The Lost Stories (9 page)

He touched the reins lightly as they reached the portcullis and Blaze came to a halt as a sergeant stepped forward. His keen gaze took in the cloak and the longbow Gilan carried across his saddle bow. He also noticed the long sword hanging at the Ranger's left side and frowned. Swords were not normally part of a Ranger's weaponry. Gilan nodded approvingly. The two outer guards hadn't noticed the weapon or, if they had, they had attached no significance to it.

He produced the silver oakleaf that hung on a chain around his neck and leaned forward so that the sergeant could see it clearly.

“Ranger Gilan, temporarily detached on special duties,” he said.

The sergeant studied the amulet, glanced once more at the sword, then came to a decision. He signaled for the single pole barrier across the gateway to be raised, then stepped to one side.

“Pass through, Ranger Gilan,” he said. “The seneschal's office is straight ahead, on the ground floor of the keep.”

Gilan nodded and urged Blaze forward through the shadows of the massive gateway. Her hooves rang loudly as they passed onto the flagstones of the castle courtyard. As Gilan dismounted, a stable hand materialized beside him.

“Can I look after your horse, Ranger?” he asked.

Gilan considered for a second or two. It was his normal practice to tend to Blaze himself.“ That would be kind of you,” he said.“We've come a long way, so please give her a good rubdown and a measure of grain.”

The stable hand nodded and reached for Blaze's bridle. As Gilan handed it over, he said to the bay, “Go along, Blaze.”

Thus instructed, his horse turned and clip-clopped after the stable hand, toward the wooden building by the north wall that housed the stables. Gilan smiled quietly to himself. Had he not said those three simple words, she would have been as immoveable as the north wall itself.

He entered the keep. The ground floor was largely open space. In the center was a large wooden staircase leading to the next level. In the event of an attack, the stairs could be burned or smashed down once the inhabitants had escaped to the higher floor, leaving attackers with no way to access them. From there, access to higher floors would be by the same right-hand spiraling staircases he had remarked on at Araluen. On the left-hand side, a large area was closed off by a timber wall. He guessed it was the guardroom, where sentries could relax or sleep while not on duty. On the right-hand side, another wall separated a slightly smaller area. This would be the seneschal's, or castle manager's, office. As a Ranger, Gilan could simply head for the higher levels, where he would find the Baron's quarters. But it was good etiquette to approach the seneschal first and he saw no reason to ruffle any feathers just to prove his own importance.

A slightly overweight man sat at a table outside the large brassbound door to the office. The sleeves of his jerkin were clad in black cloth to protect them from ink stains, and he was copying a list of figures from a parchment sheet into a large journal. He looked up at the sound of Gilan's boots on the flagstones.

“Can I help you?” he said politely.

Gilan tossed his cloak back over his shoulders and proffered the silver oakleaf once more.

“My name is Gilan. I'm a King's Ranger,” he said. “I'd like to see the seneschal, please.”

“Of course. Please wait a moment.” The clerk set his quill pen down and rose, hurrying to the door that led to the inner office. He disappeared inside for less than a minute, then emerged once more, beckoning to Gilan.

“Please come in. Seneschal Philip is at your service. Can I get you some refreshments?”

Gilan hesitated. It had been a long ride and the sea breeze over the last ten kilometers had been chilly.“Coffee, if you have it,” he said.

The clerk bowed and gestured him through the doorway.

“I'll bring it right away,” he said as Gilan entered the office.

The seneschal was an elderly man. His long hair was completely gray and his face was lined. Although, thought Gilan, that might be the result of the rigors of his office, rather than age. He was rising from behind his desk as the Ranger entered, his hand outstretched in greeting.

“Welcome to Highcliff, Ranger Gilan,” he said. “It's an honor to have such a distinguished guest.”

The words could have been obsequious, but Philip seemed genuine enough. Yet there was something about him that bothered Gilan. He seemed ill at ease in Gilan's presence. He ushered Gilan to a chair in front of his large desk.

