Ranger's Apprentice React to Themselves!

by Star_Walker_367

Summary:

Everyone had forgotten about the strange novels that appeared one day. Everyone except the books themselves. So when Cassandra finds them on her bed, she couldn’t help but think that they never finished the one they started.

After deciding the best course of action, she plans out a little time for a visit and gets the old band back together, however this time with a few new members.

Note: This is a continuation from the fanfic Ranger's Apprentice Cast Reacts! Written by sumg_albatross. I would advise reading that before you read this.

Notes:

• Inspired by [Restricted Work] by smug_albatross (Log in to access.)

Chapter 1: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 15

Notes:

Hi everyone and thankyou for clicking on this. Whether you read Ranger's Apprentice Cast Reacts! or not, I welcome you. This is a tad different from that one but the same basic idea. For the first few chapters it'll take me some time for me to get use to the formatting and stuff so please bare with me. Anyway, feedback is welcome and I will read your comments if you have something to say (but please nothing too mean) and of course I will delete any inappropriate comments. Okay, so with that all out of the way, I say "Onward!"

Also, I set the start of this book just after the Royal Ranger book 6: Arazan's Wolves.

Will wasn’t sure what to think of the letter that was delivered by a nervous courier. It was marked by the royal seal, so he opened it immediately, but that didn’t mean he was sure what to do with its contents.

Dear Will,

I am hoping this letter reaches you in good health. I wrote to inform you of mine and Horace’s imminent visit. I ask you to clear your schedule as much as possible for the next few days after our arrival, I have something that I want to show you.

Bring Maddie as well, as this is probably something she would like to listen to. A few other people are going to be there, but you will understand once I show you what I uncovered. Meet us at Halt and Pauline’s suit in the morning in 2 days.

Kind Regards

Cassandra (Evanlyn )

Once he had read the message, Will had immediately cleared his plan for the next few days. If he was going by Evanlyn’s message, it seemed she had found something important enough to come to Redmont.

So, when the day came along, Will and Maddie made their way up to the suite and entered only to find Evanlyn, Horace, Gilan, Halt and Pauline already there waiting. They were all roughly in a circle, with Halt and Pauline sitting on the end of their bed and the others having to pull up chairs and move the table.

Before Will could ask what was going on, Evanlyn gestured for her friend and daughter to come sit down. Will sat next to Gilan, and Maddie sat next to her mother. Once they were all seated, Evanlyn  pulled out something she had been hiding in her lap.

Once she had put the novel down no one made a move to pick it up. Maddie was the only one who didn’t know what was going on. She sat confused and frustrated at the lack of explanation. She eventually asked, “What’s going on. Why do you all seem so…worried all of a sudden?”

Will made a move to pick up the book and he looked at the cover before showing it to his apprentice. “Maddie, look.” He turned the book around so she could see the cover and read the title: The Burning Bridge.

It only took her a few moments before she realised what her mentor was saying. “That’s…that’s when you and mum burned down the bridge over the Fissure right?”

She then frowned, looking at her mother and asking, “But how did someone write a book about it, I thought there were only a few people that knew about the bridge?”

Cassandra nodded, but her expression remained forced and controlled. “From what they wrote in their previous book, The Ruins of Gorlan, this author knows things that they couldn’t possibly have heard about or witnessed. It seems they have another way of knowing, one that borders on magic.”

Maddie’s heart rate increased rapidly at the mention of magic. After everything she and Will had seen with Arazan’s wolves and Wargals, she was sure she wanted nothing else to do with magic for a very long time.

Before she could voice her opinions out loud, Will asked no one is particular, “Anyone remember what chapter we were up to?”

There was silence and Pauline asked, not unkindly, “Will, are you sure you want to continue reading, you do remember this is just before…”

She trailed off, not wanting to bring up any memories. Will just shrugged slightly, “It’ll be fine. Plus, we all know how it turns out anyway.”

Maddie did her best to stay quiet. Among all the people present, she was probably the one who knew the least about what had happened. She hadn’t been alive at the time, and no one was particularly willing to talk about it either. After a few more moments of silence, Halt spoke up for the first time saying, “I think we had just finished chapter 14.”

Will opened up the book and quickly flipped to chapter 14. He skimmed it and nodded in Halt’s direction before summarising, “Gilan, Horace and I had just gone on a mission to Celtica. We needed 3 people of some sort of status because of an old Celtic saying that one can be discrete, two can be a conspiracy, three is the number I trust.”

Maddie opened her mouth to comment but Will held up a finger and continued, ignoring the snort Halt made at the saying, “We discovered that many of the Celts had been bottled up at the southern peninsula. We had learned this from a girl we met calling herself Evanlyn who claimed to be a maid of a noble lady. Gilan rode ahead to warn everyone about what happened in Celtica, with me and Horace charged with making our own way back and bringing the girl. That’s about where we are up to.”

Will flipped the page and started reading. (Chapter 15)

They rode as hard as they could that night, held back somewhat by the docile pace that was all the pack pony could manage.

Horace rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Not every horse can be amazing as Ranger ones.”

The rain came back during the night to make them more miserable. But then, an hour before dawn, it cleared, so that the first streaks of light in the east painted the sky a dull pearl colour. With the gathering light, Will began to look for a place to make camp. Horace noticed him looking around.

“Why don’t we keep going for a couple more hours?” he suggested. “The horses aren’t really tired yet.”

Will hesitated. They’d seen no sign of anyone else during the night, and certainly no evidence of any Wargals in the area.

But he didn’t like to go against Gilan’s advice.

Halt raised an eyebrow at this.

In the past, he’d found that advice given by senior Rangers usually turned out to be worth following.

Gilan stared at Will from across the table, as he was pretty sure he had told the man at the gathering previously that he had been the most junior Ranger in the corps at the time.

He hesitated, then came to a decision as they rounded the next bend and saw a thicket of shrubs set back about thirty meters from the road. The bushes, while not more than three meters high at their tallest point, offered a thick screen, providing shelter from both the wind and any unfriendly eyes that might chance to come along.

Maddie nodded at this, as she had learned from experience that camping out on windy, cold nights was just unpleasant, especially when there was very little cover.

“We’ll camp here,” Will said, indicating the bushes. “That’s the first decent-looking campsite we’ve passed in hours. Who knows when we’ll see another?”

“Good thinking.” Gilan said offhandedly, “It’s harder to find a good campsite than you would think.” All the Rangers and Horace in the group raised an eyebrow.

Horace shrugged. He was quite content to let Will make the decisions. He had only been making a suggestion, not trying to usurp the Ranger apprentice’s authority in any way. Horace was essentially a simple soul.

Gilan, Will, Pauline and Halt all tried to hide their smiles. Maddie just looked over at her father, surprise written all over her face. Cassandra patted her husband on the arm in sympathy and reassurance while he himself was turning slightly red.

He reacted well to commands and to other people making decisions. Ride now. Stop here. Fight there. As long as he trusted the person making the decisions, he was happy to abide by them. And he trusted Will’s judgment.

Will smiled slightly at this, and Horace spoke up, also smiling “And I haven’t regretted that decision since.”

He had a hazy idea that Ranger training somehow made people more decisive and intelligent.

Halt snorted at that, while Gilan and Maddie chuckled to themselves. Will tried to keep his voice steadily as he fought the urge to laugh.

And of course, in that he was right, to a large degree. As they dismounted and led their horses through the thick bushes into a clearing beyond, Will gave a small sigh of relief. He was stiffer than he’d realized after a full night in the saddle with only a few brief rests.

Halt looked over and said, “Get used to it.” Will rolled his eyes in response, replying drily, “Don’t worry, I did.”

Several good hours’ sleep seemed like a capital idea right now. He helped Evanlyn down from the pack pony—riding on the pack saddle as she had to, it was a little awkward for her to dismount. Then he began unstrapping their packs of food supplies and the rolled canvas length that they used as a weather shelter.

Evanlyn, with barely a word to him, stretched, then walked a few paces away to sit down on a flat rock. Will, his forehead creased in a frown, tossed one of the food packs onto the sand at her feet.

“You can start getting a meal ready,” he said, more abruptly than he’d really intended. He was annoyed that the girl would sit down and make herself comfortable, leaving the work to him and Horace. She glanced down at the pack and flushed angrily.

Maddie looked at her mother, and the Queen winced slightly at the mention of her past actions.

“I’m not particularly hungry,” she told him.

Horace started forward from where he was unsaddling his horse. “I’ll do it,” he said, keen to avoid any conflict between the other two. But Will held up a hand to stop him. “No,” he said. “I’d like you to rig the shelter. Evanlyn can get the food out.”

“Mum, it wasn’t that hard to do.” Maddie said to her mother, who groaned in frustration. “I wish I could slap myself for being so spoiled right now.” Horace put an arm around her saying, “Don’t worry, it’s not like it didn’t work out in the end.”

His eyes locked with hers. They were both angry, but she realized she was in the wrong.

“Thankfully.” Cassandra muttered under her breath.

She shrugged faintly and reached for the pack. “If it means so much to you,” she muttered, then asked: “Is it all right if Horace makes the fire for me? He can do it a lot quicker than I.” Will considered the idea, screwing up his face thoughtfully. He was reluctant to light a fire while they were still in Celtica. It hardly seemed logical to travel by night to avoid being seen, then light a fire whose smoke might be visible in daylight.

“He’s not wrong.” Said Halt quietly, largely to himself.

Besides, there was another consideration that Gilan had pointed out to him the previous day. “No fire,” he said decisively, and Evanlyn tossed the food pack down sulkily. “Not cold food again!” she snapped.

Cassandra was blushing and slouched slightly in her seat. Maddie moved a bit closer and whispered, “Don’t worry, I was a lot worse on my first campout.” The Queen had to stop herself from snorting at that, forever thankful that Will had been able to discipline her daughter. Will watched the exchange, not voicing out that he had to put up with both of them for a time, before he continued.

Will regarded her evenly. “Not so long ago, you would have happily eaten anything—hot or cold— as long as it was food,” he reminded her, and she dropped her eyes from his.

“Look,” he added, in a more reasoning tone, “Gilan knows more about these things than any of us and he told us to make sure we aren’t spotted. All right?”

Gilan elbowed Horace, as if to say ‘He’s not wrong you know’ but Horace just rolled his eyes in response.

She muttered something. Horace was watching the two of them, his honest face troubled by the conflict between them.

Halt quickly glanced at Horace for a moment before concluding, Yes, he does have a rather honest face.

He offered a compromise. “I could just make a small fire for cooking,” he suggested. “If we built it in under these bushes, the smoke should be pretty hard to see by the time it filters through.”

Pauline spoke up for the first time, “What about the smoke? Wouldn’t that give you away, especially to Wargals and their sense of smell?”

“It’s not just that,” Will explained, slinging their water bags over one shoulder and taking his bow from the saddle scabbard.

Will thought to himself gratefully, thank god I learned from the first time, once was enough.

“The Wargals have an amazingly keen sense of smell. If we did light a fire, the smell of the smoke would hang around for hours after we’d put it out.” Horace nodded, conceding the point. Before anyone could raise any more objections, Will headed toward the jumble of rocks behind the campsite.

“I’m going to scout around,” he announced. “I’ll see if there’s any water in the area. And I’ll just make sure we’re alone.”

Ignoring the girl’s “Not that we’ve seen anyone all day,” which was muttered just loud enough for him to hear it, he began to scramble up the rocks.

“You never know if someone’s following you. Assuming can make you complacent, seeing what you expect to see.” Gilan pointed out. Cassandra nodded at this, and said angrily, “If only you’d pointed that out to my past, hopeless self.”

He made a careful circuit of the area, staying low and out of sight, moving from cover to scant cover as carefully as he could. Whenever you’re scouting, Halt had once said to him, move as if there’s somebody there to see you. Never assume that you’re on your own.

Maddie glanced at her mentor, surprised to learn that he also needed to be taught that. Whenever they were camping on a mission together, he’d always have to remind her to be careful while scouting. He’d always seem like a natural at it, while she always had to be reminded even this late into her apprenticeship.

He found no sign of Wargals or of Celts.

Thankfully, Will found himself thinking, shivering at the thought of what could have happened if he had found someone.

But he did come across a small, clear stream that sluiced cold water over a bed of rocks. It was running fast enough to look safe for drinking, so he tested it and, satisfied that it wasn’t polluted, filled their water bags to the brim.

The cold, fresh water tasted particularly good after the leathery-tasting supply from the bags. Once water had been in a water bag for more than a few hours, it began to taste more like the bag and less like water. Back at the campsite, Horace and Evanlyn were waiting for his return. Evanlyn had set out a plate of dried meat and the hard biscuit they had been eating in place of bread for some time now.

He was grateful that she’d also put a small amount of pickle on the meat. Any addition to the tasteless meal was welcome. He noticed as they were eating that there was none on her plate. “Don’t you like pickles?” he asked, through a mouthful of meat and biscuit.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “Not really,” she replied.

“You don’t like pickles mum?” Maddie asked, Cassandra shook her head, smiling, “I always give mine to someone else if I ever get any.”

But Horace wasn’t prepared to let it rest at that. “She gave you the last of them,” he told Will. For a moment, Will hesitated, embarrassed. He’d just mopped up the last small mouthful of the tangy yellow pickles on a corner of biscuit, and popped it into his mouth. There was no way now he could offer to share it.

“You can keep them Will, I really wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t like pickles.” Cassandra said with a straight face.

“Oh,” he mumbled, realizing this was her way of making the peace between them. “Um…well, thanks, Evanlyn.” She tossed her head. With her close-cropped hair, the effect was a little wasted and the thought struck him that she was probably used to making that gesture with long blond locks that would accentuate the movement.

