"Good pickings?" Gilan asked, and Carney nodded dutifully, the floodgates of conversation now well and truly open.
"All the towns and cities deserted. Nobody there to guard them, and all their valuables left lying around for us'n to take as we chose. We didn't harm nobody though," he concluded, a little defensively.
"Oh, no. You didn't harm them. You just crept in while they were gone and stole everything of value that they owned," Gilan told him. "I should think they'd be almost grateful for your contribution!"
"It was Bart's idea, not mine," Carney tried, and Gilan shook his head sadly.
"Gilan?" Will said tentatively, and the Ranger turned to look at him. "How would they have heard that the towns were deserted? We didn't hear a thing."
"Thieves' grapevine," Gilan told the two boys. "It's like the way vultures gather whenever an animal is in trouble. The intelligence network between thieves and robbers and brigands is incredibly fast. Once a place is in trouble, word spreads like wildfire and they come down on it in their scores. I should imagine there are plenty more of them through these hills."
He turned back to Carney as he said it, prodding the saxe knife a little deeper into the flesh of his neck, just holding it back so that it didn't draw blood.
"Aren't there?" he asked. Carney went to nod, realized what might happen if his neck moved, gulped instead and whispered:
"Yes, sir."
"And I should imagine you've got a cave somewhere, or a deserted mine tunnel, where you've stowed the loot you've stolen so far?"
He eased the pressure on the knife and this time Carney was able to manage a nod. His fingers fluttered toward the belt pouch that he wore at his waist, then stopped as he realized what he was doing. But Gilan had caught the gesture. With his free hand, he ripped open the pouch and fumbled inside it, finally withdrawing a grubby sheet of paper, folded in quarters. He passed it to Will.
"Take a look," he said briefly, and Will unfolded the paper, revealing a clumsily drawn map with reference points, directions and distances all indicated.
"They've buried their loot, by the look of this," he said, and Gilan nodded, smiling thinly.
"Good. Then without their map, they won't be able to find it again," he said, and Carney's eyes shot wide open in protest.
"But that's ours:" he began, stopping as he saw the dangerous glint in Gilan's eyes.
"It was stolen," the Ranger said, in a very low voice. "You crept in like jackals and stole it from people who are obviously in deep trouble. It's not yours. It's theirs. Or their family's, if they're still alive."
"They're still alive," said a new voice from behind them. "They've run from Morgarath-those he hasn't already captured."
12
deigning to receive her.
Halt and Alyss waited in the anteroom to Montague's office. Halt stood to one side, leaning impassively on his longbow. Montague was an oaf, he thought. As a Courier on official business Alyss should have been greeted without delay. Obviously aware of her youth, the Master of Cobram Keep was attempting to assert his own importance by treating her as an everyday messenger.
He watched the girl approvingly as she sat, straight-backed and erect, in one of the hard chairs in the anteroom. She appeared calm and unflustered in spite of the insult she was being offered. She had changed from her riding clothes when they were a few kilometers from the castle and she was now dressed in the simple but elegant white gown of a Courier. The bronze laurel branch pin, the symbol of her authority, fastened a short blue cape at her right shoulder.
For his part, Halt had left his distinctive mottled Ranger's cloak folded on the pommel of Abelard's saddle. His longbow and quiver, however, he retained. He never went anywhere without them.
Alyss glanced up at him and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, to her. Don't let him make you angry. She returned the nod, acknowledging the message. Her hands, which were clenched into fists on her knees, slowly relaxed as she took several deep breaths.
This girl is very good, Halt thought.
Montague's secretary had obviously been well briefed by his master. After peremptorily waving Alyss to a chair and leaving Halt to stand, he had busied himself with paperwork and resolutely ignored them-rising several times to take items in to the inner office. Finally, at the sound of a small bell tinkling from beyond the door, he looked up and gestured toward the office.
"You can go in now," he said disinterestedly. Alyss frowned slightly. Protocol dictated that a Courier should be properly announced, but the man obviously had no intention of doing so. She rose gracefully and moved toward the door, Halt following. That got the secretary's attention.
"You can wait here, forester," he said rudely. Without the cloak, there was little to distinguish Halt from a yeoman. He was dressed in simple brown leggings, soft leather boots and a green surcoat. The double knife scabbard had apparently escaped the secretary's notice. Or perhaps he didn't realize its significance.
"He's with me," Alyss said. The unmistakable tone of authority in her voice stopped the man cold. He hesitated, then rose from behind the desk and moved toward Halt.
"Very well. But you'd better leave that bow with me," he said, without quite the certainty that he had displayed earlier. He held out his hand for the bow, then met Halt's eyes. He saw something very dangerous there and he actually flinched.
"All right, all right. Keep it if you must," he muttered. He backed away, more than a little flustered, retreating behind the secure bulk of his desk. Halt opened the door for Alyss, then followed her as she entered the office.
Montague of Cobram was seated at a large oaken table that served as a desk. He was studying a letter and didn't look up from it as Alyss approached. Halt was willing to bet that the letter was about something totally unimportant. The man was playing silly mind games, he thought.
But Alyss was up to the challenge. She stepped forward and produced a heavy scroll from her sleeve, slapping it briskly down on the table before Montague. He started in surprise, looking up. Halt hid a smile.
"Alyss Mainwaring, Sir Montague, Courier from Redmont Castle. My credentials."
Montague wasn't just an oaf, Halt thought. He was a fop as well. His satin doublet was formed in alternating quarters of scarlet and gold. His reddish blond hair was left in overlong curls, framing a somewhat chubby face with slightly bulging blue eyes and a petulant mouth. He was of average height, but of some what more than average weight. He would be passably handsome, Halt supposed, if he could shed a few kilos in weight, but the man obviously liked to indulge himself. He recovered now from his momentary surprise and leaned back in his chair, adopting a languid, slightly disapproving tone.
"Good heavens, girl, you can't come in here throwing your credentials on the desk like that! Don't they teach good manners at Redmont Castle these days?"
He looked distastefully at the scroll and shoved it to one side.
"They teach protocol, Sir Montague," Alyss replied, very evenly. "And it requires that you examine and acknowledge my credentials before we proceed."
"Yes, yes, yes," Montague said, waving a dismissive hand at the scroll. "Take it as read. Take it as read. Now, girl, what brings you here?"
Halt interjected quietly, "The correct form of address, Sir Montague, is 'Lady Alyss.'"
Montague looked at Halt in genuine surprise, as if he considered him some lower form of life who lacked the ability of speech.
"Is that so, forester?" he said. "And what might your name be?"
Alyss went to speak, but a warning glance from Halt stopped her. He replied, still in the same quiet tone: "Some people call me Arratay, Sir Montague. It's Gallican," he added mildly.