“Please sit down, Ranger. I'm sorry to say you've caught us unprepared. Baron Douglas is out hunting. He won't be back for several hours. But if I can help you in any way?”

Gilan waved the apology aside.“I'm in no rush,” he told the man. “I'm happy to wait for the Baron's return. In the meantime, you might be able to provide me with some information.”

As he said the words, Gilan was sure he saw the beginnings of a guilty start, hastily covered. His eyes narrowed slightly. Philip was definitely nervous about something. And Gilan already had suspicions that there was an informant in the castle—someone placed high enough to have known about the recent pay convoy and its route.

“Information?” Philip said. By now he had his reactions under more control and his voice was steady and his manner noncommittal. “What would that be about?”

There was a tap at the door and the clerk entered, bearing a tray with a cup of coffee. Gilan decided not to answer immediately. He wanted to give the other man time to wonder what information he might be looking for. He accepted the cup, added sugar and took a deep, appreciative sip. He nodded his thanks to the clerk, who withdrew from the room. As the door closed behind him, Gilan turned back to Philip.

“I'm trying to track down a man called Foldar,” Gilan said. “You may have heard of him.”

Now Philip's face darkened, anger replacing the former nervousness. “Foldar?” he said. “I've never known a man so evil. In my opinion, he was worse than Morgarath himself.”

Gilan looked up quickly. “You knew him?”

Philip nodded several times before answering. When he did speak again, his mind was obviously far away. “Oh yes. I knew him,” he said. “Knew both of them, as a matter of fact. Evil, they were. I suppose that's what attracted Foldar to Morgarath. As they say, like clings to like.”

“How did you come to meet them?” Gilan asked, fascinated. He hadn't met many people who had actually known Morgarath, even though the former baron's shadow had loomed over Araluen for so many years.

Philip's eyes rose to meet his.

“At Castle Gorlan,” he said. “I began my training in service there as a junior steward. Of course, I wouldn't actually say that I
knew
them—not in the sense of sharing time with them or meeting them. But I saw plenty of them around the castle. And that was enough for me. I couldn't wait to leave the place.”

“When was that?” Gilan asked. He was feigning only polite interest, but his senses were tingling. In spite of Philip's claim that he couldn't abide Morgarath's former lieutenant, he had admitted that he knew Foldar in the past. Perhaps that had been enough to secure Philip's current services for the outlaw.

“Must have been three or four years before Morgarath's revolt,” Philip told him.“I could see something bad was coming and I wanted no part in it. So I got out. Cost me a year's seniority and three months' pay, but I figure I got the best of the deal in the long run.”

Interesting, Gilan thought. The man would have little reason to be loyal to Morgarath or Foldar. But then again, he might have been a carefully placed agent, with his departure from Gorlan Fief a cunningly planned ruse. Morgarath had been a man more than capable of such devious planning and advance plotting.

“What makes you think Foldar is anywhere in this region?” Philip asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“There was a report of an attack on a pay convoy. Men killed in cold blood, gold stolen. It had all the hallmarks of the sort of thing Foldar would get up to.”

Philip nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes. I remember that,” he said. “I was the one who sent in the report. At the time, I never associated it with Foldar. Although, come to think of it, one of the survivors did say that the leader of the bandits wore a black cloak. Still, it seems a pretty thin connection to Foldar. Are you sure it was him?”

“No. Not at all. I'm chasing down leads all over the kingdom. This seemed one of the most likely. I'll stay a few days, nose around the area, ask people if they've seen any suspicious gatherings of men, do a bit of scouting through the forest. If there's a robber band anywhere in the district, that's where they'll most likely be. I'll see what I come up with.” It all sounds vague and indefinite, he thought. He didn't mention that he was hatching a plan to entrap the bandits. He wasn't sure yet where Philip's loyalties might lie. The seneschal shrugged.

“I suppose that's all you can do,” he agreed.“Who knows? Something might turn up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Gilan replied. He set his cup down and rose from his chair. “Now, if you can have someone show me to my quarters, I'll let you get back to work.”

Philip rose also, accompanying him to the door.

