Siege of Macindaw (34 page)

More farewells, Will thought gloomily as they stood in a silent group by the triple fork in the road. Alyss's small escort of men-at-arms, released from Macindaw's dungeons when the castle had been retaken, stood a respectful distance apart as the three old friends bade each other farewell.

Will and Horace shook hands, nodded to each other, shuffled their feet, muttered a few unintelligible words and slapped each other awkwardly on the back several times.

Then they stepped apart. A typical farewell between two young males.

Alyss embraced Horace and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks again, Horace." She smiled. "It was getting very boring in that tower. I know if it weren't for you, I'd still be there."

Horace grinned at her. He felt no awkwardness being around the tall, elegant Courier.

"Aaah, you'd have talked your way out of it before too long," he said. They smiled, and she kissed his cheek again.

Then she turned to Will. She looked deep into his eyes, then finally said, "Thank you, Will. Thank you for everything."

He shook his head. "It's me who should thank you, Alyss. You saved my life, after all."

They paused, then she leaned forward, rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and kissed him. But this kiss was not on the cheek. Once, long ago, he had marveled at the softness of her lips. He remembered that time now.

She stepped back, and again they looked into each other's eyes. Then, impulsively, she embraced him, and felt his arms go around her in return. They held each other for a long, long time.

"Write to me, Will," she whispered, and she felt his head nod.

Finally, he got control of his voice and managed to say, "I will. You too."

Then he stepped back, suddenly breaking the contact between them. He nodded to her and to Horace and said in a rushed, unsteady voice, "Good-bye, both of you. I'll miss you both so much..."

He paused, and for a moment Alyss thought he was going to say more. She actually took a half pace toward him. But he finished abruptly, "Damn! I hate farewells!"

He swung up into the saddle and, in the same movement, turned Tug's head to the southeast road. Horace and Alyss watched the horse and rider grow smaller and listened as the sound of hoofbeats faded. Once, Will held up a hand in farewell. But he didn't look back.

He never did.

At the Gathering Ground, Halt and Crowley listened to Will's report. He had already sent a written account ahead by messenger, but the two senior Rangers wanted a report in person. So much could be left out of a written report. They nodded as he described events over the evening meal. Crowley was particularly interested in his description of Malcolm's skill as a healer – as well as his ability to create illusions and images and his knowledge of arcane chemicals.

"He could be a handy person to have on call," he said. "Do you think he might be willing to work with us from time to time?"

Will considered the question. "I think he might. So long as we guaranteed to safeguard his privacy. His first priority is to protect the people who have come to him for help."

The Commandant nodded several times. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, I'd better get started on my report for the King."

Halt stood and caught Will's eye.

"Let's take a turn around the Ground," he suggested."I can't stand to hear Crowley grumbling and groaning as he tries to write reports." Will grinned and rose to join him.

They left Crowley chewing the end of a pencil and muttering to himself and walked in silence for some time. They stopped under a giant spreading oak that marked the end of the Gathering Ground. Instinctively, they sought the concealment of the shadows, avoiding the open ground around them. Part of being a Ranger, Will thought.

"You did well," Halt said finally. "I'm proud of you."

Will looked at his old teacher. The simple words meant more to Will than any number of awards or decorations or promotions. As on so many previous occasions, Halt's face was concealed in the shadow of his cowl.

" Thanks, Halt," he said.

Halt turned to look at him in his turn. Will's features were shadowed too, but Halt was a student of body language, and he saw the boy's shoulders were slumped a little. He'd felt an air of sadness surrounding Will since he had arrived.

"Everything all right?" he asked. He saw the slight shrugging movement of Will's shoulders under the cloak.

" Yes... well, no... oh, I suppose so."

"Well, there are three answers to choose from," Halt said, not unkindly. He waited, but Will didn't seem about to say anything further. They started walking again. They were silent, but the silence was a companionable one. It took them both back to old times, and they felt a warmth at the memory.

"Halt," said Will eventually, "can I ask you a question?"

"I think you just did," Halt replied, with the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. It was an old formula between the two of them. Will grinned, then sighed and became serious.

"Does life always get harder when you get older?"

"You're not exactly ancient," Halt said gently. "But things have a way of turning out, you know. Just give them time."

Will made a frustrated little gesture with his hands. "I know... it's just, I mean... oh, I don't know what I mean!" he finished.

Halt eyed him carefully. "Pauline said to thank you for rescuing her assistant," he said. This time, he was sure he saw a reaction. So that was it.

"I was glad to do it," Will replied eventually, his voice neutral. "I think I'll turn in. Good night, Halt."

"Good night, son," Halt said. He chose the last word intentionally. He watched as the dim figure strode away toward the fire, seeing the shoulders straighten as he went. Sometimes, life threw up problems that even the wisest, most trusted mentor couldn't solve for you. It was part of the pain of growing up.

And having to stand by and watch was part of the pain of being a mentor.

There was a sense of deja vu about arriving back at Seacliff Fief. Very little seemed to have changed in his absence. The shadows were lengthening in the late afternoon. The trees that had lost their leaves during the winter were busy regaining them now. There was a feeling of peace and safety about the gentle woods and fields that was in distinct contrast to the past few months.