“I told you,” she said. “I don’t like pickles.”

But now there was a hint of a grin in her voice, and the earlier bad humour was gone. He looked up at her and grinned in reply. “I’ll take the first watch,” he finally said. It seemed as good a way as any of letting her know that he didn’t hold a grudge.

“If you take the second watch as well, you can have my pickles too,” offered Horace, and they all laughed.

“If only I’d known that.” Maddie said sadly. Will raised an eyebrow retorting, “You’re not bribing me with pickles just to get out of first or second watch.” His apprentice pouted in response.

The atmosphere in the little campsite lightened considerably as Horace and Evanlyn busied themselves shaking out blankets and cloaks and gathering some of the leafier branches from the bushes around them to shape into beds.

For his part, Will took one of the water bottles and his cloak and climbed up onto one of the larger rocks surrounding their camp. He settled himself as comfortably as possible, with a clear view of the rocky hills behind them in one direction, and over the bushes that screened them from the road in the other.

Mindful as ever of Halt’s teaching, he settled himself among a jumble of rocks that formed a more or less natural nest, allowing him to peer between them on either side, without raising his head above the horizon level. He wriggled himself around for a few minutes, wishing there were not so many sharp stones to dig into him.

“Sorry Will, but I doubt any amount of wiggling could help you find a good spot of Celtic ground not covered in sharp pointy rocks.” Gilan said cheerfully. Will glared at his commandant before continuing to read.

Then he shrugged, deciding that at least they’d stop him from dozing off during his watch.

“Not a good idea also.” Maddie noted, smiling at her mentor who also gave her a glare.

He donned his cloak and raised the hood. As he sat there, unmoving among the grey rocks, he seemed to blend into the background until he was almost invisible.

“Trust the cloak.” All the Ranger’s simultaneously chorused, each knowing the phrase was a key part of unseen movement. All the non-Ranger’s just rolled their eyes at the four.

It was the sound that first alerted him. It came and went vaguely with the breeze. As the breeze grew stronger, so did the sound. Then, as the breeze faded, he could no longer hear anything, so that at first he thought he was imagining things. Then it came again. A deep, rhythmic sound. Voices, perhaps, but not like any he’d heard.

“I would hope not.” Halt said, earning him a kick under the table from his wife.

It could have been singing, he thought, then, as the breeze blew a little harder, he heard it again. Not singing. There was no melody to it. Just a rhythm. A constant, unvarying rhythm. Again the breeze died and the sound with it.

Will shivered as the memory resurfaced in his head. The Wargals chant would forever be in his memory, regardless of how long he lived.

Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. There was something unhealthy about that sound. Something dangerous. He sensed it in every fibre of his body. There it was again! And this time, he had it. Chanting. Deep voices chanting in unison. A tuneless chanting that had an unmistakable menace to it.

Everyone was silent. Maddie was entirely glad that the Wargals they’d encountered didn’t chat like Morgarath’s ones, as that would just added to her nightmares.

The breeze was from the southwest, so the sound was coming from the road where they had already travelled. He raised himself slowly and carefully, peering under one hand in the direction of the breeze. From this point he could make out various curves and bends in the road, although some of it disappeared behind the rocks and hills.

He estimated that he could see sections of the road for perhaps a kilometre and there was no sign of movement. Not yet, anyway. Quickly, he scrambled down from the rocks and hurried to wake the others.

The chanting was closer now. It no longer died away as the breeze came and went. It was growing louder and more defined.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Whatever this John Flanagan knew about their past, Will was certain he did it justice. Creating a story so close to the original feeling, Will would be lying if he said that it wasn’t impressive.

Will, Horace and Evanlyn crouched among the bushes, listening as the voices came closer. “Maybe you two should move back a little,” Will suggested. He had left himself a relatively clear view of the road. He knew that, wrapped in his Ranger cloak, with his face concealed deep within the cowl, he would be virtually invisible, but he wasn’t so sure about the others.

Without any reluctance, they squirmed back, deeper into the cover of the thick shrubs. Horace’s reaction was a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. Evanlyn, Will noted, was pale with fear.

“How were you not afraid?” Maddie asked her father, as she remembered her own encounter with the dangerous beasts. He shrugged, “I’d only heard stories up until that point, so I wasn’t sure what exactly I was meant to be afraid of.”

They had already struck the camp and moved the horses back about a hundred meters into the rocks. He glanced around quickly now to make sure they had left no sign of their presence. Satisfied that they had done all they could, he turned his attention back to the road. “Who are they?” Horace breathed as the chanting grew louder still.

Will estimated that it was coming from somewhere around the nearest bend in the road, a mere hundred meters away. “Don’t you know?” Evanlyn replied, her voice strained with terror.

“They’re Wargals.”

“Dun dun der…” Gilan said helpfully, only to get wacked by both Pauline and Will who were sitting next to him.

Notes:

Hi again. Glad you made it to the end. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm not sure how often I'll post but I've written a few in advance at least to the end of the second book. Just a general question to everyone, What's your favourite RA fanfction you've ever read? I'm curious as I have loved this series for a few years now but I only thought to look for fanfics only a few months ago. And boy I wasn't disappointed. So...thoughts?

Chapter 2: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 16

Summary:

Halt reads Chapter 16.

Notes:

Thank you for leaving kudos. Still not sure about an update schedule, but I'll see how many chapters I write on the weekend. I hope you enjoyed!

Will passed the book over to Halt who accepted it and started reading before anyone could protest.

Will and Horace both turned quickly to look at her. “Wargals? How do you know?” Will asked.

“Dur, what else is out there and make that noise.” Maddie says unhelpfully. Her father looks at her suspiciously, but she tried her best to look innocent.

“I’ve heard them before,” she said in a small voice, biting her lip. “They make that chanting sound as they march.” Will frowned. The four Wargals he and Halt had tracked had made no chanting sound.

“Wargals are smart enough not to sing when tracking someone down Will.” Halt looked at his old apprentice. The man in question rolled his eyes, saying “I know that now Halt, give me a break I was 16.”

But then he realized those Wargals had been tracking their own quarry at the time. Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw a movement at the bend in the road.

Will made a ‘there you go’ gesture but everyone pointedly ignored it.

“Get down!” he hissed urgently. “Keep your faces down!” And both Horace and Evanlyn dropped their faces into the sand. He reached up and pulled the shadowing depths of his cowl further over his own face, then held a forearm draped in the folds of his cloak to obscure everything but his eyes. The chant, he saw now, was a form of cadence, designed to keep the Wargals moving at the same pace—in the same way a sergeant might call the step for a troop of infantry.

“Will, why did you tell Cassandra and Horace to put their faces down?” Pauline asked. “It’s because skin doesn’t blend into the natural environment, that’s why the cloaks have a cowl that can be used to create shadow.” Halt explained to his wife.

He counted perhaps thirty in the group. Big, heavyset figures, dressed in dark metal-studded jackets and breeches of some heavy material. They ran at a steady jog, chanting the guttural, wordless rhythm—which, he realized now, was nothing more than a series of grunts. They were all armed with an assortment of short spears, maces and battle-axes, which they carried ready for use.

As yet, he couldn’t make out their features. They ran with a shambling movement in two files. Then he realized that they were escorting another group between the two files: prisoners. Now that the group was closer, he realized that the prisoners—about a dozen of them—were staggering along, trying desperately to keep pace with the chanting Wargals.

He recognized them as Celts—miners, judging by the leather aprons and skullcaps they wore. They were exhausted, and as he watched, he could see the Wargals using short whips to urge them along. The chanting grew louder. “What’s happening?” Horace whispered, and Will could have cheerfully choked him.

Horace pretended to be hurt, “Will! How could you?”

Will said sarcastically, accompanied by a scowl on his face, “Don’t worry, if we’d have been caught, I wouldn’t have even had to get my hands dirty.”

“Shut up!” he shot back. “Not another word!” Now the Wargals were closer and he could make out their faces. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise as he saw the thick, heavy jowls and noses that had lengthened and thickened almost to the size of muzzles.

The eyes were small and savage and seemed to glow with a red hatred as they lashed their whips at the Celts. Once, as one of them snarled at a stumbling prisoner, Will caught a quick glimpse of yellow fangs. He was tempted to shrink down further.

“Don’t.” Both Gilan and Halt said simultaneously.

But he knew any movement now would risk discovery. He had to trust the shelter of his cloak. He wanted to close his eyes to those animal-like faces, but somehow, he couldn’t. He stared in fascinated horror as the terrible Wargals, creatures from a nightmare, chanting incessantly, jogged past the spot where he lay.

The Celt miner couldn’t have lost his footing at a worse place. Lashed by one of the Wargals, he stumbled, staggered, then crashed over in the road, bringing down the prisoners on either side of him. Will could see now that they were roped together with a thick rawhide leash.

Maddie winced at the thought. With all the movement the miners were forced to do, those ropes would have rubbed the skin raw.

As the column came to a confused stop, the chanting broke up into a series of snarls and growls from the Wargals. The two prisoners who had been brought down struggled to their feet, under a rain of lashes from their captors. The miner who had caused the fall lay still, in spite of the vicious whipping from one of the Wargals.

Finally another joined the first, and began beating at the still figure with the butt of his heavy, steel-shod spear. There was no reaction from the miner.

“He’s dead.” Maddie whispered, horrified at the prospect of being captured and beaten by the creatures.

Watching in horror, Will realized that the man was dead. Eventually, that same realization came to the Wargals. At an incomprehensible command from one who must have been in charge, the two stopped beating the dead man and cut the bonds that attached him to the central leash.

Then they picked up the limp body and threw it clear, hurling it toward the thicket where Will and the others sheltered. The body crashed into the bushes closest to the road and Will heard Evanlyn utter a small cry of fear.

Cassandra winced again at her former self. Knowing that the tiny amount of noise she made could have doomed he entire kingdom and her friends.

Facedown, not knowing what was happening, the sudden crashing in the bushes near her had obviously been too much for her to bear. She bit the noise off almost as soon as it started, but she was just a little too late.

“I’m sorry.” She said. Horace and Will brushed it off immediately, “Mum, I’m pretty sure anyone in that situation would have done the same thing.” Maddie reassured her mother.

The leader of the Wargals seemed to have heard something. He turned now and stared hard at the spot where the body lay, wondering if the noise had come from the miner. Obviously, he was suspicious that the dead man might be merely foxing, in an effort to escape. He pointed and shouted an order and the Wargal with the spear stepped forward and ran it casually through the dead body. Still the commander’s suspicions weren’t satisfied.

 For a long moment, he stared into the bushes, looking straight at the spot where Will lay, wrapped in the protective camouflage of his Ranger cloak. The apprentice found himself staring deep into the angry red eyes of the savage thing out on the road.

He wanted to drop his eyes away from that gaze, convinced that the creature could see him. But all of Halt’s training over the past year told him that any movement now would be fatal, and he knew that dropping his eyes could lead to a tiny, involuntary movement of his head.

Gilan was surprised by the amount of information Will had remembered even in his first 18 months. Obviously Halt’s teaching method stuck, he thought to himself. Gilan looked over at Halt, and he could tell that the grim Ranger was just as impressed, though he was trying his best to cover it up.

The true value of the camouflaged cloaks lay not in magic as so many people believed, but in the wearer’s ability to remain unmoving under close scrutiny. Forcing himself to believe, Will remained motionless, staring at the Wargal. His mouth was dry. His heart pounded at what seemed like twice its normal rate. He could hear the heavy, rasping breathing of the bearlike figure, see the nostrils twitching slightly as it sampled the light breeze, testing for unknown scents.

Finally, the Wargal turned away. Then, in an instant, it whipped back again to stare once more.

“Not bad for a Wargal.” Halt commented.

Fortunately, Will’s training had covered that particular trick as well. He made no movement. This time, the Wargal grunted, then called an order to the group. Chanting once more, they moved out, leaving the dead miner on the roadside. As the sound receded and they disappeared around the next bend in the road, Will felt Horace moving behind him.

“Stay still!” he whispered fiercely. It was possible that the Wargals had a sweeper following—a silent-moving rear scout who might catch unwary fugitives who thought the danger was past. He forced himself to count to one hundred before he allowed the others to move, crawling clear of the bushes and stretching their stiff and aching limbs.

Maddie looked over at her mentor, knowing this was where he had learnt that Wargals were capable of having sweepers. As it was something he had mentioned in their last encounter with the beast.

Signalling to Horace to take Evanlyn back to the campsite, Will stepped cautiously into the road to check the Celt. As he had suspected, the man was dead. He had obviously been beaten many times over the past few days. His face was bruised and cut by the whips and fists of the Wargals. There was nothing he could do for the man, so he left him where he lay and went to re-join the others. Evanlyn was sitting crying.

Horace lay a hand on his wife’s shoulder as a comfort. Maddie noticed her parents leaning heavily on each other and realised for this was a hard time for both of them.

As he approached, she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears and her shoulders heaving with the great sobs that shook her. Horace stood by, a helpless expression on his face, making useless little movements with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Evanlyn finally managed to gasp. “It’s just that…chanting… those voices…I could remember everything when they…”

“It’s all right,” Will told her quietly. “My God, they’re horrible creatures!” he added, shaking his head at Horace. The warrior apprentice swallowed once or twice. He hadn’t seen the Wargals. He’d lain there throughout the entire encounter with his face pressed hard into the sandy ground. In a way, thought Will, that must have been just as terrifying.

Will nodded in conformation.

“What are they like?” Horace asked in a small voice. Will shook his head again. It was almost impossible to describe.

