The Silver Sun Read Online Free PDF Page A

feeling absurd, he added softly, “I need you. And I like you. Be here when I get back.” Firmly, he refused to add, “ If I get back.” He patted the horse once more, laced his sword tightly to keep it quiet under his cloak, and trudged down the road toward Whitewater.
    The tired gatekeeper let him in without question. Alan strode through the narrow, smelly streets, hoping only to avoid the lordsmen until full dark had fallen. Then he must try to find Hal, but how? The castle was like a giant triangle, three strong towers with walls between. The barracks would be somewhere in the courtyard.
    His thoughts were interrupted by hoofbeats. Alan dodged between the close-set house, but he had been seen. A shout rang out. Alan fled through a maze of twisting entryways where he hoped the horses could not follow. Then he hid, panting, behind some hogsheads. He could hear the lordsmen calling to each other not far away. He startled violently when a door creaked open nearby. A wrinkled face looked out, and a clawlike hand beckoned him into a narrow, clay-daubed house.
    “Many thanks!” Alan gasped as he bolted through the doorway.
    He had no need to say anything more. His ancient hostess had a tireless tongue. She sat him down at her smoking hearth and fed him well, gossiping all the time about hard tunes, high taxes and the plight of her neighbors.
    “Time was, when a tower of wood or stone was sufficient for the keeping of a lord,” she chattered indignantly, “but Gar must have a walled stronghold, no less, and the money to pay for it, and the men to build it, for the spoils of his wars do not come near meeting the price, and after five years it is not done yet! The old stone tower, the White Tower, the one nearest the sea, has only half-done walls, though to be sure it would not need any, for what army could climb the sea cliffs, I would like to know?"
    Alan glanced up with interest. “Do they use that tower, then?"
    “Ay, to be sure they do! ’Tis a stronghold in its own right, and the castle guard is good. The lord uses it for prisoners that he holds for ransom, and for his enemies, and malcontents, anyone who causes him trouble.... Why, that is where the lordsmen put that lad they brought in this afternoon!” The old crone's face saddened. “I saw them go by with him. He was a right proper, spirited lad, fighting them all the way. Poor thing, he will learn better before long ... or he is likely to die for it."
    The good woman gabbled on, telling about the sufferings of other young men she had known. Alan became anxious to get away from her. He managed to say that he was going to visit a relative who lived near the castle, and he received very detailed and confusing instructions on how to get there without meeting more lordsmen. At last he succeeded in taking his leave. The gossip wished him well and charged him, on his next visit to town, to come see “old Margerie.” Alan strongly hoped there would be no next time, but he promised nevertheless.
    It was dark now, and the streets were quiet. Alan passed quickly through back lanes, coming at the castle from the less traveled side. He had no trouble recognizing the White Tower of Whitewater; it shone in the moonlight like a shaft of ice. From the shadow of a cottage Alan studied the walls and the movements of the castle guards. There were no guards on the rubble of the half-completed walls, but atop the nearer section there were many. Alan sighed. The moon had served him well so far. Now he begged it to go behind a cloud and stay there.
    To his grateful surprise, it did. Silently he ran across the dry ditch which separated him from the castle, and scrambled up the embankment beyond. He crouched under the wall and crept along until he came to the edge of the sea cliff. Twenty feet above his head, he knew, a guard was standing with his back to the sea.
    Through the hazy darkness Alan made out the form of the cliff. It was rough and uneven, offering purchase enough. But