The Sorcerer of the North

26

There was silence in the room. Will was speechless. It was the last thing he expected to hear from Orman. He recovered, knowing that his reaction was too late, but determined to try to bluff his way through anyway.

"A Ranger, Lord Orman?" he said. "I'm just a simple jongleur." He forced a self-deprecating smile and continued, "And, as you've pointed out several times, a pretty disappointing one."

Orman made a dismissive gesture and sank painfully onto one of the straight-backed chairs in front of his table.

"Don't bandy words with me. I don't have the strength. Look, I need help and I need it quickly. They've finally gotten to me, just as they got to my father. As you can see, I'm sick, and before too much longer I'll sink into a coma and then there's nothing to stop them."

"They?" Will asked. "Who are they?"

Orman groaned again, holding his side and stomach and bending over as a wave of pain hit him. Will could see sweat forming on man's face-he was obviously in a bad way. "Keren!" Orman gasped finally. "Who the hell do you think? He's the one behind my father's sickness. He's the one trying to take over the castle!"

"Keren?" Will repeated. "But…" He paused and Orman, stronger now that the tide of pain had receded a little, continued angrily.

"Oh, of course. He's taken you in, just like everybody else. I suppose you imagined I was behind the whole plot to get rid of my father?" He looked up at Will for confirmation. Seeing it in the young man's eyes, he nodded resignedly. "Most people do. It's so easy to think that way when a person is unpopular, isn't it?"

There was nothing for Will to say. It was precisely the way he had reacted, now that he thought about it. He disliked Orman and the dislike had led him to the conclusion that the temporary Lord of Macindaw was not to be trusted. By contrast, Sir Keren's open, friendly nature had led him to view the man as a potential ally. But still, there was only Orman's word to go on here. The sallow-faced man continued.

"Look, you may be many things, but I doubt you're really a jongleur." He held up a hand to stop Will's automatic protest. "You're talented enough, I suppose, although your music isn't to my liking. But you gave yourself away the other day when I interviewed you."

"Gave myself away?" Will's mind flashed back to the conversation he had with Orman just before Alyss's arrival.

"I asked about your mandola, remember? I asked if it was a Gilperon."

"Yes," Will said slowly. He wondered where this was going. He remembered a few moments of confusion when Orman had asked the question, moments where he tried to cover up the fact that he hadn't heard of the master luthier, Gilperon. "It was simply that his name escaped me at the time, Lord Orman," he said. "As I said to you, a country musician could never afford a real Gilperon instrument, so the name simply escaped me for a few seconds."

"There is no Gilperon. The name is Gilet," Orman said flatly. "Any true jongleur should have known that."

Will closed his eyes briefly in anger. It was a very old trick that Orman had pulled on him, but it had worked. And now he saw no way out of the trap.

Orman continued. "So then I checked your horse-it's very similar to the breed the Rangers use. And it seems to be very well trained. Even your clothing gives a hint." He gestured to the gaudy black-and-white cloak that Will wore. "It's similar to the camouflage cloaks Rangers wear. Of course, the colors are different, but in a winterscape such as we have here, black and white would be ideal. I imagine you could disappear into the countryside in moments if you chose to."

"It's a fascinating theory, my lord," Will said. "But unfortunately, it's really no more than a series of coincidences." He saw the anger flare briefly in Orman's eyes and then the other man replied.

"Don't waste my time. I don't have much left. They've managed to poison me the same way they did my father. The pain is becoming worse and worse and in a matter of hours, I'll be unconscious. And then they'll have everything they want. You have to get me out of here."

"You want to get out of here?" Will said, the surprise evident in his voice. That was the last thing he had expected.

"I have to, don't you see?" Orman said desperately. "I've tried to fight them for the past weeks but they've gradually infiltrated the castle. Keren is recruiting his own men and gradually getting rid of the ones who are loyal to me. I have barely a dozen men I can depend on these days, while he must have a score or more of men loyal to him."

Another spasm of pain racked him and he doubled over, groaning in agony. He was unable to speak for some time, then he continued, in a weak voice.