“Really?” Pauline says sceptically. She was reading over Halt’s shoulder slightly and had seen this author had definitely been able to describe them.

“Like beasts,” he said. “Like bears…or a cross between a bear and a dog. But they walk upright like men.” Evanlyn gave another shuddering cry.

“They’re vile!” she said bitterly. “Vile, horrible creatures. Oh, God, I hope I never see them again!”

Will moved to her and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “They’re gone now,” he said quietly, as if soothing a small child.

Cassandra glared at Will, who just looked meekly in her direction. There was no real malice in the look, but the Queen could be very intimidating.

“They’re gone and they can’t hurt you.” She made an enormous effort and gathered her courage. She looked up at him, a frightened smile on her face. She reached up and took his hand in her own, taking comfort from the mere contact.

Horace looked at Will and he mouthed sorry to his old friend, but the knight just brushed it aside. Instead, he mouthed back thank you which surprised Will greatly. Everyone else at the table pretended not to notice.

He let her hold his hand for a while. He wondered how he was going to tell them what he had decided to do.

“Save the entire country without me…darn it” Gilan said to himself, just loud enough for everyone to hear and hide their smiles.

Chapter 3: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 17

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads Chapter 17

Notes:

Here's another chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Halt passed the book to Lady Pauline who began.

“Follow them? Are you out of your mind?” Horace stared at the small, determined figure, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Sometimes I wonder that myself.” Halt looked accusingly at Will who just raised an eyebrow at him and smiled faintly.

Will didn’t say anything, so Horace tried again. “Will, we’ve just spent half an hour hiding behind a bush hoping those things wouldn’t see us. Now you want to follow them and give them another chance?” Will glanced around to make sure that Evanlyn was still out of earshot.

Cassandra gave Will a look that he pointedly ignored. Maddie looked from her mother to her mentor, curious on what this all meant.

He didn’t want to alarm the girl unnecessarily. “Keep your voice down,” he warned Horace, and his friend spoke more softly, but nonetheless vehemently.

“Why?” he asked. “What can we possibly gain by following them?”

“Information.” Horace said in a frustrated tone, annoyed that his younger self couldn’t see the bigger picture.

Will shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Frankly, the idea of following the Wargals was already frightening him. He could feel his pulse rate was running higher than normal. They were terrifying creatures, and obviously totally devoid of any feelings of mercy or pity, as the fate of the prisoner had shown.

Maddie winced at the thought of the prisoner they had read about being beaten and killed by the Wargals. She was glad she wasn’t in past Will’s shoes, as she doubted she would have the courage to follow those ghastly things as he had.

Still, he could see that this was an opportunity that shouldn’t be wasted. “Look,” he said quietly. “Halt always told me that knowing why your enemy is doing something is just as important as knowing what he’s doing. Sometimes more important, in fact.”

Halt nodded, remembering Morgarath’s first rebellion and how information was used as both a weapon and a key instrument to take him down.

Horace shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t get it,” he said. To him this idea of Will’s was a crazy, irresponsible and terrifyingly dangerous impulse. To be truthful, Will wasn’t absolutely sure that he was right either.

“But you still did it anyway?” Maddie turned to Will who answered shortly, “It was that, or slowly make our way to the Plains of Uthal with a mysterious girl in tow.”

But Gilan’s parting words about not showing uncertainty rang in his ears, and his instincts, honed by Halt’s training, told him this was an opportunity he shouldn’t miss.

“And thank god you didn’t” Gilan spoke up and a chorus of agreement followed.

“We know that the Wargals are capturing Celtic miners and carrying them off,” he said. “And we know Morgarath doesn’t do anything without a reason. This might be a chance to find out what he’s up to.”

Horace shrugged. “He wants slaves,” he said, and Will shook his head quickly. “But why? And why only miners? Evanlyn said they were only interested in the miners. Why? Can’t you see?” he appealed to the bigger boy.

“This could be important. Halt says that wars often turn on the smallest piece of information.”

Halt nodded, once again remembering the days and nights he had spent collecting information to get his monarch through the rebellion, and the importance that knowledge had on the outcome of the final battle.

Horace pursed his lips, thinking over what Will had said. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he agreed. “I guess you may be right.” Horace wasn’t a fast thinker, or an original one.

Horace winced in that, but Cassandra put a comforting hand on his shoulder, making sure he knew she didn’t think that of him at all.

But he was methodical and, in his own way, logical. Will had instinctively seen the necessity for following the Wargals. Horace had to work his way through it. Now that he had, he could see Will wasn’t acting on some wild, adventurous impulse. He trusted the Ranger apprentice’s line of reasoning.

Will smiled at his friend, thankful that he had such a good person to work by his side for so long.

“Well, if we’re going to follow them, we’d better get moving,” he added, and Will looked at him in surprise, shaking his head.

“We?” he said. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I plan to follow them alone. Your job is to get Evanlyn back safely.”

“Says who?” asked the bigger boy, with some belligerence. “My job, as it was explained to me by Gilan, was to stay with you and keep you out of trouble.”

Will looked at his commandant with a narrow gaze. Gilan met his and shrugged. Innocently saying, “Someone had to do it.”

“Well, I’m changing your orders,” Will told him. But this time Horace laughed. “So who died and left you the boss?” he scoffed. “You can’t change my orders. Gilan gave me those orders and he outranks you.”

Will just rolled his eyes at his friend. Horace didn’t even acknowledge him, instead, he just focused on not laughing at how child-ish he and Will use to be.

“And what about the girl?” Will challenged him. For a moment, Horace was stuck for an answer. “We’ll give her food and supplies and the pack horse,” he said. “She can make her own way back.”

“Gee thanks a lot Horace, you are so considerate.” Horace reddened slightly and looked away from his wife and Maddie had to pull her cowl up to stop anyone from seeing the smile on her face. She noticed Lady Pauline looking at her before winking discretely and continuing to read.

“That’s very gallant of you,” Will said sarcastically. Horace merely shook his head again, refusing to be baited into an argument on that score.

“You’re the one who said this is so darned important,” he replied. “Well, I’m afraid I think you’re right. So Evanlyn will simply have to take her chances, just like us. We’re close to the border now anyway and one more night’s riding will see her out of Celtica.”

In truth, Horace didn’t like the thought of leaving Evanlyn to her own devices. He’d grown genuinely fond of the girl.

Cassandra smiled and nudged her husband while Horace started to go back to normal colour.

She was bright and amusing and good company. But his time in Battleschool had given him a strong sense of duty, and personal feelings came second. Will tried one more time. “I can move a lot faster without you,” he pointed out, but Horace cut him off immediately. “So what? We won’t need speed if we’re following the Wargals. We’ve got horses. We’ll have no trouble keeping up with them, particularly as they have to drag those prisoners along.”

He found he was rather enjoying the experience of arguing with Will and coming up with winning points. Maybe, he decided, spending time with Rangers had done him more good than he’d realized.

Halt, Gilan and Will all scoffed at that. Maddie asked her father teasingly, “Oh come on dad, you can’t think we’re that bad?”

“Besides, what if we find out something really important? And what if you want to keep following them and we still have to get a message back to the Baron? If there are two of us, we can split up. I can take a message back while you keep following the Wargals.” Will considered the idea. Horace had a point, he had to concede.

It would make sense to have someone else along with him, now that he thought about it. “All right,” he said finally. “But we’re going to have to tell Evanlyn.”

“Tell me what?” the girl asked. Unnoticed by either of them, she’d approached to within a few meters of where they had been standing, arguing in lowered voices.

Halt rolled his eyes and muttered, “Either you two felt remarkably at ease in enemy territory, or that you learnt nothing from the bandits that attacked less than a week previously.” Before either Will or Horace could defend their past selves, Lady Pauline continued, discretely nudging Halt under the table.

The two boys now looked guiltily at each other. “Uh…Will had this idea, you see…” Horace began, then stopped, looking at Will to see if his friend was going to continue. But, as it turned out, there was no need.

“You’re planning to follow the Wargals,” the girl said flatly, and the two apprentices exchanged looks before Will answered. “You were listening?” he accused her.

She shook her head. “No. It’s the obvious thing to do, isn’t it? This is our chance to find out what they’re up to and why they’re kidnapping the miners.”

For the second time in a few minutes, Will found himself picking up on the use of the plural. “Our chance?” he asked her. “What exactly do you mean by ‘our’ chance?”

“Here we go again.” Will said, leaning back and watching the invisible show.

Evanlyn shrugged. “Obviously, if you two are following them, I’m coming along with you. You’re not leaving me out here on my own in the middle of nowhere.”

“But…” Horace began, and she turned to look calmly at him. “These are Wargals,” he said.

“Dur…what else would they be.” Gilan helpfully pointed out. Horace scowled at the Ranger Commandant but dropped it after realising nothing would wipe the smile off Gilan’s face.

“I had gathered that.” Horace cast a hopeless glance at Will.

The apprentice Ranger shrugged, so Horace tried again. “It’ll be dangerous. And you…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to remind her of her fear of the Wargals, and the reasons for it.

Evanlyn realized his predicament and she smiled wanly at him. “Look, I’m scared of those things,” she said. “But I assume you’re planning to follow them, not join up with them.”

Pauline raised an eyebrow at the Queen, who at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“That was the general idea,” Will said, and she turned her level gaze on him. “Well, with the noise they make, we shouldn’t have to get too close to them,” she told him. “And besides, this might be a chance to spoil whatever plans they have. I think I’d enjoy that.” Will regarded her with a new respect.

“Thank you Will.” Cassandra said drily, but Will just grinned at her, knowing that she knew he knew how much respect he had for her.

She had every reason to fear the Wargals, more than he or Horace. Yet she was willing to put that fear aside in order to strike a blow against Morgarath. “You’re sure?” he said finally, and she shook her head. “No. I’m not sure at all. I feel decidedly queasy at the prospect of getting within earshot of those things again. But equally, I don’t like the idea of being abandoned here on my own.”

“We weren’t abandoning you…” Horace began, and she turned back to him. “Then what would you call it?” she asked him, smiling faintly to take the sting out of her words.

“Ditching? Deserting? Leaving? Dumping?” Gilan added helpfully. He received a kick under the table from Will and Lady Pauline, who's expression never wavered.

He hesitated. “Abandoning you, I guess,” he admitted. “Exactly,” she said. “So, given the choice of running into another group of Wargals, or more bandits, or following some Wargals with you two, I’ll choose the latter.”

“We’re only a day from the border,” Will pointed out to her. “Once you’re across that, you’ll be relatively safe.” But she shook her head decisively. “I feel more secure with you two,” she said.

“Still do.” Casandra said under her breath so only Maddie and Horace could hear.

“Besides, it might be handy for you to have someone else along. It’ll be one more person to keep watch at night. That means you’ll get more sleep.”

“That’s the first sensible reason I’ve heard for her coming along so far,” said Horace. Like Will, he realized that she’d made her mind up. And both boys somehow knew that when Evanlyn did that, there was no way on earth they were going to make her change it.

“Nothing’s changed.” Horace smiled at his wife who raised an eyebrow at him.

She grinned at him. “Well,” she said, “are we going to stand here all day nattering? Those Wargals aren’t getting any closer while we’re doing it.” And, turning on her heel, she led the way to where the horses were tethered.

“Runs in the family.” Will said while rolling her eyes. Only to receive a “Here…here.” From both Gilan and Halt.

Chapter 4: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 18

Summary:

Gilan reads Chapter 18

Lady Pauline passed the book to Gilan who started to read.

Following the Wargals was easier than they expected. The creatures were single-minded, concentrating only on the task in hand, which was to take the Celt miners to their end destination.

They feared no attack in these parts, having already driven the occupants out, so they posted no forward scouts or sweepers.

“Arrogant beasts.” Halt muttered to himself, and Lady Pauline placed her hand on his.

Their constant chanting, ominous as it might sound at first, also served to mask any sounds that might have been made by their pursuers. At night, they simply camped wherever they might find themselves to be. The miners remained chained together and sentries were posted to keep watch over them while the rest of the group slept.

By the beginning of the second day, Will began to have an idea of the direction the Wargals were heading. He had been riding some thirty meters in the lead, relying on Tug to sense any danger ahead. Now he dropped back a little, waiting for Horace and Evanlyn to come level with him.

“We seem to be heading for the Fissure,” he said, more than a little puzzled.

Maddie looked to her mentor, wondering if this was where they discovered the bridge that she had seen the remnants of when hunting Arazan and her wolves. Will didn’t even look her way. His expression seemed guarded, something she only saw when he was trying to hide something.

Already, in the distance, they could make out the high, brooding cliffs that towered over the other side of the massive split in the earth. Celtica itself was a mountainous country, but Morgarath’s domain reared hundreds of meters above it.

Will grimaced internally, well aware of the place Morgarath had called home as he had visited it not too long ago with his apprentice.

“I wouldn’t care to come down those cliffs on ropes and scaling ladders,” Horace said, nodding toward them. “Even if you did, you’d have to find a level space on the other side to cross from,”

Will agreed. “And apparently, there are precious few of them. For the most part, the cliffs go right down to the bottom.”

Halt nodded, remembering the time long ago he had to scale similar cliffs during the first rebellion.

Evanlyn looked from one to the other. “Yet Morgarath has done it once,” she said. “Maybe he’s planning to attack Araluen the same way.” Horace brought his horse to a halt, considering what she’d said. Will and Evanlyn stopped beside him.

He chewed his lip for a few seconds as he thought back over the lessons that Sir Rodney’s instructors had dinned into him.

“It’s nice to know something stuck.” A voice said from the open doorway. Everyone looked up, some in surprise, some with knowing looks covered by deep cowls that had somehow been pulled up without notice.

