"Well done, sergeant major. Any trouble from him?"

"None, sir. Came right peaceably," the soldier announced. Orman nodded slowly.

"Good. Good," he muttered to himself. There was a pause as he breathed heavily, then he flicked the fingers of one hand at the sergeant major in a gesture of dismissal.

"Very well, sergeant major. You can leave us. Wait outside, please."

The old soldier hesitated. "Are you sure, my lord?" he asked uncertainly. "The prisoner may try to…" He stopped in mid-sentence. He wasn't sure what Will might do. In fact, he wasn't even sure that he was a prisoner. He had been ordered to take two men and go fetch him here right away and so he had assumed that there as trouble brewing. Now, as Orman dismissed him, he began to wonder if this was simply a social matter and he remembered with some concern the prodding he had been doing all the way up the stairs.

"It's all right. Go." Orman's voice was a low whisper but the note of annoyance was clear in it. He was definitely in pain, Will thought. He heard the soldier come to attention behind him, then his boots as he marched to the door. He paused there, still unsure of the situation.

"I'll wait outside then, my lord," he said, then added, "… with my men."

"Yes. Yes. Do that if you choose," Orman told him. The door closed as the sergeant major went out. Orman rose awkwardly, favoring his left side. Will could see now that his left arm was held to his side, almost as if he was suffering from broken ribs. He winced as he moved around the table and stood before Will, His breath came heavily, as if moving that short distance was an enormous effort for him. Will started toward him.

"Lord Orman, are you all right?" he said, but Orman held up a hand to stop him.

"No. As you can see, I'm not. But there's little you can do about it."

"Are you wounded?" Will asked. "I can send for your physician." But Orman was shaking his head, and a harsh laugh escaped his lips.

"I doubt that any healers in this castle could help with what I have," he said. "No. I need help of another kind." He paused, and his eyes burned into Will's as he added, "I need the help of a Ranger."

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."