The ferry was drawn up on the far side of the narrow strip of water that separated Seacliff from the mainland. After he rang the gong, Will waited patiently as the ferryman cast off the mooring ropes and hauled the flat-bottomed boat back across the river.

"No charge for you, Ranger," the man said automatically as Will urged Tug forward, and the little horse's hooves clattered on the ferry's deck. Will allowed himself a wry smile. Halt had taught him to always pay his way. He took out a royal and handed it down to the man.

"One person. One animal. I make that a royal."

The ferryman showed mild interest, glancing around.

"No dog this time?" he asked. Of course, Shadow had been with him when he first arrived at Seacliff, badly injured and riding on the back of his pack pony.

" That's right," Will said, and his tone told the man he didn't wish to discuss the matter. The ferryman shrugged. He was happy not to get into a conversation with a Ranger.

Will dismounted and leaned on the rope rail at the bow of the ferry as the cumbersome boat began to slide across the narrow waterway to the island. The ferryman's comment had highlighted his sense of aloneness. After weeks spent in the company of Horace, Alyss, Gundar and Malcolm, he felt the solitude all the more keenly. Even the comfort of the dog's company was denied him now.

A shaggy head butted him, and he looked around into Tug's eyes.

I'm still here.

He smiled again, then rubbed the rough muzzle and scratched behind the horse's ears.

"You're right, boy," he said. "I've still got you, and thank god for it."

Tug shook his mane in that violent, vibrating way that horses have. It seemed an affirmation of Will's statement. Will glanced around and saw that the ferryman was watching him suspiciously. He had spoken in a low tone, so there was no way the man could have heard what he said, and for that he was grateful. It wouldn't do to have it known that a grim-faced, taciturn Ranger could actually be moping from loneliness. But the fact that he was talking to the horse confirmed the ferryman's superstitious belief that Rangers were black magicians. He turned away and made the warding sign against sorcery. The sooner this one was off his ferry, the better.

The blunt prow grated into the beach. The ferryman tossed a hawser around a pole sunk deep in the sand, hauled it tight and secured it with a quick series of half hitches. Then he unfastened the bow rail, allowing Will to ride off onto dry land.

" Thank you," Will said.

The man didn't reply. He watched as the cloaked and hooded figure disappeared into the first of the trees, made the warding sign again and then settled down to await his next customer.

The stag's head banner still floated above the castle as Will rode out of the trees at the top of the winding path. The village seemed unchanged, and he experienced the same looks as he rode through – a mixture of wariness and interest. Some of the villagers wondered where the young Ranger had been, what he had been doing. Others were more than content not to know anything at all about his movements.

He rode past the inn. Alyss had joked about the pretty innkeeper's daughter who lived here. When Will had first arrived in Seacliff, he had enjoyed the girl's company. Delia was her name, he remembered. But there was no sign of her and he felt vaguely disappointed. He could have done with the sight of a friendly face.

As he rode up to his little cabin in the trees, there was no welcoming curl of smoke from the chimney. Not surprising, he thought. Delia's mother, Edwina, the woman engaged as caretaker, would have had no warning of his imminent return. He unsaddled Tug, rubbed him down and fed and watered him. Then he carried his saddlebags inside.

At least the cabin was clean and tidy. Edwina had obviously dusted while he had been gone. There was no musty, confined smell either, telling him she must have aired the place regularly. He dropped his saddlebags across his bed and returned to the larger room, his footsteps sounding loud in the empty cabin. He glanced down, saw the dog's water and food bowls ranged neatly beside the fireplace. He shrugged sadly, picked them up and took them outside, setting them down on the small veranda, against the wall of the cabin. He didn't want to sit around staring at them through the night.

Oh, for god's sake, snap out of it! he told himself. So you're on your own. That's the way you chose to be. You chose it when you chose to be a Ranger. You chose it again when you wouldn't take the risk of telling Alyss how you felt about her. So stop moping and get on with life. Do something useful. Light a fire and make dinner.

Moving more briskly, he went back inside and began setting kindling in the potbellied stove that stood in the center of the living room. As the tiny yellow flames licked around the wood and grew brighter and fiercer, he felt a strengthening of his resolve. He'd warm the cabin up, light a few lamps and drive the gathering darkness back a little. Then, he decided, he wouldn't make his own meal. He'd wander over to the inn and have dinner. And Delia might be there.

Yes, he thought. That's what he needed. A good dinner, and a pleasant time with an attractive girl. He'd report to the castle tomorrow. But tonight it was time for him to cheer himself up!

He turned as he heard a footstep behind him. For a moment, since Delia was on his mind, he thought that the figure framed in the doorway was her. Then his eyes adjusted and he recognized her mother, Edwina.

"Sir, you're back. I'm sorry, I had no idea you were – "

He waved her apology aside. "Not your fault, Edwina," he told her. "I should have sent word ahead that I was on my way. But I see you've taken care of things while I've been gone."