There stood in the doorway was no other than Sir Rodney and Baron Arald. Horace stood along with his wife and asked, “How did you two…?” He trailed off as Cassandra pocked him in the chest before clarifying, “I asked Sir Rodney and the Baron to meet us here if they ended up having any spare time today.”

The Baron clapped his hands together as Will moved closer to Gilan. “Good thing we didn’t miss it. I had honestly forgotten about these strange books that had sprouted up out of nowhere.”

Horace replied, smiling, “So had we.” Once the two had gotten themselves sat comfortably, the Baron ushered to Gilan who had paused in his reading, “Please continue. It’s just starting to get interesting.”

Cassandra muttered under her breath about something but only Horace and Maddie were close enough to hear. Even if any of the others had noticed the air of complaint in her words, they didn’t show it.

Then he shook his head. “It’s a different situation,” he said finally. “The attack on Celtica was more of a raid than an invasion. He wouldn’t have needed more than five hundred men for that and they could travel light. To attack Araluen, he’ll need an army—and he wouldn’t get an army down those cliffs and across with a few ladders and rope bridges.” Will regarded him with interest.

“Only now Will?” Horace pipped up, smirking with  humour that his friend matched by saying, “Of course, them band-en-wackers can only be so interesting, even you Horace.” Horace tried to sound offended but the affect was ruined by the smile that was creeping back onto his face.

This was a side of Horace that was new to him. Apparently, Horace’s learning curve in the past seven or eight months had gone beyond his mere skill with the sword. “But surely, if he had enough time…?” he began, but Horace shook his head again, more decisively this time. “Men, yes, or Wargals in this case. Given enough time, you could get them down and across. It would take months, but you could manage it. Although the longer it took, the more chance word would get out about what you were doing. But an army needs equipment—heavy weapons, supply wagons, provisions, tents, spare weapons and blacksmith’s equipment to repair them. Horses and oxen to pull the wagons. You’d never get all that down cliffs like those. And even if you did, how would you get it across? It’s just not feasible. Sir Karel used to say that…”

“Not bad for a 2nd year battle school apprentice, eh?” The Baron nudged his battle-master who nodded in Horace’s direction. “He’s gone far that one. One of the best.” Horace meanwhile, was turning slightly pink at the high praise.

He realized the others were regarding him curiously and he flushed. “Didn’t mean to go on and on,” he mumbled, and urged his horse forward again. But as Will followed, he was shaking his head, impressed by his friend’s grasp of the subject.

“Still am.” Will said, eyeing Horace who looked at him with surprise.

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re making good sense.”

“Nice to know that one of you were.” Gilan grinned as the two glared in his direction.

“Which still leaves us the question, what is he up to?” Evanlyn said. Will shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” he said, and urged Tug forward to take up the point position once more.

They found out the following evening. As before, they heard the first hint as to what was taking place: the ring or thud of hammers striking stone or wood. Then there was another noise as they drew closer—a constant but irregular cracking sound.

Will signalled for the others to stop and, dismounting, he proceeded carefully along the last stretch of the road to the final bend. Shrouded in his cloak, and moving carefully from one patch of cover to the next, he moved off the road and cut across country to find a vantage point from which to view the next stretch of road.

The Baron made a note to encourage the scouts - who they had at Redmont - to get some tips from Will in the future.

Almost immediately, he saw the top of the massive wooden structure that was being constructed: four wooden towers, linked by heavy rope cables and a timber framework, reared above the surrounding countryside. His heart sinking, he already knew what he was looking at. But he moved closer to make sure. It was as he feared.

Maddie’s heart was also sinking, for what she suspected was correct. The bridge that Morgarath’s forces had been building all those years ago, was the same one she and Will had passed when tracking Arazan. Meaning she knew how this story was going to end.

An immense wooden bridge was in the final stages of construction. On the far side of the Fissure, Morgarath had discovered one of the few places where a narrow ledge ran, almost level with the Celtic side. The natural ledge had been dug out and widened until there was a sizable piece of level ground there. The four towers stood, two either side of the Fissure, linked by massive rope cables.

Supported by them, a wooden roadway was half completed—capable of taking six men abreast across the dizzying depths of the Fissure. Figures recognizable as Celt prisoners swarmed over the structure, hammering and sawing. The cracking sound was made by the whips used by the Wargal overseers.

Maddie winced, remembering the miner who had died on the road, beaten to death by the Wargals.

Beyond them, the sound of hammers on stone came from the mouth of a tunnel that opened onto the ledge some fifty meters south of the bridge. It was little more than a crack in the cliff face—only a little wider than a man’s shoulders—but as he watched, the Celt prisoners were hard at work at its entrance, gouging at the hard rock, widening and enlarging the small opening.

Will glanced up at the dark cliffs towering on the other side. There was no sign of ropes or ladders leading down to the ledge. The Wargals and their prisoners must access it via the narrow crack in the rock, he reasoned. The party they had been following was crossing the Fissure now.

The final fifteen meters of roadway was yet to be constructed, and only a temporary timber footway was in place. It was barely wide enough for the Celts to cross, tethered in pairs as they were, but the miners of Celtica were used to awkward footing and dizzy drops, and they crossed without incident.

Maddie coughed pointedly, which made Will glance at her. Will knew what this reminded her of, but he would rather not explain to the queen why he had her daughter crossing a tiny bridge that could have possibly led to her death.

 He’d seen enough for the time being, he thought. It was time to get back. He wriggled his way backward into the cover of the broken rocks. Then, bending almost double, he ran back to where the others were waiting. When he reached them, he slumped down, leaning back against the rocks. The tension of the last two days was beginning to tell on him, along with the strain of being in command.

“Now you know how I feel.” Halt murmured quietly to his past apprentice, who gave a small nod in understanding.

He was a little surprised to realize that he was physically exhausted. He had no idea that mental tension could sap a person’s strength so thoroughly.

“Try organising an entire corps of Rangers and you’ll get the idea.” Gilan said sarcastically.

“So what’s going on? Did you see anything?” Horace said. Will looked up at him, wearily. “A bridge,” he told him. “They’re building a huge bridge.” Horace frowned, puzzled by it all. “A bridge?” he repeated. “Why would Morgarath want a bridge?”

Gilan rolled his eyes dramatically, “Why do you think!”  He almost yelled at Horace who glared daggers at the commandant, saying in an equally loud voice, “I was an apprentice. I wasn’t ready to think!”

Will, Maddie and Halt hid their grins.

“It’s a huge bridge, I said. Big enough to bring an army across. Here we’ve been discussing how Morgarath couldn’t move an army and all its equipment down the cliffs and across the Fissure, and all the time, he’s been building a bridge to do just that.”

Evanlyn picked at a loose thread on her jacket.

Maddie looked to her mother who was in the process of doing something similar. “You never really broke that habit, did you?” She asked, and her mother just nodded, her face breaking out into a smile before becoming impassive again.

“That’s why he wanted the Celts,” she said. When both boys looked at her, she elaborated. “They’re expert builders and tunnelers. His Wargals wouldn’t have the skill for an undertaking like this.”

Halt snorted at the thought. “Imagine watching Wargals trying to do anything requiring even a pinch of skill. It would look like a fish trying to breath on land.”

“You know Halt…” But Will stopped upon seeing the glare his mentor was giving him.

“They’re tunnelling too,” Will said. “There’s a narrow crack—sort of a cave mouth—in the far side that they’re widening.”

“Where does it lead to?” Horace asked, and Will shrugged. “I don’t know. It might be important to find out. After all, the plateau on the other side is still hundreds of feet above this point. But there must be some access between the two because there’s no sign of ropes or ladders.”

Horace stood and began to pace back and forth as he considered this new information. His face was screwed up in thought. “I don’t get it,” he said finally. “It’s not that hard to ‘get,’ Horace,” Will told him, with some asperity.

“What does asperity mean?” Maddie asked. She immediately looked to Lady Pauline who answered, “It means Will answered in a harsh manner. Similar to if he sharply or roughly replied.”

“There’s a barking great bridge being built over the Fissure—big enough for Morgarath and all his Wargals and their supply wagons and their blacksmiths and their oxen and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all to come waltzing over.” Horace waited until Will had finished his tirade. He was outwardly calm, but Evanlyn could see a slight flush of anger on his face.

“Sorry,” Will said a little apologetically. Horace waved it aside, knowing that what would come of his friend after the even would be far, far worse than any argument they had. He also knew that the stress of being in command for the first time would have taken its toll, just like the book mentioned previously.

He let the awkward silence stretch between them for some time, then said, in a deceptively quiet voice: “You’re quite finished, are you?”

Will shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, realizing that he might have gone too far. “Well…yes,” he said, making a vaguely apologetic gesture for Horace to continue.

“What I don’t get…” Horace said, enunciating very carefully and with heavy emphasis, “is why it was never mentioned in those plans you captured.”

Evanlyn looked up curiously. “Plans?” she said. “What plans?” But Will gestured for her to wait for an explanation.

“Smart lad.” Sir Rodney commented. Gilan said, “We’ll make a Ranger out of you yet, Horace.” The knight in question made a face and Will pretended to look vaguely hurt.

He realized that Horace had made a vital point, and the sarcastic response he had been planning was instantly dispelled. “You’re right,” he said softly. “The plans never mentioned a bridge across the Fissure.”

“And it’s not as if it’s a small undertaking. You’d think it would be in there somewhere,” Horace said. Will nodded agreement. Evanlyn, her curiosity thoroughly piqued by now, repeated her question. “What are these plans you keep talking about?” Horace took pity on her.

“Thanks Horace.” Cassandra said in a neutral tone. Horace, unsure of how to respond replied, “Your welcome?” Maddie was trying her best to hide her grin.

“Will and Halt—his Craftmaster—captured a copy of Morgarath’s battle plans a couple of weeks ago. There was a lot of detail about how his forces are going to break out of the Mountains via Three Step Pass. There was even the date on which they were going to do it and how Skandian mercenaries were going to help them. Only there was no mention of this bridge.”

“Good memory.” This time the Baron said. Gilan looked over the  book for a second and raised an eyebrow at Horace, as if to say There you go. Horace pointedly ignored him.

“Why not?” Evanlyn asked. But Will was beginning to see what Morgarath had in mind, and his horror was growing by the second.

“Unless,” he said, “Morgarath wanted us to capture those plans.”

“Wait what?” Maddie said, looking for anyone to explain. No one did, so she just resigned herself to keep listening.

“That’s crazy,” Horace said instantly. “After all, one of his men died as a result.”

Will met his gaze evenly. “Would that stop Morgarath? He doesn’t care about other people’s lives. Let’s think it through. Halt has a saying: When you can’t see the reason for something, look for the possible result—and ask yourself who might benefit from it.”

Maddie nodded herself, as Will had told her the same thing whenever they talked about tactics or politics.

“So,” said Evanlyn, “what’s the result of your finding those plans?”

“King Duncan has moved the army to the Plains of Uthal to block Three Step Pass,” said Horace promptly. Evanlyn nodded and continued with the second part of the equation. “And who might benefit from that?” Will looked up at her. He could see she’d reached the same conclusion he had, and at the same time.

“Huh.” Will said while looking over to his friend Cassandra, “That’s new news to me.” When he didn’t elaborate, Lady Pauline translated, “I think Will is trying to say that the fact that he and Cassandra came to the same conclusion at the same time was new to him.” Cassandra gave the women a thankful look while Will rolled his eyes in astonishment. “I’m not that hard to understand.” He tried to convince everyone, but it didn’t really work.

He just ended up looking for Halt for support, but his entire thought died as he saw the way his mentor’s eyebrow was raised at him. He grumbled to himself, “Fair enough.”

Gilan finally got back to reading.

Very slowly, he said: “Morgarath. If those plans were false.” Evanlyn nodded agreement. Horace was not quite so quick to see the point. “False? What do you mean?”

“False, as in fake, untrue. Come one Horace keep up.” Horace tried to swat his friend by leaning over the table, but it only caused him to trip and almost end up on the floor. As Will was trying his best not to laugh, Halt swatted him and told Horace, “There, I got him for you.” Horace nodded his thanks as he got off the floor and re-seated himself.

“I mean,” said Will, “Morgarath wanted us to find those plans. He wanted the Araluen army assembled at the Plains of Uthal—the whole army. Because Three Step Pass isn’t where the real attack will come from. The real attack will come from here—a surprise attack from behind. And our army will be trapped. And then destroyed.” Horace’s eyes widened in horror. He could envisage the result of a massive attack from the rear.

There was silence. Everyone at the table knew one way or another what a surprise assault from behind would look like, it would no longer be a battle, but a massacre. Halt, and partially Gilan, had led one himself when defeating Morgarath at Hack Ham Heath.

The Araluens would be caught between the Skandians and Wargals in front of them and another army of Wargals in their rear. It was a recipe for disaster—the kind of disaster every general feared. “Then we’ve got to tell them,” he said. “Right away.”

Maddie nodded along in agreement.

Will nodded. “We’ve got to tell them. But there’s one more thing I want to see. That tunnel they’re digging. We don’t know if it’s finished, or half finished, or where it goes. I want to take a look at it tonight.”

But Horace was shaking his head before he even finished. “Will, we’ve got to go now,” he said. “We can’t hang around here just to satisfy your curiosity.”

Maddie frowned at her mentor’s actions, unsure on whether she should be supporting her father, the one apparently making the logical conclusions, or her mentor, who had a knack for saving the entire country even as an apprentice.

