"I see your capacity for addition has improved," Halt replied, but then went on before Will could comment. "Yes, as you say. It leaves one percent of cases."
"And you're saying they're examples of sorcery?" Will asked, but Halt shook his head doggedly.
"I'm saying we can't find a logical explanation for them," he said Will shifted in his seat impatiently, looking to pin his former teacher down one way or another.
"Halt," he said, holding the bearded Ranger's gaze steadily with his own, "do you believe in sorcery?"
Halt hesitated before replying. He was a man who had dealt in facts all his life. His life's work was dedicated to gathering facts and information. Uncertainty was anathema to him. Yet, in this case…
"I don't believe in it," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but I don't disbelieve in it either. In those cases where there seems to be no cause or logical explanation, I am prepared to keep an open mind on the subject."
"And I think that's probably the best position we can take," Crowley interrupted. "I mean, there is obviously an evil force that influences our world. We've all seen too many examples of criminal behavior to doubt it. Who's to say that there isn't the occasional person with the ability to summon that force or channel it to his own use?"
"However," Halt said, "remember that we're talking about one case in a hundred-and even then, we're saying it may or may not be the real thing. If the real thing even exists."
Will shook his head slowly, then took a deep sip of his coffee. "I'm getting confused here," he said at length. Halt nodded.
"Just keep one thing in mind. There's a better than ninety percent chance that the case we're dealing with here isn't sorcery-it just appears to be. Hold on to that thought, and keep an open mind for the rest. All right?"
Will nodded, letting out a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "So what are the details of this case? What do you want me to do?"
Crowley gestured for Halt to go ahead with the briefing. The bond between master and pupil was still strong, he knew, and would facilitate a concise briefing with less chance of misunderstanding or confusion. These two knew each other's minds.
"Very well," Halt began, "in the first place, we're talking about Norgate Fief-"
"Norgate?" Will interrupted, surprise evident in his voice. "Don't we have a Ranger assigned to that fief?"
"Yes, we do," Halt agreed. "But he's known in the area. He's recognized. People are scared and confused and the last person they'll talk to at this stage is a Ranger. Half of them think we're sorcerers ourselves," he added grimly. Will nodded. He knew that to be true.
"But won't they distrust me if I turn up there?" he asked. "After all, they may not know me, but I am a Ranger."
"You're not going as a Ranger," Halt told him.
That piece of information succeeded in stopping the barrage of questions Will was about to unleash. To tell the truth, he was a little taken aback by the news.
People were nervous of Rangers, it was true. But there was undeniable prestige that attached to members of the Corps as well Doors opened for Rangers. Their opinions were sought and respected by the knights and barons of the realm-even, on occasion, by the King himself. Their skill with their chosen weapons was legendary. He wasn't sure if he wanted to put all that aside. He wasn't sure that without the aura of being a Ranger to bolster his confidence, he could actually handle a difficult and dangerous mission-and already, this mission sounded as if it were going to be both of those.
"We're getting ahead of ourselves," Crowley said. "Let's get the big picture out of the way before we start going into details."
"Good idea," Halt said. He gave Will a meaningful look and the younger man nodded. He knew that now was the time to listen without interruption.
"All right. Norgate Fief is rather unique in the kingdom, insofar as, in addition to Castle Norgate, the center of the fief, there is an additional castle in a shire right at the north."
As Halt was speaking, Crowley unfolded a map of the area on the ground between them and Will came onto one knee to study it. He touched the map, where a castle was indicated, virtually on the kingdom's northern border.
"Castle Macindaw," he muttered, and Halt nodded.
"It's more a fortress than a castle," he said. "It's a little low on luxuries and high on strategic position. As you can see…" He took one of his black arrows from the quiver beside him and used it to point to the rugged mountains that divided Araluen from its northern neighbor, Picta. "It's placed so that it dominates and controls the Macindaw pass through the mountains."
He paused, watching the younger man as he took in the situation, his eyes intent on the map. Finally, Will nodded and Halt continued.
"Without Castle Macindaw, we'd have constant forays from the Scotti-the wild tribe who control the southern provinces of Picta. They're raiders, thieves and fighters. In fact, without Macindaw, we'd be hard-pressed to keep them out of Norgate Fief entirely. It's a long way north and it's not easy traveling for an army in winter-particularly when the bulk of our troops are from the southern fiefs and not used to the extremes of weather that you find up there."
Nodding to himself, Will sat back from the chart. The picture was imprinted on his memory now. He shifted his gaze back to Halt as the older man continued.
"So you can understand why we get a tad anxious when anything seems to upset the natural balance of things in Norgate Fief," he said.
Will nodded.
"When Lord Syron, the commander at Macindaw, was struck down by a mysterious illness, we were understandably concerned. That concern grew when we started to hear wild rumors of sorcery. Apparently, one of Syron's ancestors, some hundred years back, had a falling-out with a local sorcerer." Halt sensed the question on Will's lips and held up a hand to stop it from being asked.
"We don't know. Could have been mind control. Could have been a charlatan. Or maybe he was the real thing. It all happened over a hundred years ago, as I say, so there's very little hard evidence and a lot of anecdotal hysteria involved. As far as all the accounts of the matter go, he was a genuine dyed-in-the-wool sorcerer who had been feuding with Syron's family over a period of hundreds of years The most recent appearance was the end of a long line of clashes Bear in mind, we're dealing with myth and legend here, so don't expect too much sense."
"What happened to the sorcerer?" Will asked, and Halt shrugged.
"Nobody knows. Seems he struck Syron's ancestor down with all manner of mysterious ailments. Naturally, the healers couldn't identify or treat any of them. They never can when they think sorcery's involved," he said with a disparaging note to his voice. "But then a young knight from the household took it upon himself to rid the province of the sorcerer. In accordance with all the conventions of such myths, he was pure of heart and his nobility of character let him overcome the sorcerer and drive him out."
"He didn't kill him?" Will put in, and Halt shook his head.
"No. Unfortunately, they never do. It leaves legends like this room to rise up again over the years, as this has done. The current situation is that Syron, some six weeks ago, was out riding when he was suddenly struck down from his horse. When his men reached him, he was blue in the face, frothing at the mouth and screaming in agony.
"His men got him home and the healers were completely baffled by the condition. All they could do was sedate him to relieve the pain. He hasn't improved since and he's hovering on the brink of death. If they wake him to feed him or give him water, the pain hits him again and he begins screaming and frothing all over. Yet if they leave him sedated, he grows weaker and weaker as time passes."