Free The Lost Stories by John Flanagan Page A

cliffs showed where the path was being constantly undermined and eaten away by the waves’ incessant attack. In time, he thought, the path would disappear completely, leaving Highcliff to stand on an island.
    As he watched, he saw men patrolling the castle walls. In one of the towers on the landward side, he could make out a tiny figure leaning his elbows on the parapet. As Gilan watched, another figure joined the first, arm outstretched, pointing at the spot where Gilan and Blaze stood motionless. The first guard straightened up from his relaxed position and turned away, doubtless calling an alert to someone below.
    â€œThey’ve seen us,” Gilan told Blaze.
    We are a little obvious, silhouetted against the skyline like this.
    â€œI wasn’t trying to creep up unobserved,” Gilan said, and Blaze sniffed disdainfully. She had a habit of doing that, Gilan thought. Knowing he would never manage to have the last word with his horse, he urged her forward and she picked her way carefully down the rocky path to the beginning of the isthmus leading to the castle.
    There was a sentry point there, manned by two bored-looking soldiers. Gilan identified himself, although the Ranger cloak and massive longbow left little doubt as to who or what he was, and the senior man present nodded to him.
    â€œJust wait a moment, please, Ranger,” he said. His voice was respectful, even wary. The Ranger Corps’ reputation was the reason for the twofold reaction. The soldier nudged his companion with an elbow.“Run up the yellow flag, Nobby,” he said. Without a word, the second man stepped to a mast nearby, where Gilan could see there were two flags attached to halyards, ready to be run up. One was yellow, the other red. Nobby selected the yellow and hoisted the square of colored cloth to the top of the mast. The flag vibrated in the stiff ocean breeze, standing out from the flagpole. After a few seconds, an answering flag appeared at the castle gate.
    Presumably, thought Gilan, had he been identified as an enemy, the soldiers would have signaled with the red flag. Had he been an enemy, of course, he might not have given them the chance, although he supposed no signal would be taken to mean the same as a red flag. It was probably better for the sentries’ morale to believe that they had a chance of signaling if an enemy were to arrive at the guard post.
    â€œGo on across, Ranger,” said the soldier. Gilan waved a hand in acknowledgment and started Blaze forward.
    He let the reins go slack, allowing the horse to pick her own way. The isthmus wasn’t particularly narrow for a single rider, but he was conscious of the steep drop-off on either side to the sea below. As he approached the castle gate and portcullis, the track narrowed considerably, so that there would have been room for no more than four men abreast to approach the castle entrance.
    He touched the reins lightly as they reached the portcullis and Blaze came to a halt as a sergeant stepped forward. His keen gaze took in the cloak and the longbow Gilan carried across his saddle bow. He also noticed the long sword hanging at the Ranger’s left side and frowned. Swords were not normally part of a Ranger’s weaponry. Gilan nodded approvingly. The two outer guards hadn’t noticed the weapon or, if they had, they had attached no significance to it.
    He produced the silver oakleaf that hung on a chain around his neck and leaned forward so that the sergeant could see it clearly.
    â€œRanger Gilan, temporarily detached on special duties,” he said.
    The sergeant studied the amulet, glanced once more at the sword, then came to a decision. He signaled for the single pole barrier across the gateway to be raised, then stepped to one side.
    â€œPass through, Ranger Gilan,” he said. “The seneschal’s office is straight ahead, on the ground floor of the keep.”
    Gilan nodded and urged Blaze forward through the shadows