It was Evanlyn who solved the argument. “You’re right, Horace,” she said. “The King must know about this as soon as possible. But we have to be sure that we’re not taking him another red herring. The tunnel Will’s talking about could be weeks away from completion. Or it could lead to a dead end. This whole thing could be yet another ruse to convince the army to divert forces to protect their rear. We have to find out as much as possible. If that means waiting a few more hours, then I say we wait.”

Will glanced at the girl curiously. She certainly seemed to have a better grasp of strategy than one would expect from a lady’s maid. And there was an unmistakable air of authority about her as well. He decided that Gilan’s theory was correct.

Cassandra winced. “I really wasn’t the best at maintaining that ruse, was I?” Will shook his head slightly and Gilan explained, “To anyone else it might have been plausible, but I guess since we are Rangers, we have our own way of knowing.”

“And being reacted to.” Will added in, remembering how it was the girl’s stranger response to Rangers that first alerted them to her secret identity.

“It’ll be dark in an hour, Horace. We’ll go across tonight and take a closer look.” Horace looked from one of his companions to the other. He wasn’t happy. His instinct was to ride now, as fast as he could, and spread the word of this bridge. But he was outvoted.

And he still believed Will’s powers of deduction were better than his own. He was trained for action, not this sort of tortuous thinking. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be convinced.

Horace thanked his past self for putting his trust in Will’s judgment. If they had left without the knowledge of when the bridge would be complete, the outcome of the war could have been completely different.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll look tonight. But tomorrow, we leave.” Wrapped in his cloak and moving carefully, Will returned to his former vantage point. He studied the bridge carefully, thinking that Halt would expect him to be able to draw an accurate plan of the structure.

The man in question didn’t move an inch. Maddie looked expectantly to all the other people around the table and noticed that they all had an air of tension and anticipation around them. Especially Will, Halt and her mother. She frowned, unsure about what all the tension was about. She figured, it must have something to do with the burning of the bridge and the treaty made with the Skandians, as she was aware those events happened about a year apart.

He hadn’t been in position for more than ten minutes when a horn blast rang out. He froze, terrified. For a moment, he thought it was an alarm and that an alert sentry had spotted him moving among the rocks.

“Will, they wouldn’t have blasted a horn if they saw you.” Gilan pointed out. “I know I know.” Will sighed heavily, his mood becoming completely gloomy and grim.

Then he heard more cracking of whips and the grunting cries of the Wargals and, as he raised his head, he saw that they were driving the Celts off the bridge and back toward the half-finished tunnel.

The prisoners, as they went, downed their tools in stacks. Wargals began re-shackling them to a central leash. Glancing up to the west, Will saw the last curve of the sun dropping behind the hills and he realized that the horn had simply been sounding the end of the working day. Now the prisoners were being returned to wherever it was that they were kept.

There was one brief altercation, a few meters from the tunnel mouth, as two of the Celt prisoners stopped to try to lift a prone figure that lay there. Angrily, the Wargal guards surged forward, beating the miners away with their whips and forcing them to leave the still figure where it lay. Then, one after the other, they filed through the narrow entrance of the tunnel and disappeared.

Maddie sharply in took, very aware the last time this had happened, her parents and mentor had almost been caught.

The shadows of the huge bridge lengthened across the hillside. Will remained unmoving for another ten minutes, waiting to see if any Wargals re-emerged from the tunnel. But there was no sound, no sign of anyone returning. Only the still form lying by the tunnel mouth remained.

In the rapidly worsening light, Will couldn’t make it out clearly. It looked like the body of a miner. But he couldn’t be sure. Then the figure moved and he realized that, whoever it was, he was still alive.

“Here we go...” Will muttered.

Chapter 5: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 19

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 19

Notes:

Hi. I got a lot of chapters done on the weekend, so I'm probably going to upload once a day for the next week. I don't know about next week, hopefully it will be consistent.

Gilan passed the book to Horace.

Treading carefully, Will and Horace made their way across the narrow plank path that bridged the last fifteen meters of the Fissure. Will, with his excellent head for heights, could have run lightly across it without a problem. But he went slowly out of regard for his bigger, less nimble friend.

“He’s not wrong.” Horace said while looking up from the book. Will just replied knowingly, “You have your own strengths.”

When they finally made it to the finished roadway, Horace heaved a sigh of relief. Now they took a moment to examine the structure.

It was built with all the thoroughness that Celts were famous for. As a nation, they’d developed the art of tunnelling and bridging over the centuries and this was a typical sturdy structure. The smell of fresh-sawn pine planking filled the cold night air, and overlaid on that, there was another sweetish, aromatic smell.

Maddie wrinkled her nose at the thought of it, having recognised what was on the bridge by the description of the smell.

They looked at each other, puzzled, for a moment. Then Horace recognized it. “Tar,” he said, and they looked around to see that the massive rope cables and support ropes were thick with the stuff. Will touched a hand on one and it came away sticky.

Halt rolled his eyes at his apprentice’s foolishness when touching maybe dangerous substances.

“I guess it prevents the ropes from fraying and rotting,” he said carefully, noticing that the main cables were constructed of three heavy ropes twisted and plaited together, then thickly coated with the tar to protect them. Also, as the tar hardened, it would bind the three together more permanently.

Horace glanced around. “No guards?” he commented. There was a disapproving note in his voice.

Arald nodded at the past apprentice, glad that he understood the need for guards even with the little training he had.

“They’re either very confident or very careless,” Will agreed. It was full night now and the moon was yet to rise.

Will moved toward the eastern bank of the Fissure. Loosening his sword in its scabbard, Horace followed him. The figure by the tunnel mouth lay as Will had last seen it. There had been no further sign of movement.

Maddie leaned forward in anticipation.

The two boys approached him carefully now and knelt beside him—for now they could see that it was a Celt miner. His chest rose and fell—barely moving. “He’s still alive,” Will whispered. “Only just,” Horace replied. He placed his forefinger to the Celt’s neck to gauge the pulse there.

At the touch, the man’s eyes slowly opened and he gazed up at the two of them, uncomprehending. “Who…you?” he managed to croak. Will unslung the water bottle from his shoulder and moistened the man’s lips with a little of the liquid. The tongue moved greedily across the wetness and the man croaked again, trying to rise on one elbow.

Maddie felt sorry for the man, even though his happened over 20 years ago. It would be horrible being kidnapped by people and forced to work as a slave in such monstrous conditions.

“More.” Gently, Will stopped him from moving, and gave him a little more water. “Rest easy, friend,” he said softly. “We’re not going to harm you.” It was obvious that somebody had done him harm—and plenty of it. His face was matted with the dried blood that had welled from a dozen whip cuts. His leather jerkin was shredded and torn, and his bare torso underneath showed signs of more whipping—recent and from long ago.

Maddie’s pity towards the Celtic minder just morphed into sadness at his physical condition.

“Who are you?” Will asked softly.

“Glendyss,” the man sighed, seeming to wonder at the sound of his own name. Then he coughed, a racking, rattling cough that shook his chest. Will and Horace exchanged sad glances. Glendyss didn’t have long, they both realized.

“When did you come here?” Will asked the man, gently allowing more water to trickle through the dried, cracked lips.

“Months…” Glendyss replied in a voice they could barely hear. “Months and months I’ve been here…working on the tunnel.”

Maddie frowned, I though the miners were only recently being kidnapped?

Again, the two boys looked at one another. Maybe the man’s mind was wandering. “Months?” Will pressed him. “But the Wargal attacks only started a month ago, surely?” But Glendyss was shaking his head. He tried to speak, coughed and subsided, gathering his fading strength. Then he spoke, so softly that Will and Horace had to lean close to hear him.

“They took us almost a year ago…from all over. Secretly…a man here, two men there…fifty of us in all. Most of the others…dead…by now. Me soon.” He stopped, gasping for breath again. The effort of speaking was almost too much for him.

Will and Horace looked at each other, puzzling over this new information. “How was it that nobody knew this was happening?” Horace asked his friend. “I mean, fifty people go missing and nobody says anything?” But Will shook his head.

“He said they took them from villages all over Celtica. So one or two men go missing—people might talk about it locally, but nobody could see the entire picture.”

“Still,” said Horace, “why do it? And why are they so open about it now?” Will shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get an idea on that if we take a look around,” he said. They hesitated uncertainly, not sure what they could do for the crumpled, battered form beside them. As they waited, the moon rose, soaring over the hills and flooding the bridge and the bank with soft, pale light. It touched on Glendyss’s face and his eyes opened. Then he tried weakly to raise an arm to ward off the light.

Gently, Will leaned forward to shield him. “I’m dying,” said the miner, with a sudden clarity and a sense of peace. Will hesitated, then answered simply. “Yes.” It would have been no kindness to lie to him, to try to cheer him along and protest that he would be all right. He was dying and they all knew it. Better to let him prepare, to let him face death with dignity and calm.

Maddie leaned sideways on her mother, trying to get physically closer to her father who was reading. Far more intrigued in this story than any other she had ever read.

The hand clutched feebly at Will’s sleeve and he took it in his own, pressing it gently, letting the Celt feel the contact with another person. “Don’t let me die out here in the light.” Again, Horace and Will exchanged glances. “I want the peace of the Out of Light,” he continued softly, and Will suddenly understood.  

“I guess Celts like the darkness. They spend most of their lives in tunnels and mines, after all. Maybe that’s what he wants.”

Horace leaned forward. “Glendyss?” he said. “Do you want us to carry you into the tunnel?” The miner’s head had swivelled to Horace as the boy spoke. Now he nodded, faintly. Just enough for them to make out the action.

“Please,” he whispered. “Take me to the Out of Light.”

“How could they spend their entire lives I those stuffy cave systems?” Maddie wondered out loud. She saw a few people shrug, but Will just said, “They’re just built different from us I suppose.” He got a few nodding heads in return.

Horace nodded to him, then slipped his arms under the Celt’s shoulders and knees to lift him. Glendyss was small-boned and the weeks he had spent in captivity had obviously been a time of starvation for him. He was an easy burden for Horace to lift. As the warrior apprentice stood straight with Glendyss cradled in his arms, Will motioned for him to wait.

He sensed that once Glendyss was in the peace of the dark tunnel, he would let go of the faint thread that held him to life. And there was still one more question Will needed answered. “Glendyss,” he said softly. “How long do we have?”

The miner looked at him wearily, uncomprehending. Will tried again. “How long before they finish the bridge?” he asked. This time, he could see a light of understanding in the Celt’s eyes.

Glendyss thought for a second or two. “Five days,” he replied. “Maybe four. More workers came today…so maybe four.” Then his eyes closed, as if the effort had been too much. For a second, they thought he had died. But then his chest heaved with a massive shudder and he continued to breathe.

“Let’s get him into the tunnel,” Will said.

They squeezed through the narrow opening. For the first ten meters, the walls of the tunnel were close enough to touch. Then they began to widen, as the results of the Celts’ labour became evident. It was a dark, confined place, lit only by the dim flames of torches set in brackets every ten to twelve meters.

“I’m surprise they don’t trip over.” Maddie commented. Lady Pauline suggested, “Perhaps spending so much time in the mines gets them use to moving around places with minimal lighting and space.” Maddie’s cheeks heated up slightly, conscious that the inference made was a pretty simple one she had looked over completely.

Some of these were guttering now, and provided only a fitful, uncertain light. Horace looked around uneasily. He didn’t like heights and he definitely didn’t like confined spaces.

“You’re not the only one.” Gilan said, less than pleased about the fact that as commandant, he spent may too much time in doors doing outrageous amounts of paperwork.

“Here’s the answer,” Will said. “Morgarath needed those first fifty miners to do this work. Now that the tunnel is nearly finished, he needs more men to get the bridge built as quickly as possible.”

Horace nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed. “The tunnelling would take months, but nobody would see it was going on. Once they started building the bridge, the risk of discovery would be much higher.”

In the wider reaches of the tunnel, they found a small sandy patch, almost a grotto, off to one side. They laid Glendyss in it. Will realized that this must have been what the two Celts had been trying to do for their countryman when the stop-work horn had sounded. He hesitated. “I wonder what the Wargals will think when they find him here tomorrow?” Horace merely shrugged.

“Maybe they’ll think he crawled in here by himself,” he suggested. Will thought about it doubtfully. But then he looked at the peaceful expression on the dying miner’s face in the gloomy light and he couldn’t bring himself to take the man back outside once more. “Just put him a little farther in, as far out of sight as you can,” he said.

There was a small elbow of rock and Horace gently placed the miner behind it. He was now visible only if you looked carefully and Will decided that was good enough. Horace stepped back into the main tunnel. Will noticed that he was still glancing uneasily around. “What do we do now?” Horace asked.

Will came to a decision. “You can wait here for me,” he said. “I’m going to see where this leads.” Horace didn’t argue. The thought of going farther into that dark, winding tunnel didn’t appeal to him at all. He found a place to sit, close to one of the brighter torches.

“Just make sure you come back,” he said. “I don’t want to have to come looking for you.”

“Why didn’t Horace get interrupted nearly as often as anyone else?” Gilan complained to the group. No one bothered to answer them as Horace passed the book onto his wife.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 6: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 20

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 20.

Cassandra began reading.

The tunnel, level at first, began to angel steeply upward as Will went on, leaving Horace behind him. The walls and floor showed evidence of the Celts’ picks and drills as they had torn and gouged at the rock to widen the path. Will guessed that the original narrow tunnel had been nothing more than a natural fault in the rock—a mere crevice.

But as he went on, he saw how much it had been widened, until there was room for four or five men to walk abreast. And still it climbed up into the heart of the mountains.

“Is that cavern still there?” Asked Baron Arald curiously. Everyone looked to Will who just shrugged, “We didn’t see it, although I’m pretty sure it is still there unless it somehow caved in.”