"Keren wants the castle. He's an illegitimate cousin, so there's no way he will ever get his hands on it legally. For some time, I've suspected that he's made an agreement with a Scotti warlord to hand the shire over-as long as Keren keeps the castle. If I'm right, once the snows clear, the Scotti will come through the passes and occupy the entire shire. Without Macindaw to threaten their lines of supply, they'll be able to besiege Norgate and the whole fief will fall before spring is out. Is that what you want?" he added bitterly. He could see Will was wavering and he went on.

"If Keren has me and my father in his power, he won't hesitate to kill us both and take control. Oh, he won't do it obviously. He isn't powerful enough to get away with that-yet. That's why he's dredged up the old legend about the sorcerer. He knows that frightened people will look for strong leadership-which he can provide. He's poisoned my father. He's keeping him unconscious and now he's planning the same for me. If we both die of the so-called sorcerer's curse, he'll have a free hand to take control-and nobody will oppose him. He'll be the only living relative."

"But if I can get away, he can't claim to be Lord of Macindaw. As long as I'm alive, he's stalemated and he gains nothing by killing my father. On the contrary, he'll probably keep him alive as a hostage. Until the Scotti get here, Keren must play his hand carefully. If he's too obvious, the countryside would rise up against him. But once he's established as Lord of Macindaw, it'll be a different story. Then, by the time the Scotti arrive to support him, it'll be too late."

"How did he poison you?" Will asked, and Orman shrugged.

"I have to eat and drink. Who knows? I've tried to be careful and have my food prepared separately. But they may have got to my servants. Or maybe they got their damn poison into the water." He gestured to the books on the Black Art that lay on the work table. "I've felt it coming on for days. They do it slowly, you see. I've been going through those damn books trying to find some clue, some antidote, but so far without any success."

Will looked at the books as the other man pointed to them. "Oh, I see," he said. "I thought…" He didn't finish the thought. Orman smiled grimly at him.

"You thought I was a sorcerer? You thought I was behind my father's illness?" he said. Will nodded. There was no point in denying it.

"It seemed a logical theory," he said.

Orman nodded wearily. "As I said, when a person is unpopular, it's so easy to think badly of him." He rose from the chair, moving painfully. "Now my best hope is that you are a Ranger, because I need help getting away from this castle, and I doubt if a simple jongleur would be up to the task." He paused and then added, "I assume that Lady Gwendolyn is also more than she seems?"

"How did you…" Will began, then stopped, realizing he had said too much. Orman smiled.

"Don't assume that because a person is unpopular, he's also stupid," he said. "The two of you turned up virtually at the same time then Lady Gwendolyn had you summoned to her rooms. Very convenient. And then you both just happened to go riding at the same time. I'm not a fool."

Events had moved so fast in the past few minutes that Will had forgotten about the need to warn Alyss to stay out of sight. Making a decision, he apprised Orman of the situation, telling him of the surprising appearance of John Buttle. The castle lord frowned thoughtfully.

"That is a problem," he said. "He's one of Keren's men, of course-a new recruit. Keren seems to find every unattached thief and murderer who drifts through the shire. They gravitate to him. At the same time, he's getting rid of the men who might be loyal to me. I'll send Xander to pass your message to her. Best if you aren't seen by this man Buttle either, I think. Then let's think about how the three of us can get out of here."

He reached for a small silver bell on his table and rang it. There was a pause, then the door opened and Xander entered. Quickly, Orman gave him his instructions while Will dashed off a short note for him to carry to Alyss. The clerk, looking worried, folded the note into the top of his jerkin and left the room. Another thought had been nagging at Will. He voiced it now.

"The Night Warrior-the apparitions in Grimsdell Wood-is Keren behind them as well? What does he gain from them?"

"Oh, you've seen them, have you?" Orman asked. Then he shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. Perhaps this former healer Malkallam is behind them all. Or maybe it's Keren. Maybe they're even working together. Then again, Keren may have simply taken advantage of the apparitions to use the old legend to his own advantage."

He shuddered in pain again. "In any event, we're going to have to find out what Malkallam is up to," he said. Will looked at him, a question in his eyes, and he elaborated.

"He may well be the only one who can heal me. I need you to take me to him."