The Sorcerer of the North

18

Will turned to look. A group of five men, dressed in hunting clothes, had entered the hall as he sang. Now they applauded, encouraged by the one who was obviously their leader.

Stocky and muscular, he had a square, open face and a wide grin. He moved down the hall now toward Will, continuing to clap as he moved closer. Then he held out his hand in greeting.

"Well done, jongleur, particularly in view of the frosty reception you've been given!"

Will took the hand that was offered. The handshake was firm, and the hand felt hard and callused. Will knew that feel. It was the hand of a warrior.

"What's your name, jongleur?" the man said. He was taller than Will and looked to be in his thirties. He was clean-shaven, with dark, curly hair and lively brown eyes. His four companions stood slightly behind him. Warriors as well, Will noted.

"Will Barton, my lord." The quality of the man's clothing left him in no doubt that this was the correct address. The title was greeted with laughter, however.

"No need for ceremony here, Will Barton. Keren's the name. Sir Keren perhaps on formal occasions, but Keren's good enough any other time." He turned to the top table, raising his voice as he addressed Orman.

"Apologies for our late arrival, cousin. I trust there are some scraps of food still left for us?"

Keren, thought Will, remembering the name. He was Syron's nephew and, by all reports, he was the one holding the castle together in the Lord's absence. He was said to be a capable warrior and a good leader. And, if first impressions were anything to go by, he was a totally different kettle of fish to his cousin.

Orman was speaking now, the distaste in his voice obvious. "The hall is used to your ill-mannered late arrivals by now, cousin," he said. Keren looked back at Will and gave him a conspiratorial grin, accompanied by a histrionic raising of the eyebrows.

"If you'll take your place, I'll have the servants bring food," Orman continued.

Obviously, the empty places at the head table were intended for Keren and his companions. But Keren waved the suggestion aside.

"Let's have places set here," he said, indicating the table close by Will. "We'll eat while we enjoy some music from Will Barton. It's about time a little fun blew through these dowdy old walls," he added, with a glint in his eye. "Let's hear something lively, Will! Do you know Old Joe Smoke by any chance?"

"Indeed I do," Will replied. He was glad he had spent the previous weeks practicing the correct words to the song. He was confident now that he wouldn't make the mistake of mentioning "Graybeard Halt." Halt, after all, was a name famous throughout the kingdom and it would do no good to suggest that he had any connection with the legendary Ranger.

It was amazing what a difference a small group of interested listeners could make. As he began the rippling melody, his fingers were sure and confident. Keren and his friends stamped and clapped along, joining in the chorus-and, gradually, so did the others in the room.

Not Orman, of course. As the applause for Old Joe Smoke died away, Will heard the noise of a chair scraping back at the high table. He glanced around to see the castle's lord leaving by a side door, his face set in a scowl.

"Well, that lightened the mood!" Keren said cheerfully. Will wasn't sure if he was referring to the song or his cousin's departure. "Let's have another, what do you all say?"

He looked around the table at his companions. For a moment there was little response from any of them. Keren leaned forward. His smile widened and he spoke a little louder.

"I said, let's have another. What do you all say?"

There was a sudden surge of enthusiasm as they chorused their agreement. Will regarded them with some surprise. Keren seemed to be extremely popular among his followers. Whatever he wanted, they seemed happy to go along with. But Will certainly wasn't complaining. After Orman's dismissive comments, it would make a nice change to have an enthusiastic audience.

He grinned around at them and flexed his fingers experimentally. The night was going to be better than he had expected, he thought. Much better.

The evening continued for another hour and a half. Then people began drifting off to their beds. Will, satisfied with his night's work, packed the mandola away and was ready to follow them when Keren stopped him. The cheerful grin had disappeared and his face was serious as he gripped Will's forearm.

"I'm glad to see you here, Will Barton," he said in a lowered tone. "People here need some diversion from their troubles. And they get precious little from my sour-faced cousin. Let me know if there's anything you need while you're with us."

"Thanks, Sir Keren," Will began, but the hand squeezed his arm a little harder and he amended the statement, "Keren, then. I'll do whatever I can to raise the people's spirits." Keren's ready grin lit up again.

"I'm sure you will. Remember, if you need anything, just ask."

And with that, he led his companions away.