A circle of light showed the end of the tunnel. He estimated that he’d travelled maybe three hundred meters in total and the end was another forty away. The light that he could see seemed to be stronger than simple moonlight and, as he carefully emerged from the tunnel, he saw why. Here, the hills separated, forming a large valley about two hundred meters across and half a kilometre long.

“That’s inside of the mountain?” Maddie exclaimed. Will nodded, though that wasn’t strictly accurate.

To one side, the moonlight showed him massive wooden structures leading up to the higher reaches of the plateau. Staircases, he realized after a few moments’ study. The floor of the valley was lit with campfires and there were hundreds of figures moving in the flickering orange light. Will guessed that this would be the assembly area for Morgarath’s army. At the moment, it was where the Wargals kept their Celt prisoners at night.

He paused, trying to form a picture of the overall situation. The plateau that formed the greater part of Morgarath’s domain was still at least fifty meters above this point. But the staircases and the less formidable slope of the surrounding hills would provide relatively easy access down to this valley. The valley itself must be some thirty meters above the level where the bridge stood. The sloping tunnel would take troops down to the bridge from here.

Once again, Halt’s words echoed in his ear: nowhere is really impassable. He moved to the left of the tunnel mouth and found cover in a jumble of rocks and boulders while he took stock of the situation.

Halt didn’t say anything, but he was glad at least some of his lessons were getting through to his young apprentice. He himself had scaled a quote unquote impassable cliff face before, and he was sure Will, with his excellent climbing skills, could do it himself.

There was a rough stockade in the centre of the valley. Inside the wooden fencing, he could see a large number of small fires, each with a group of figures seated or sprawled around it. This was the prisoners’ compound, he guessed. Large fires outside the compound marked the places where the Wargals were camped. He could see the hulking, shambling forms clearly against the firelight as they moved around. Yet there was one fire close to him that seemed different.

“How can a fire seem different?” Sir Rodney asked. Which in itself was a pretty good question that no one seemed able or willing to answer.

The figures seemed more upright, more humanoid in the way they stood and carried themselves. Curiously, he worked his way closer to it, sliding through the night with barely a sound, moving quickly from one patch of cover to the next, until he was just at the outer ring of light thrown by the fire—a spot where he knew the darkness, by contrast, would seem more intense to those sitting around the fire.

Gilan smiled to himself, as he was sure he was the one who taught Will that trick as an apprentice.

There was a haunch of some kind of meat roasting slowly over the fire and the smell of it set his mouth watering. He’d been traveling for days on cold rations and the meat filled the air with a delicious fragrance. He felt his stomach begin to rumble and fear stabbed through him. It would be unthinkably bad luck to be betrayed by a rumbling stomach, he thought.

“That would have been bad.” Maddie commented looking at her mentor. Will – knowing all he unfortunate times she had been caught out in unseen movement mostly because of some...peculiar circumstances – made a note to remind Maddie to eat before completing her next unseen movement test.

The fear did the trick, killing his appetite. His digestion more or less under control, he edged his face around a boulder, low to the ground, to get a better look at the figures eating by the fire.

As he did so, one of them leaned forward to slice off a chunk of the meat, juggling the hot, greasy food in his hand as he took it. The movement let the firelight shine clearly on him and Will could see that these were not Wargals. From their rough sheepskin vests, woollen leggings bound with tapes and heavy seal-fur boots, he recognized them as Skandians.

“This was before the treaty with the Skandians right?” Maddie asked. Her mother nodded, “Morgarath had paid the Skandians back then they were mercenaries and weapons for hire. They were an integral part of his army.”

Further study showed him their horned helmets, round wooden shields and battle-axes piled to one side of the campsite. He wondered what they were doing here, so far from the ocean. The man who had moved finished his meat and wiped his hands on his sheepskin vest.

He belched, then settled himself in a more comfortable spot by the fire. “Be damned glad when Olvak’s men get here,” he said in the thick, almost indecipherable accent of Skandia. Will knew that Skandians spoke the same tongue as the kingdom. Hearing it now for the first time, though, he barely recognized it. The other sea wolves growled their agreement.

Maddie frowned, remembering the crew of the Heron who she had met a few years ago. Their accents hadn’t been too hard to understand, or at least not nearly as bad as the book described them to be.

There were four of them around the fire. Will edged forward a little to hear them more clearly, then froze, horrified, as he saw the unmistakable shambling form of a Wargal moving directly toward him from the other side of the fire. The Skandians heard him coming and looked up warily. With an immense feeling of relief, Will realized that the creature was not coming toward him but was approaching the Skandians’ fire.

The atmosphere around the room was tense. Will was the only one who was there, and he didn’t give anything away in his neutral expression as always.

“Ullo,” said one of the Skandians in a low voice. “’Ere comes one of Morgarath’s beauties.” The Wargal had stopped on the far side of the fire. He grunted something unintelligible at the group of sea raiders.

The one who had just spoken shrugged. “Sorry, handsome. Didn’t catch that,” he said. There was an obvious note of hostility in his voice.

“I would have thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to anger a Wargal, especially when your surrounded by them.” The Baron commented drily, and everyone around the table mutually agreed,

The Wargal seemed to sense it. He repeated his statement, growing angry now. Again, the circle of Skandian warriors shrugged at him. The Wargal grunted again, growing angrier by the minute. He gestured at the meat hanging over the fire, then at himself. He shouted at the Skandians now, making eating gestures. “Ugly brute wants our venison,” said one of the Skandians. There was a low growl of dissent from the group.

“Let him catch his own,” said the first man. The Wargal stepped inside the circle now. He had stopped shouting. He simply pointed to the meat, then turned his red, glaring eyes on the speaker.

Maddie felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms rise at the mention of those eyes. She was sure that those eyes would be the source of her nightmares for years to come.

Somehow, the silence was more menacing than his shouting had been. “Careful, Erak,” warned one of the Skandians, “we’re outnumbered here at the moment.”

Erak scowled at the Wargal for a second, then seemed to realize the wisdom of his friend’s advice. He gestured angrily at the meat. “Go on then. Take it,” he said curtly.

Erak Maddie thought idly, why did that name sound so familiar?

The Wargal stepped forward and snatched the wooden spit from the fire, taking a huge bite at the meat and tearing a large chunk loose. Even from where he was lying, scarcely daring to breathe, Will could see the ugly light of triumph in the red, animal eyes.

Then the Wargal turned abruptly and bounded out of the circle, forcing several of the Skandians to move hurriedly aside to avoid being trampled on. They heard his guttural laugh as he faded into the darkness. “Damn things give me the heebies,” muttered Erak. “Don’t know why we have to have anything to do with them.”

“Cause Horth don’t trust Morgarath,” one of the others told him. “If we’re not along, these damn bear-men will keep all the plunder for themselves and all we’ll get is the hard fighting at the Plains of Uthal.”

“And hard marching too,” put in another. “Wouldn’t be any fun with Horth’s men either, working their way around Thorntree Forest to take the enemy in the rear. That’s rough going, all right.” Will frowned as he heard that. Obviously, Morgarath and Horth, who, Will assumed, was a Skandian war leader, were planning another treacherous surprise for the kingdom’s forces.

He tried to picture a map of the countryside around the Plains of Uthal, but his memory was sketchy. He wished he’d paid more attention to the geography lessons Halt had taught him.

Halt snorted rather loudly.

Lady Pauline said, “Halt don’t snort, you’re not Abelard.” But she herself had her hand over her mouth, covering up a small grin.

Maddie had to stop herself from giggling, as she knew that for most Ranger Apprentices, geography had been one of the most annoying subjects, but thankfully she had already been learning much about it from the royal tutor before she even began her apprenticeship. It was hilarious to picture Will, her mentor, struggling with a subject that he had found so ‘unimportant.’

“Why is geography so important?” he remembered asking his teacher.

“Because maps are important if you want to know where your enemy is and where he’s going,” had been the reply. Glumly, Will realized now how right he had been. Halt had shaken his head at him then, in that mock serious way he had.

Halt put in drily, “Will, do you really think I’m so mock serious?” Will in the exact same tone replied, “The most mock serious person I have ever known.”

Suddenly, thinking of his wise and capable teacher, Will felt very lonely and more than a little out of his depth. “Anyway,” Erak was saying, “things’ll be different when Olvak’s men get here. Although they seem to be taking their damned time about it.”

Halt felt a twinge of guilt as he heard what his apprentice had thought at the time, as he had been the one to suggest Will go along with this mission. It was technically his fault what happened to Will in Skandia, but he had long stopped blaming himself for the outcome. At least mostly.

“Relax,” said the other speaker. “It’ll take a few days to get five hundred men up them South Cliffs. Think how long it took us.”

“Yeah,” said another. “But we were blazing a trail. All they ’ave to do is follow it.”

“Well, they can’t get ’ere too soon for me,” said Erak, rising and stretching. “I’m for sleep, lads, just as soon as I’ve done the necessaries.”

“Well, don’t do ’em ’ere by the fire,” said one of the others irritably. “Go up behind them rocks there.” Horrified, Will realized that the Skandian had gestured toward the rocks where he was hiding. And now Erak, laughing at the other man, was turning and heading his way. It was definitely time to go.

Maddie released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding once past Will started to head back out to meet up with her father. The events of the story happened so long ago, but the way the author has written it made her believe it was happening right at this second in front of her.

He scuttled backward a few meters, then, crawling rapidly on his stomach, used all his training and natural skill to blend with the available cover. He’d gone perhaps twenty meters when he heard a splashing sound from the spot where he’d been eavesdropping.

Then he heard a contented sigh and, looking back, saw the shaggy-haired form of Erak silhouetted against the glow of the hundred or so campfires in the valley.

Realizing that the Skandian was intent on what he was doing, Will slipped through the darkness and back into the tunnel. He went carefully for the first few meters, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light of the torches. Then he began to run, his soft hide boots making barely a noise on the sandy floor.

“I can’t believe you never told me Erak almost pissed on you.” Horace brought up. Will raised an eyebrow at his friend, “Sorry, but it wasn’t the first thing I needed you to know from that experience.”

Chapter 7: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 21

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 21

Horace passed the book to Maddie and she began reading.

He had found Horace waiting for him, his hand ready on his sword hilt, where he had left him in the tunnel.

“Did you really think you wouldn’t have been able to hear if I had been captured or was running for my life?” Will asked his friend. The knight just shrugged, as he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing either. Only that he knew that if danger did rear its’s ugly head, he would much rather have his sword ready to meet it. “I figured I’d be prepared encase you brought back unwelcome visitors.”

“Did you find out anything?” the apprentice warrior whispered hoarsely. Will let go a pent-up breath, realizing that he’d been holding it for some time now.

“Plenty,” he said. “All of it bad.” He held up a hand to forestall Horace’s further questions. “Let’s get back across the bridge,” he said. “I’ll tell you then.”

Halt looked over at his apprentice in surprise. “So, you pelter me with your questions and refuse to answer Horace’s? How many of us are affected by Will’s timing of questions?” Practically everyone in the group raised their hand in unison expect for Will himself. After a moment, even he put up his hand in defeat.

He glanced into the side tunnel where they had left the Celt miner. “Have you heard anything more from Glendyss?” he asked.

Horace shrugged sadly. “He started moaning about an hour ago. Then he went quiet. I think he’s dead. At least he died the way he wanted to,” he said, then he followed Will back through the dimly lit tunnel to the bridge. They made their way across the planking again, to where Evanlyn waited with the horses, well back from the bridge and out of sight.

When they were close, Will called her name softly, so as to avoid startling her. Horace had left his dagger with Evanlyn and Will thought an armed Evanlyn would not be a person to approach unexpectedly.

Cassandra smirked while Horace nodded in agreement.

As he described the scene at the other end of the tunnel, he hastily scratched a map in the sand for them. “Somehow, we’re going to have to find a way to delay Morgarath’s forces,” he said. The other two looked at him curiously. Delay them? How could two apprentices and a girl delay five hundred Skandians and several thousand relentless Wargals?

“Wit, charm and talent?” Gilan offered helpfully. Everyone ignored him leaving the Ranger Commandant crestfallen.

“I thought you said we should get word to the King,” Evanlyn said. “We don’t have time anymore,”

Will said simply. “Look.” They leaned forward as he smoothed over the diagram he had drawn in the sand and hastily sketched out a new one. He wasn’t sure that it was totally accurate, but at least it included the most important features of the kingdom, as well as the Southern Plateau, where Morgarath ruled.

“At least you were paying some amount of attention.” Halt muttered under his breath, just loud enough so Will could hear.

“They said they have more Skandians coming up the cliffs on the south coast—to join with the Wargals we’ve already seen. They’ll cross the Fissure here, where we are, and move north to attack the barons in the rear, while they wait for Morgarath to try to break out of Three Step Pass.”

Maddie tried to see a map of Araluen in her mind as past Will described Morgarath’s plan.

“Yes,” said Horace. “We know that. We guessed it as soon as we saw the bridge.” Will looked up at him and Horace fell silent. He realized the Ranger apprentice had something else to say.

“But,” said Will, emphasizing the word and pausing for a moment, “I also heard them saying something about Horth and his men marching around Thorntree Forest. That’s up here to the north of the Plains of Uthal.”

Evanlyn grasped the point immediately. “Which would bring the Skandians northwest of the King’s army. They’d be trapped between the Wargals and Skandians who have crossed the bridge and the other force from the north.”

Maddie gave a slight whistle, which made Halt glare at her automictically, and she pointed ignored. A manoeuvre like that would decimate any force if taken by surprise like what had described in the book.