“My clerk will show you to your rooms,” he said. As he opened the door, the clerk looked up.“Take Ranger Gilan to the guest apartment on the fourth floor,” Philip told him. Then, turning to Gilan again, he said, “I'll send word when the Baron returns from hunting. I'm sure he'll want to see you immediately.”

 

The guest accommodation was a comfortable suite of three rooms, overlooking the ocean. In a building like this, Gilan thought, sited as it was, most rooms would overlook the ocean. A clean salt breeze swept in through the open windows, sending the heavy curtains billowing out. There were shutters but Gilan chose to leave them open. He liked fresh air, and the cold that accompanied it didn't bother him.

After he'd settled in, he went to the stables to check on Blaze. There was another bay—a gelding—in one of the stalls near the entrance. For a few seconds, in the dim interior, he mistook it for Blaze. Then he heard her familiar nicker and realized she was stabled four stalls away.

The stable hand had done a good job and Blaze was comfortable in a dry stall, with plenty of fresh straw and a bin half full of grain. The water in the bucket hanging from a hook was fresh and clean. Nodding approval, he patted her muzzle and then turned away just as a castle servant entered, looking for him.

“The seneschal said to tell you Baron Douglas has returned. He'll see you now.”

Douglas had his office and sleeping quarters on the third floor. Gilan frowned slightly at that. A careful commander would site his command position high in the tower, not in the more easily accessible lower levels. Douglas had possibly grown lazy, he thought, and maybe had an aversion to climbing too many stairs.

His first sight of the Baron of Highcliff confirmed the guess. Baron Douglas was seriously overweight. Gilan knew that other barons, like Arald of Redmont, struggled to maintain their waistlines. But Douglas seemed to have no such inhibitions.

He was tall—about the same height as Gilan—and his hair was thinning on top. As if to compensate for that fact, he kept it long on the sides. Gilan guessed that on formal occasions, he might well comb it over the top to disguise the pink scalp showing through. He was clean shaven, fleshy in the jowls, and his blue eyes were set close together. That gave him a slightly shifty look, Gilan thought. Then he discounted the idea. Douglas couldn't be blamed for the positioning of his eyes any more than he could be blamed for his tendency to baldness.

The baron spoke a little too loudly, as if he were conscious of his own importance and constantly trying to assert it. His manner was abrupt, although he stopped short of actual rudeness. No wise man was ever rude to a Ranger.

“Philip tells me you think that devil Foldar is somewhere in Highcliff,” he said, after they had gone through the polite formalities of introduction.

Gilan shrugged. “I'm following leads,” he said. “There's a chance that he could be here. I'm sure Philip mentioned the raid on the pay convoy some weeks back.”

Douglas snorted. “That? Shouldn't think that was Foldar. Just bandits if you ask me.”

“You're probably right. Although your seneschal did agree that the attack was the sort of thing Foldar would organize. Apparently he knew him some years back. How about you? Did you ever meet him?”

Douglas sat upright. “Me? No. Never laid eyes on him. I never want to either. Why do you ask?” he added, leaning forward suspiciously.

Gilan waved a hand casually. “I'd be interested in getting a more complete picture of the man. The more I know about him, the easier it might be to predict his moves.”

“Well, I can't help you there,” Douglas said, his tone indicating that he felt this interview had gone on long enough.“Anything else I can do for you, just ask. Better still, ask Philip. He's the man to get things done.”

“I'll try not to be too much of a bother,” Gilan said, smiling. Douglas shook his head emphatically. He did most things emphatically, Gilan thought.

“No bother. No bother at all.” Already he had dismissed Gilan as a concern.

THE TEMPORARY ABSENCE OF THE LOCAL RANGER, GILAN thought, might well have influenced Foldar's decision to choose Highcliff as a site of operations—assuming that he had, in fact, done so.

A day had passed since his arrival and he was riding through the farmland surrounding the castle. It was good, rich land, with the majority of farmers concentrating on dairy cattle. The countryside seemed peaceful enough, and when he stopped for his midday meal at a small village inn, the people seemed content and welcoming.