The Siege of Macindaw

20

Will sat cross-legged in the late-morning sun outside his tent, poring over the message Alyss had sent the night before.

Mortinn, a former inn-boy who had come to Malcolm after being hideously disfigured by a spilled cauldron of boiling water, had kept watch at the forest's edge during the night, dutifully noting down the light patterns as Alyss sent them from her window. He'd made a few mistakes, but the gist of the message was clear enough.

The temptation for Horace, sitting outside his own tent with nothing to occupy him, was to watch the process. But, knowing Will's concern over the secrecy of the code, he wandered off to check on the chains holding MacHaddish and his two warriors. Satisfied that they were still secure, he stopped to scratch the dog's head as he passed. The heavy tail thumped several times on the ground. The dog had remained on vigil all night while the human guards had changed every few hours. Now, Horace saw, Trobar had resumed the guard position.

"Good dog, Blackie," Horace said. The words were greeted by another tail thump from the dog and an angry glare from Trobar. The giant rarely spoke, Horace knew. His palate was deformed, and this made speaking an effort for him. In addition, his words were so slurred they were difficult to understand, and the inevitable questions that resulted tended to embarrass the big man. This time, however, he was sufficiently annoyed to make the effort. "No' Bla'ie," he said.

Horace hesitated, then thought he knew what had been said. He had noticed that Trobar had trouble with hard consonant sounds like t and k.

"Not Blackie?" he ventured, and the angry face nodded vehemently. Horace shrugged apologetically, a little put out. Everybody seemed to deride his choice of name for the dog, he thought. "Then what is his name?" he asked.

Trobar paused, then, trying his hardest to enunciate clearly, he said, "Sha'th'ow." There was just the faintest hint of a d sound in the th.

Horace considered for a moment, then asked, "Shadow?"

The big moon face lit up in a smile and Trobar nodded enthusiastically. "Sha'th'ow," he repeated, pleased that he had communicated something. The dog's tail thumped again as he said the word. Horace studied the dog, thinking how she slipped along, belly close to the ground, moving silently as a wraith.

" That's a good name," he said, genuinely impressed by the giant's creativity. Trobar nodded assent once more.

"Be'er tha' Bla'ie," he said disdainfully.

Horace raised his eyebrows at the taunt.

"Suddenly everyone's a critic," he said, and turned away to see if Will had finished decoding the message. Behind him, as he walked away, he heard the deep rumble of Trobar's laughter.

Will was stashing his crib into an inner pocket when Horace returned.

"What's the news from Alyss?" he asked.

"Mainly she wanted to tell us about MacHaddish's visit. But there's news for Orman as well. I'm afraid his father is dead."

Horace's face hardened. "Keren had him killed?"

Will shrugged. "Not directly. It was more an accident than anything else, but in the long run he is responsible. Alyss says that he'll never give in now. His only hope is to go ahead with his plan with the Scotti."

"And I don't suppose she has any idea of their timetable?" Horace asked.

Will shook his head."With any luck, Malcolm will get that from MacHaddish tonight," he said.

But Horace looked doubtful. "I wouldn't depend on that. He looks like a tough nut to crack. D'you have any idea what Malcolm has in mind?"

"No idea at all. I expect we'll find out tonight. For now, I'm going to have to tell Orman about his father."

He stood slowly, glancing down at the message sheet again as if it would tell him some easy way to impart the painful news to Orman. Horace dropped a large hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I'll come with you," he said. There was nothing concrete he could do to make the situation any better. But he knew that his presence would provide some comfort and support for Will.

" Thanks," Will said, and they started across the clearing together.

MacHaddish, alert to every movement in the clearing, watched them go.

Orman was in the little cabin with Malcolm and Xander when Will broke the news of Syron's death. Orman accepted it fatalistically. "Alyss says he would have felt no pain, at least," Will told him, hoping to make the news easier to bear. "He was unconscious at the end and just slipped away."

" Thanks for telling me," Orman said. "I think I knew it anyway. I'd sensed something – a lack or a loss. I knew in my heart that my father must be dead."

Xander's eyes had filled with tears at the news. He had served Syron's family since he had been a teenager. His sadness didn't stem so much from a sense of affection for the family – Xander was too much a servant to presume affection for his masters. His sadness came from a sense of duty. Syron's death brought with it a loss of direction in the little man, as if an arm or a leg had been cut off.

In spite of the fact that he had been serving as Orman's secretary for the past few months, his initial loyalty had been to Syron, and as Will and Horace had noted on several prior occasions, that loyalty was deep-seated and integral to his character.

He coped now as he usually did, by trying to find some way to serve Orman, now officially established as his permanent master.

"My lord, is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do?"

Orman patted his shoulder gently.

" Thanks, Xander, but you need to grieve as well. He was your master before I was, and I know you always served him faithfully. Don't bother yourself about me for a while."

The little steward's face seemed to crumple before them, and Orman realized that the most effective way for Xander to cope with the loss would be to busy himself doing things for his master.

"On second thought," he said, "I think I could use a large cup of tea right now. If it's not troubling you too much."

Xander's face cleared instantly.

"At once, my lord!" he said. He looked at the others. "Anyone else?" he asked.

Will and Horace hid their surprise. The little steward had been decidedly prickly over the past few days. Malcolm, however, understood his need for something to do.

"I'd like a cup too, Xander, if you don't mind," he said softly.

Xander nodded several times and bustled toward the small cottage's kitchen, rubbing his hands energetically together.

"What's the plan of action for tonight?" Will asked Malcolm when the steward had left the room.

" There's a clearing a little way east of here," Malcolm told them. "My people are setting up a few things now. We'll take MacHaddish there once the moon has set."

Horace frowned thoughtfully. He'd been wondering for some time how Malcolm intended to get MacHaddish to answer questions.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" he asked.

The healer regarded him. His normally kindly face was devoid of expression. "I'm planning to prey on MacHaddish's superstitions and fears. The Scotti have a host of demons and supernatural beings that I can use."

"You know what they are?" Orman asked, eyeing the healer with some interest.

Malcolm shrugged diffidently."Well, yes. One of my people spent his early years living north of the border. He's familiar with the Scotti demons and superstitions." A thought struck him, and he looked at Will. "I suppose we'll need a few Skandians tonight as guards," he said. "Ask Gundar if we can have two or three of his most simple-minded and superstitious men."

"I'll tell him," Will said doubtfully. "But wouldn't we be better with more intelligent guards?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Terror feeds upon itself. If Mac-Haddish sees the Skandians are terrified, it'll make it easier to frighten him. And it'll be better if they're not acting."

Xander returned at that moment, with a tray bearing two mugs of steaming tea. He offered the tray to Orman, who took a cup carefully.

"Thank you, Xander," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Xander smiled. It was an unusual expression on his face, and Will and Horace exchanged a surprised glance. They had just witnessed an object lesson in leadership and authority.

"And thank you," Malcolm said in his turn. He sipped appreciatively at his tea, then asked Will and Horace, "I assume you two will be along to watch tonight?"

"Of course," Will answered. " We wouldn't miss it for the world."

Malcolm nodded. "Thought you might say that. Well, I'll have Trobar bring you all along when the time's right. I'll be leaving shortly to get a few things ready at the clearing." He glanced down at his teacup and smiled. "Just as soon as I've finished this excellent tea."