“Exactly,” said Will, meeting her gaze. They could both appreciate how dangerous that situation would be for the assembled barons. Expecting a Skandian attack through the fenlands, to the east, they’d be taken by surprise from not one, but two different directions, caught between the arms of a pincer and crushed.

“Then we’d better warn the King, surely!” insisted Horace.

“Horace,” said Will patiently. “It would take us four days to reach the Plains.”

Maddie finally realised why the books title was so important.

“Even more reason to get going. We haven’t a moment to waste!” said the young warrior.

“And then,” put in Evanlyn, seeing Will’s point, “it would take at least another four days for any sort of force to get back here and hold the bridge. Maybe more.”

She looked at everyone else who once again had extremely neutral expressions. A sinking feeling had begun to develop in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s eight days all told,” said Will. “Remember what that poor miner said? The bridge will be ready in four days’ time. The Wargals and Skandians will have had plenty of time to cross the Fissure, assemble in battle formation and attack the King’s army.”

She shook her head as she started putting two and two together and coming up with  four.

“But…” Horace began, and Will interrupted him. “Horace, even if we get warning to the King and the barons, they’ll be badly outnumbered and they’ll be caught between two forces—with no way to retreat. The swamps of the fenlands will be behind them. Now, I know we have to get a warning to them. But we can also do something here to even the numbers.”

“Plus,” Evanlyn put in, and Horace turned to face her, “if we can do something to stop the Wargals and Skandians from crossing here, the King will have the advantage over this northern force of Skandians.”

Horace nodded. “They won’t be outnumbered, I guess,” he said. Evanlyn nodded, but then added, “That’s part of it. But those Skandians will be expecting reinforcements to attack the King from the rear— reinforcements that will never arrive.”

Understanding dawned in Horace’s eyes. He nodded slowly, several times. Then the frown returned. “But what can we do to stop the Wargals here?” he asked. Will and Evanlyn exchanged a glance. He could see they’d come to the same conclusion. They both spoke at the same time.

“Burn the bridge,” they said.

“The Burning Bridge…” Maddie said as she gave the book to Baron Arald.

Chapter 8: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 22

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 22.

The Baron looked through the first few pages before reaching over and handing the book to Will, saying “I’m not sure if there’s any confidential information in here I shouldn’t see.” Will received the book and started to skim the first page before handing it back to the Baron. “We trust you, and everyone in this room can be trusted, so I think it’s fine.”

Blaze’s head hung low as she tottered slowly into the outskirts of the King’s camp on the Plains of Uthal. Gilan swayed wearily in the saddle. They had barely slept in the past three days, snatching only brief rests once every four hours. Two guards stepped forward to query his progress and the young Ranger fumbled inside his shirt for the silver amulet in the form of an oak leaf—the Rangers’ badge of office.

All the Ranger’s present immediately touched their own oak leaves, whether they were bronze, silver or gold.

At the sight of it, the guards stepped back hurriedly to clear the way. In times like these, nobody delayed a Ranger—not if he knew what was good for him.

Gilan rubbed his gritty eyes. “Where is the War Council tent?” One of the guards pointed with his spear to a larger-than-normal tent, set up on a knoll overlooking the rest of the camp.

There were more guards there, and a large number of people coming and going, as one would expect at the nerve centre of an army. “There, sir. On that small rise.”

Gilan nodded. He’d come so far, so fast, finishing the four-day journey in just over three. Now these few hundred meters seemed like miles to him. He leaned forward and whispered in Blaze’s ear. “Not much farther, my friend. One more effort, please.”

Baron Arald and Sir Rodney looked to Gilan in surprise, curious knowing that Halt and maybe even Will talked to their horses. They presumed that it was just a common habit passed down from mentor to apprentice, but Gilan doing it made them pause.

Obviously Gilan had also been Halt’s apprentice, but he had fled the coup much earlier and had time to find his own habits. The Baron questioned whether all Ranger’s talked to their horses and made a note to ask some other people about it at some point.

The exhausted horse’s ears twitched and her head came up a few inches. At Gilan’s gentle urging, she managed to raise a slow trot and they passed through the camp. Dust drifting on the breeze, the smell of woodsmoke, noise and confusion: the camp was like any army camp anywhere in the world.

Orders being shouted. The clang and rattle of arms being repaired or sharpened. Laughter from tents, where men lay back relaxing with no duties to be performed—until their sergeants found them and discovered jobs for them to be doing.

Sir Rodney gave a sinister smile at that last one. The one thing commanders didn’t like during war was slacking, as that just led to rumours being brought back that war was an easily thing where people could relax and have fun. Not a terrible occurrence that led to much death and destruction like in reality.

Gilan smiled tiredly at the thought. Sergeants seemed to be totally averse to seeing their men having an easy time of it. Blaze came to a halt once more and he realized, with a jerk, that he’d actually nodded off in the saddle. Before him, two more guards barred the way to the War Council compound. He looked at them blearily. “King’s Ranger,” he croaked, through a dry throat. “Message for the Council.” The guards hesitated.

Halt and Will narrowed their eyes dangerously. Gilan was recognisably a King’s Ranger and clearly exhausted. The guards should have at least been competent enough to notice that he had made it this far into the camp meaning he had obviously proven himself to be a Ranger, and the fact that he was tried and practically falling asleep in the saddle obviously meant that he had important news to share and had travelled a long distance to do so.

This dust-covered, half-asleep man, seated on a lathered, exhausted bay horse, might well be a Ranger. He was certainly dressed like a Ranger, as far as they could tell. Yet the guards knew most of the senior Rangers by sight, and they had never seen this young man before. And he showed no sign of identification. What’s more, they noticed, he carried a sword, which was definitely not a Ranger’s weapon, so they were reluctant to admit him to the carefully guarded War Council compound.

Will chuckled saying, “Those guards must be kicking themselves now that you’re the commandant.” Gilan grinned along with him, “I’m just such a unique individual, they just hadn’t gotten use to me yet.”

Irritably, Gilan realized that he had neglected to leave the silver oakleaf device hanging outside his shirt. The effort of finding it again suddenly became intense. He fumbled blindly at his collar. Then a familiar, and very welcome, voice cut through his consciousness. “Gilan! What’s happened? Are you all right?”

Halt subtly looked at his former apprentice and Gilan gave him a smile.

That was the voice that had meant comfort and security to him throughout his years as an apprentice. The voice of courage and capability and wisdom. The voice that knew exactly what action should be taken at any point in time. “Halt,” he murmured, and realized that he was swaying, then falling from the saddle.

A look of surprise flashed across Halt’s face and only Will and Gilan noticed it. Gilan rolled his eyes fondly before shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe Halt didn’t realise what his apprentices - and everyone else around him for that matter - thought of him.

Halt caught him before he hit the ground. He glared at the two sentries, who were standing by, not sure whether to help or not. “Give me a hand!” he ordered and they leapt forward, dropping their spears with a clatter, to support the semiconscious young Ranger. “Let’s get you somewhere to rest,” Halt said. “You’re all in.” But Gilan summoned some last reserves of energy and, pushing clear of the soldiers, steadied himself on his own feet.

“Important news,” he said to Halt. “Must see the Council. There’s something bad going on in Celtica.”

The tension in the room was rising once again. Halt felt a familiar feeling of dread, as he knew how this story ended.

Halt felt a cold hand of premonition clutch his heart. He cast his gaze around, looking back down the path where Gilan had come. Bad news from Celtica. And Gilan apparently alone. “Where’s Will?” he asked quickly. “Is he all right?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortable. Maddie looked to her mentor confused, but he avoided her gaze.

“He’s all right,” Gilan said, and the senior Ranger’s heart lifted just a little. “I came on ahead.” As they had been talking, they had begun to move toward the central pavilion. There were more guards on duty here but they moved out of the way at the sight of Halt.

He was a familiar figure around the War Council. He put out a hand now to steady his former apprentice and they entered the cool shade of the Council pavilion. A group of half a dozen men was clustered around a sand map—a large table with the main features of the Plains and Mountains modelled in sand.

Maddie looked to her mother for the details, but he just raised a hand, clearly conveying the message, wait and see.

They turned now at the sound of the new arrivals and one of them hurried forward, concern written on his face. “Gilan!” he cried. He was a tall man, and his greying hair showed him to be in his late fifties. But he still moved with the speed and grace of an athlete, or a warrior.

Gilan gave that tired smile again. “Morning, Father,” he said, for the tall grey-haired man was none other than Sir David, Battlemaster of Caraway Fief and supreme commander of the King’s army.

The Battlemaster looked quickly to Halt and caught the quick nod of reassurance there. Gilan was all right, he realized, just exhausted. Then, his sense of duty caught up with his fatherly reaction. “Greet your King properly,” he said softly, and Gilan looked up to the group of men, all their attention now focused on him.

He recognized Crowley, the Ranger Corps Commandant, and Baron Arald and two other senior Barons of the realm—Tyler of Drayden and Fergus of Caraway.

Maddie gave her mother a slight nod of thanks, while Will perceived that he needed to reteach some of his lessons in patience.

But the figure in the centre took his attention. A tall blond man in his late thirties, with a short beard and piercing green eyes. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, because Duncan was not a king who let other men do all his fighting for him. He had trained with sword and lance since he was a boy and he was regarded as one of the most capable knights in his own kingdom.

Cassandra smiled about how her father was described. She was glad he got the recognition he deserved from being a hands-on king.

Gilan attempted to sink to one knee. His joints screamed in protest and tried to lock up on him. The pressure of Halt’s hand under his arm was all that stopped him from falling once again. “My lord…” he began apologetically, but Duncan had already stepped forward, seizing his hand to steady him.

Gilan heard Halt’s introduction. “Ranger Gilan, my lord, attached to Meric Fief. With messages from Celtica.” Suddenly, the King was galvanized with interest.

“Celtica?” he repeated, studying Gilan more closely. “What’s happening there?”

The other Council members had moved from the sand map to group around Gilan. Baron Arald spoke: “Gilan was carrying your messages to King Swyddned, my lord,” he said. “Invoking our mutual defence treaty and requesting that Swyddned send troops to join us—”

“They won’t be coming,” Gilan interrupted. He realized he had to tell the King his news before he collapsed from exhaustion. “Morgarath has them bottled up on the southwest peninsula.” There was a stunned silence in the Council tent.

Finally, it was Gilan’s father who broke it. “Morgarath?” he said, incredulously. “How? How could he get any sort of army into Celtica?”

Gilan shook his head, suppressing a huge need to yawn. “They sent small numbers down the cliffs, until they had enough troops to catch the Celts by surprise. As you know, Swyddned keeps only a small standing army…”

Baron Arald scoffed, “Those Celts have always been more interested in mining the land than defending it.”

Baron Arald nodded, anger showing on his face. “I warned Swyddned, my lord,” he put in. “But those damned Celts have always been more interested in digging than protecting their own land.”

Duncan made a small, pacifying gesture with one hand. “No time now for recriminations, Arald,” he said softly. “What’s done is done, I’m afraid.”

“I should imagine Morgarath has been watching them for years, waiting for their greed to overcome their good sense,” Baron Tyler said bitterly. The other men nodded quietly. Morgarath’s ability to maintain a network of spies was all too well known to them.

“So Celtica has been defeated by Morgarath? Is this what you’re telling us?” Duncan asked. This time, as Gilan shook his head, there were relieved glances around the tent. “The Celts are holding out in the southwest, my lord. They’re not defeated yet. But the strange business of it all is that Wargal raiding parties have been carrying off the Celt miners.”

“What?” This time it was Crowley who interrupted. “What earthly use has Morgarath for miners?” Gilan shrugged in reply.

“I’ve no idea, sir,” he told his chief. “But I thought I’d better get here with the news of it as soon as possible.”

Halt’s eyes quietly misted over at the talk of his old friend. He quickly whipped them away and Will pretended he didn’t notice.

“You saw this happening, then, Gilan?” Halt asked, frowning darkly as he puzzled over what the young Ranger had just told them.

“Not exactly,” Gilan admitted. “We saw the empty mining towns and the deserted border posts. We were heading deeper into Celtica when we met a young girl who told us about the raids.”

“And thank goodness for that.” Horace commented.

“A young girl?” the King said. “A Celt?”

“No, my lord. She was Araluen. A lady’s maid whose mistress was visiting Swyddned’s court. Unfortunately, they ran into a Wargal war party. Evanlyn was the only one to escape.”

Cassandra winced at the next part, knowing that she had caused her father a rather painful number of grey hairs just by using the name Evanlyn.

“Evanlyn?” Duncan said, his voice the merest whisper. The others turned to him as he spoke and were startled. The King’s face had turned a chalky white and his eyes were wide with horror.

“That was her name, my lord,” said Gilan, puzzled by the King’s reaction. But Duncan wasn’t listening. He had turned away and moved blindly to a canvas chair set by his small reading table. He dropped into the chair, his head sunk in his hands.

The members of his War Council moved toward him, alarmed at his reaction. “My lord,” said Sir David of Caraway. “What is it?”

Duncan slowly raised his eyes to meet the Battle master’s. “Evanlyn…” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “Evanlyn was my daughter’s maid.”

“I’m sure you worried grandfather incredibly.” Maddie said, breaking the slightly silence. Cassandra nodded her head mournfully, “You have no idea.”

Chapter 9: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 23

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 23.

The Baron gingerly passed the book to Sir Rodney who looked at the first few words and inwardly sighed in relief. He wasn’t the keenest to read about how the king was momentarily sure his daughter was dead, only to then be bastille upon with hope.