Suddenly tired with the letdown that all performers feel after a successful night, Will trudged slowly up the stairs to his room. The dog greeted him with a questioning look and the usual thumping of her tail.

"Not a bad night," he told her. "Not bad at all. You can work with me tomorrow."

She dropped her nose onto her paws and fixed her gaze on his. Those steady eyes held an unmistakable message for him.

"You don't, do you?" he said hopefully. "Surely you could wait till morning?"

The eyes were unwavering and he sighed softly. He buckled on his saxe knife and pulled the black-and-white cloak around his shoulders.

"All right," he told the dog. "Let's go."

She padded obediently behind him as he made his way down the stairs and into the castle courtyard. It was a cold, clear night, with a definite hint of frost in the air. Above him, the stars blazed down, while a quarter moon hung low in the east.

Revived by the cold air, he breathed deeply as he looked around the courtyard. There was enough light from the stars and moon to throw definite shadows across the yard and it occurred to him that this might be as good a time as any to look around the vicinity.

The thin powdering of fresh snow on the cobbles squeaked under his boots as he made his way to the postern gate beside the massive portcullis. One of the sentries stopped him as he made his way into the post beside the gate.

"Where are you off to then, jongleur?" he asked. His manner as neither friendly nor unfriendly.

Will shrugged. "Can't sleep," he said. Then, gesturing to the dog, "And she's always ready for a walk."

The sentry raised an eyebrow at him. "This is not a good place to go walking at night," he said. "But if you must go, you'd be best to stay away from Grimsdell Wood."

"Grimsdell Wood?" Will said, assuming a slightly amused, skeptical tone. "Isn't that where the ghoulies and ghosties gather?" He smiled cheerfully at the sentry to let him know that such superstitions meant little to him. The sentry shook his head.

"Make fun of it if you like. But a wise man would give it a wide berth."

"Well then, perhaps I will," said Will, sounding totally insincere. "Where is it exactly, so that I can make sure I stay away from it?"

There was a long pause while the soldier looked at him, recognizing his disbelief and bridling slightly at the ridicule underlying the minstrel's words. Jongleurs, he thought, they're always so clever, always so quick to joke about things. Finally, he pointed to his left.

"It's that way," he said, holding in his anger. "About a kilometer. And you'll know it when you see it, believe me. I'll let the sentries on the wall know you've gone out," he added, "in case you make it back."

And, feeling that he had had the last word, he opened the small postern gate beside the portcullis, allowing Will and the dog to slip through. The gate banged shut behind them and Will heard the bolts sliding home almost immediately. In country like this, one didn't leave gates open any longer than necessary once the sun was down.

For the same reason, the massive drawbridge was up. It wouldn't be lowered again till after sunrise. But there was a narrow two-plank access bridge across the moat that protected this side of the castle. Will stepped across it easily, the dog a little less so. He'd noticed before that she didn't like the feeling of uncertain footing underneath her.

He looked back at the castle, a crouching black mass above him. He could see one or two dark shapes moving on the battlements and realized these would be the night guards.

Resisting the temptation to wave, he struck out in the direction the sentry had indicated. The dog followed him then. As he snapped his fingers and said the word "Free," she quested ahead, running in a wide arc some twenty meters ahead of him, stopping and sniffing at new scents, cocking an ear at new sounds, but continually checking back to make sure Will was following.

There was a wild beauty to the countryside under its cover of snow. The road itself held only the thin dusting that had fallen that night. But in the fields and trees beside the road, the snow still lay thick and heavy from previous falls. Will had always loved the sight of a snowscape at night and he walked on contentedly, thinking over the events of the evening and the total disparity in the characters of Lord Orman and his cousin.

Gradually, the open countryside and the cleared fields began to give way as trees and bushes encroached closer to the road. It was darker here, without the fields and their cover of snow to reflect the ambient light, and Will felt a sense of the countryside pressing in on him. Crowding him. Watching him. He loosened the saxe knife in its sheath and touched the hilt of the throwing knife behind his neck. He told himself that this was nothing to do with superstition. It was just good sense in a potentially dangerous piece of country. He noticed that the dog's questing had fallen into a narrower arc than before. She obviously preferred the clear ground as well. But he reasoned that she would sense any ambush ahead of them and give him warning, so he continued.

And found himself at the edge of Grimsdell Wood.