Unseen by the young Ranger, he grinned to himself. He gestured to a bench on the verandah.

"There's no need for you to come in while I examine Lord Orman," he said. Will nodded and moved to the bench. Xander, however, drew himself up as straight as he could.

"I'm coming in," he said. His tone brooked no argument and Malkallam shrugged.

"As you wish. But you brought him here, after all. It's a little late to start worrying that I might harm him somehow."

"I'm not worried about that," Xander said stiffly. "I'm just..." He trailed off.

Malkallam waited expectantly, urging him to finish. When he didn't, the sorcerer finished for him: "... worried that I might harm him somehow."

Xander shrugged. It was exactly what he did think, but he realized it wasn't politic to say so when he was asking the sorcerer's help.

"Just remember, I'll be watching you," he said awkwardly. His hand dropped to the dagger at his side but he was all too obviously a man who was unaccustomed to using weapons. Malkallam smiled at him.

"I'm sure your master would be proud of you. If I decide to do anything terrible to him, I'll have to turn you into a newt before I do so."

Xander studied him suspiciously for a few seconds, then decided that he was probably joking. Probably. Without another word, he followed Malkallam inside.

Will sat on the bench and leaned his back gratefully against the rough log walls of the house. The sun was just beginning to sneak under the eaves of the house and it warmed his feet and legs as he stretched out. Suddenly, he was exhausted. The rapidly moving events of the day, the escape from the castle, the search for Malkallam's lair and the subsequent meeting with the sorcerer bad kept adrenaline coursing through his system. Now that there Was nothing further to do for the moment, he felt absolutely drained.

The other inhabitants of Malkallam's domain continued to watch him. He tried to ignore them, sensing no threat from them only curiosity.

He glanced up as he sensed a movement at the door. Trobar, the giant, came out of the house. He looked around the clearing, saw the dog lying watchfully where he had left her and moved to her side. He went down on one knee beside her and fondled her head gently. She closed her eyes blissfully and inclined her head for his touch.

"Dog!" said Will, a little more sharply than he had intended.

The dog's eyes opened and she was instantly alert. Will pointed to the verandah beside him.

"Come here," he said.

She rose and shook herself, then began to lope slowly across the clearing toward him. He looked at Trobar and saw the unmistakable sadness on the disfigured face.

"Oh, all right," he told the dog. "Stay where you are."

He saw the smile break out on the giant's face as the dog allowed herself to be patted once more. He shut his eyes wearily. He wondered what he was going to do about Alyss.

Alyss had heard the commotion in the courtyard below her window in the keep tower: shouts and horses' hoofbeats ringing off the cobbles. She had reached the window in time to see three horsemen galloping full pelt for the portcullis gate.

She recognized Will instantly and, even as she watched, she saw his snap shot that sent a crossbowman tumbling from the castle walls. Behind him rode two other men, one of them swaying in the saddle as if he were barely conscious. With a start of surprise, she recognized Orman.

What on earth was he doing? Obviously, from the way the guards had reacted, he was escaping from his own castle. Yet the very idea was ridiculous!

And Will was with him. She frowned. There was no sign that Will was acting under any duress. He was leading the way, in fact. For a moment she toyed with the possibility that Orman really was a black magician and had placed some kind of spell or compulsion on Will. Then she dismissed the thought. Like most educated people, she didn't really believe in sorcery or magic.

Yet what other explanation could there be?

She remained by the window and a few minutes later, a party of mounted men set out in pursuit. Her first instinct was to dress and hurry downstairs to find out what was going on. Then she stopped and sat down, fingers drumming on the table as she thought. Lady Gwendolyn wouldn't behave in such a fashion. Lady Gwendolyn was an empty-headed, self-obsessed twitterer who wouldn't take the slightest interest in anything that didn't involve new hairstyles, shoes or fashions.

She rose and moved to the door leading to the anteroom of her suite.

Her two maids were chatting quietly as they folded and put away a pile of freshly laundered clothes. Max was sitting in a corner, frowning over a manuscript. All three looked up in surprise at her sudden appearance.

She motioned impatiently for them to relax.

"Sit down, sit down," she said, perching on the arm of a chair. She continued: "Lord Orman and the jongleur Barton just rode out of the castle, pursued by an armed party."

The three looked at her in surprise. They might be servants, but they were privy to her real identity and mission. And they knew Will's real identity as well.

"Max, go down to the main hall and see what you can find out. Don't make it too obvious, just nose around and see what you can hear."

"Very good, my lady." He rose and moved to the door, picking up his soft feathered bonnet from a side table as he went. She could tell that the two maids were aching to ask her more. But she shook her head at them and returned to her chamber to wait for Max's report.

Time passed slowly. Painfully slowly. Max returned after an hour or so. His eavesdropping revealed no more than the facts that Alyss already knew. The castle was abuzz with the fact that, for some reason, Lord Orman, his secretary and the jongleur Barton had broken out and ridden away.

"Everyone else seems as puzzled as we are, my lady," Max told her. Alyss began pacing back and forth, deep in thought. Max, uncertain as to whether she wanted him to do anything more, coughed hesitantly.

"Will that be all, my lady?" he prompted, and she turned to him apologetically.

"Of course, Max. Thank you. You can go."

He had barely left her chamber when there was another knock.

"Come in," she called, and was surprised when the door opened to admit Sir Keren.

"Why, Sir Keren," she said, "what a delightful surprise! Won't you come on in!" Then, raising her voice, she called to the outer room, "Max, fetch us some wine, please! The good Gallic white, I think."