The Ruins of Gorlan: Chapters 3–7

She had an air of self-confidence and poise about her that would suit her well in the Service.

Alyss stepped back in line and Martin, not to be forestalled this time, was already pointing to George.

Martin, ever a stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address.

Martin, ever a stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address.

Martin, ever a stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address.

Martin, ever a stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address.

“Very well, Martin. Let it go.” Martin looked a little aggrieved, but subsided.

"I remember a boy who joined us some seven years back, rather like this one here, as a matter of fact. He had that same habit of mumbling to his shoes—but we soon showed him how to overcome it. Some of our most reluctant speakers have gone on to develop absolute eloquence, my lord, absolute eloquence.”

The Baron drew breath to comment, but Nigel continued in his discourse.

"Oh,” said the Baron, a little taken aback. “Think nothing of it. Now, next is....”

"What about him?" he asked gently and she hesitated, realizing that, in her enthusiasm, she had breached the protocol of the Choosing.

"Oh, yes, please, sir!” Jenny replied breathlessly, turning adoring eyes on the portly, red-haired cook.

She smiled winningly at him, but Chubb was beyond such feminine wiles.

"I’d work hard, sir,” she told him earnestly.
“I know you would!” he replied with some spirit. "I’d make sure of it, girl. No slacking or lollygagging in my kitchen, let me tell you.”

"I...don’t have...,” he began, but mercifully the Baron interceded.

"Rabbits, you say, Scribemaster?" said the Baron, and Nigel nodded emphatically.

They were a secretive, arcane group, shrouded in mystery and uncertainty, and that uncertainty led to fear.

They were a secretive, arcane group, shrouded in mystery and uncertainty, and that uncertainty led to fear.

Will shuddered in a sudden frisson of fear and hurried out of the room.

Once night fell, he made his way back to the castle, avoiding villagers and castle folk alike, and secreted himself in the branches of the fig tree again.

The sergeant was barely five meters away and Will could hear his heavy breathing, but a small buttress in the wall hid him from the man’s sight.

Then, hearing the heavy footsteps directly below him, he froze, clinging to the wall in case some slight noise might alert the sentry.

He paused directly below the point where Will clung, peering into the night, trying to see past the dappled, moving shadows cast by the moon and the swaying trees.

There was a heart-stopping moment when, stretching his right foot to a new foothold, his left boot slipped on the weather-rounded edge of the massive building blocks, and he was left clinging by his hands alone as he desperately scrabbled for a foothold.

In contrast to the Baron’s sparsely furnished working quarters below, this room was a comfortable clutter of settees, footstools, carpets, tapestries and armchairs.

The grizzled gray beard and short hair made him seem even more disapproving, more ominous.

The grizzled gray beard and short hair made him seem even more disapproving, more ominous.

Halt, as ever, was an impassive statue.

The deep cowl of his cloak left his face in shadow.

The man was uncanny!

“I wanted to be a warrior, sir,” he said tentatively, but the Baron shook his head immediately.

At the foot of the hill, and on the other side of the Tarbus River, lay Wensley Village, a cheerfully haphazard cluster of houses, with an inn and those craft shops necessary to meet the demands of day-to-day country life—a cooper, wheelwright, smithy and harness maker.

It was an affectation that Will had found more than a little annoying over the day, although Halt seemed to be quite fond of it.

This time, however, it seemed that he had been genuinely musing to himself as he read through a new report—one of the oakleaf-crested ones, Will noted.

But, since Halt seemed to be answering his questions, he was emboldened to continue.