There was no time to put the plan into action that night—dawn was less than an hour away. At one stage, Will had suggested that Horace and Evanlyn should leave him behind to burn the bridge, while they rode to take the news to Araluen. But Horace had refused.

“Thank goodness for that, otherwise you’d have to explain to Halt what you had done with his apprentice and hold him back from going after him himself.” Baron Arald noted. Halt gave the Baron a glare, but the knight barely even noticed.

“If we go now, we won’t know if you’ve succeeded or not, so what do we tell the King? There might be a bridge or there might not be?” he said, in another example of the solid common sense that had become part of his thinking. “And besides, destroying a bridge this size might be a little more than you can manage alone—even a famous Ranger like yourself.” He smiled as he said the last words, to let Will know he meant no insult. Will conceded the point.

“Oh come on Horace, yee have little faith. Haven’t you heard the legend of Halt the Ranger. He’s eight feet tall and broad as two men! Even if I was half of his greatness, I would have had no trouble burning down that bridge all by myself.” Will announced to the table.

Just after he finished, he yelped in fright before looking suspiciously at his mentor with silty eyes. Halt just glared at his former apprentice, and everyone else around the table hid their smiles.

Maddie looked on curiously, as she had never heard the largely exaggerated tales of the famous Halt the Ranger. The ones about Will, however, she was very familiar with.

Secretly, he was glad they would be with him. He shared Horace’s doubt that he might not be able to handle the task alone. They slept fitfully until dawn, finally woken by the sounds of shouting and whips as the Wargals drove the miners back to their task of finishing the bridge.

Throughout the day, they watched with alarm as the completed footway crept closer and closer to the side of the ravine where they lay hidden.

With a sinking feeling, Will realized that the estimate given them by the dying miner was not to be relied upon. Perhaps the extra numbers of slaves were the reason, but it was obvious that the bridge would be all but completed by the end of the following day. “We’ll have to do it tonight.” He breathed the words in Evanlyn’s ear. The two of them lay prone on the rocks, overlooking the building site. Horace was a few meters away, dozing quietly in the cold morning sun.

“Dozing, eh? So close to enemy territory?” Sir Rodney asked while at his former pupil. Horace retorted quickly, “I knew Will and Cassandra would have woken me if anything bad had happened.” But he was also going slightly pink.

The girl shifted her position so that her mouth was closer to his ear and whispered back. “I’ve been thinking, how will we get this fire started? There’s barely enough wood around here for a decent campfire.” The same question had been taxing Will’s brain throughout the night. Then the answer had come to him. He smiled quietly as he watched a group of Celt miners hammering pine boards onto the bridge framework to form the roadway.

The same question had occurred to Maddie, so she sat forward once again, eager to hear how her future mentor would deal with the problem.

“There’s plenty of good firewood here,” he replied. “If you know where to look for it.” Evanlyn glanced at him, puzzled, then followed the line of his gaze. The frown on her forehead disappeared and she smiled slowly.

Maddie looked questioningly at her mother who put up her finger to indicate her daughter should be patient.

As dusk fell, the Wargals herded their weary, starving slaves back from the bridge and into the tunnel. Will noticed that by the end of the afternoon, the work of enlarging the tunnel seemed to have been completed. They waited an hour longer, until full darkness. During that time, there had been no sign of any activity from the tunnel. Now that they knew to look for it, they could see the loom of the firelight from the valley at the other end of the tunnel, reflecting on the low, scudding clouds.

“Scudding?” Maddie asked. Will just rolled his eyes and replied exasperated, “Scudding.”

“I hope it doesn’t rain,” said Horace suddenly. “That’d ruin our idea all right.” Will stopped in his tracks and looked up at him quickly.

That unpleasant thought hadn’t occurred to him. “It isn’t going to rain,” he said firmly, and hoped he was right. He continued on then, leading Tug gently to the unfinished end of the bridge. The little horse stopped there, ears pricked and nostrils twitching to the scents of the night air. “Alert,” said Will softly to the horse, the command word that told him to give warning if he sensed approaching danger.

“Ever heard of jinxing it, Horace?” Gilan asked the younger man. Horace winced, as he had actually heard of it and now he seriously regretted saying his thoughts out loud. Another version he had heard was called tempting fate. At least that time, fate had decided to be on their side somewhat.

Tug tossed his head once, signifying that he understood. Then Will led the way across the uncompleted section of the bridge, stepping lightly as he crossed the narrow beams above the dizzying drop. Horace and Evanlyn followed, more carefully, with Horace heaving a sigh of relief when they reached the point where the planking began.

He noted that compared to the previous night, there was much shorter distance to traverse before reaching the completed section. He realized that Will was right. Another day would see the bridge finished and ready for use. Will unslung his bow and quiver and laid them on the planking.

Gilan coughed quietly before saying something that sounded like, “Leaving yourself weapon.” Cough, cough. Which was a fair assumption to make, especially after what happened with Carney and Bart, the two thieves who had interrupted their sparing session previously.

Then he drew his saxe knife from its scabbard and, dropping to his knees, began to pry up one of the nearest planks from the bridge walkway. The wood was soft pine, roughly sawn, and perfect firewood. Horace drew his dagger and began prying up the planks in the next row.

Maddie’s eyes lit up with understanding, however it soon turned into a frown as she asked, “Where did all the wood come from then if there were no trees in Celtica?” No one replied, indicating the thought hadn’t even occurred to them. Sir Rodney continued.

As they loosened them, Evanlyn moved them to one side, stacking them in a pile. When she had six planks, each over a meter long, she gathered them up and ran lightly to the far side of the bridge, stacking them on the far bank of the Fissure, close to where the massive, tarred cables were fastened to wooden pylons. By the time she returned, Will and Horace were well on the way to removing another six.

“How long did it take?” Asked Maddie. Will shrugged, “About 45 minutes I think. Although it was a long time ago and I don’t think I was really paying attention.”

These she took to the other cable. Will had explained his plan to them earlier in the day. To make sure there was no remaining structure on the far side, they would need to burn through both cables and pylons at that end, letting the bridge fall into the depths of the Fissure. The Wargals might be able to span the Fissure with a small, temporary rope affair, but nothing substantial enough to permit large numbers of troops to cross in a short time.

Once they had burned the bridge, they would ride full speed to alert the King’s army to the threat in the south. Any small numbers of Wargals who might cross the Fissure could then be easily dealt with by the kingdom’s troops.

“Well, you did a pretty good job for a bunch of teenagers.” Maddie commented, remembering the remnants of the bridge that her and Will saw.

The two boys continued levering the planks free and setting them to one side for Evanlyn. In her turn, she maintained her constant ferrying back and forth across the bridge, until the stacks by each pylon were piled high. In spite of the cold night, both boys were sweating freely with the effort.

Finally, Evanlyn laid a hand on Will’s shoulder as he pried up one board and began immediately on another. “I think it’s enough,” she said simply and he stopped, rocking back on his heels and wiping his forehead with the back of his left hand. She gestured toward the other end of the bridge, where there were at least twenty planks piled up on either side of the road.

He eased the cramps out of his neck, rolling his head from side to side, then stood up. “You’re right,” he told her. “That should be enough to get the rest of it burning.” Gesturing for the others to follow, he picked up his bow and quiver and led the way to the far side of the bridge. He looked critically at the two piles of wood for a moment or two.

“We’ll need kindling,” he said, glancing around to see if there were any small trees or bushes in the vicinity where they might find light wood to help them start their fire. Of course, there were none.

Horace held out his hand for Will’s saxe knife. “Lend me that for a moment,” he asked, and Will handed it to him.

Horace tested the balance of the heavy knife for a moment. Then, taking one of the long planks, Horace stood it on end and, in a bewilderingly fast series of flashing strokes, sliced it into a dozen thin lengths. “It’s not quite sword practice.” He grinned at them. “But it’s close enough.”

“What did that piece of timber ever do to you?” Gilan asked. Horace gave him a pointed look, “It formed a bridge that may have led to the defeat of our country, I had every right.”

As Will and Evanlyn began forming the thin pine strips into two small pyres, Horace took another plank and whittled more carefully, carving off thin curls from the pine to catch the first sparks from the flint and steel they would use to light the fire. Will glanced once to see what Evanlyn was doing.

Satisfied that she knew what she was about, he turned back to his own task, accepting the shaved pine from Horace as the other boy passed it to him in handfuls and stacking it around the base of the kindling.

As Will moved across to Evanlyn’s side to do the same with her pyre, Horace split a few more planks in halves, then snapped the thinner lengths in two. Will looked up nervously at the noise. “Keep it down,” he warned the apprentice warrior. “Those Wargals aren’t exactly deaf, you know, and the sound might carry through the tunnel.” Horace shrugged. “I’m finished now anyway,” he said.

Will paused and studied both pyres. Satisfied that they had the right combination of kindling and light wood to get them going, he motioned the others to cross back to the other side. “You two get going,” he told them. “I’ll start the fires and follow you.” Horace needed no second invitation. He didn’t want to have to run across the bare beams of the bridge with the fire licking around the cables behind him.

“Smart move Horace.” Will said cheerfully, but the undertone of his voice was slightly strained, and Maddie looked to her mentor in surprise. Will’s face wasn’t giving anything away, but she was pretty sure there was something that was going to happen that she didn’t know about, something that everyone else was aware of but hadn’t bothered to tell her.

He wanted plenty of time to negotiate the gap. Evanlyn hesitated for a moment, then saw the sense in what Will had said. They crossed carefully, trying not to look down into the agonizing depths below the bridge as they negotiated the last ten meters. There was a wider gap now, of course, as they’d removed some of the boards that formed the road surface. Safe on the other side, they turned and waved to Will. They saw him, a crouched, indistinct figure in the shadows beside the right-hand bridge support.

There was a bright flash as he struck his flint and steel together. Then another. And this time, a small yellow glow of light formed at the base of the piled wood as the pine shavings caught fire and the flame grew. Will blew on it gently and watched the eager little yellow tongues spread out, licking at the rough pine, feeding on the flammable resin that filled the grain of the wood and growing larger and more voracious by the second. He saw the first of the thin stakes take fire, then the flames shot up, licking greedily around the rope balustrade of the bridge and beginning to reach for the heavy cable.

“Hey, does this mean technically Will is an arsonist?” Baron Arald asked no one is particular. Everyone paused before Halt concluded after a second of thinking, “You know what, I think your right.” Will rolled his eyes and defended himself by saying, “It was either arson, or letting Araluen get taken over by Morgarath, take your pick.”

Maddie replied smugly, “I don’t know…I’m pretty sure I’d be scared if Will was an arsonist, half of the forests would be burnt down by now!” Everyone laughed while Will just rolled his eyes dramatically.

The tar began sizzling. Drops melted and fell into the flames, flaring up with a bright blue flash each time. Satisfied that the first fire was well under way, Will ran to the opposite side and went to work with his flint and steel once more.

Again, the watchers saw the bright flashes, then the small, rapidly growing pool of yellow. Will, now silhouetted clearly by the light of the two fires, stood erect and stepped back, watching to make sure that they were both properly alight. Already, the right-hand pylon and cable were beginning to smoke in the heat of the fire.

Satisfied at last, Will gathered his bow and quiver and ran back across the bridge, barely slowing when he reached the narrow beams. Reaching their side, he turned to look back at his handiwork. The righthand cable was now blazing fiercely.

A sudden gust of wind sent a shower of sparks high into the air above it. The left-hand fire didn’t seem to be burning nearly as well. Perhaps it was a trick or an eddy of the wind that stopped the flames from reaching the tar-soaked rope on that side. Perhaps the wood they had used was damp. But as they watched, the fire beneath the left-hand cable slowly died away to a red glow of embers.

“Oh, come on!” Maddie sighed in annoyance.

Cassandra sighed, and after interrupting a look from her husband she asked the group, “How about we stop here for lunch, after all we’ve all been reading for a few hours. We can come back in half an hour.” Everyone nodded, before collectively deciding they would go to Jenny’s restaurant for lunch, as it was defiantly the best in Redmont.

Notes:

Not sure if I updated this yesterday, so your getting two chapters instead of one.

Chapter 10: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 24

Summary:

Sir Rodney continues reading. By now, the reading order is definitely gone.

They got back from lunch and Sir Rodney asked, “Could I keep reading?” No one complained so the knight continued to read.

Gilan dropped his eyes from the tortured gaze of his king. Everyone in the tent could see the pain there as Duncan realized that his daughter had been killed by Morgarath’s Wargals.

Cassandra once again winced at the pain she had accidentally caused hr father just by using her maid's name.

Gilan looked around at the other men, seeking some form of support from them. None of them, he saw, could bring themselves to meet their monarch’s eyes. Duncan rose from the chair and walked to the doorway of the tent, looking to the southwest as if he could somehow see his daughter across the distance. “Cassandra left to visit Celtica eight weeks ago,” he said. “She’s a good friend of Princess Madelydd. When all this business with Morgarath started, I thought she’d be safe there. I saw no reason to bring her back.” He turned away from the door and his gaze held Gilan’s. “Tell me. Tell me everything you know…”

Maddie frowned, as Princess Madelydd had a very similar name to her name, Madelyn. She looked to her mother, but the Queen looked to be in some faraway place, not really concentrating on the present.

“My lord…” Gilan stopped, gathering his thoughts. He knew he had to tell the King as much as possible. But he also wanted to avoid causing him unnecessary pain. “The girl saw us and came to us. She recognized Will and myself as Rangers. Apparently, she had managed to escape when the Wargals attacked their party. She said the others were…” He hesitated. He couldn’t go on.

“Continue,” Duncan said. His voice was firm. He was in control once more.

“That was a lie.” Cassandra spoke up suddenly, voice thick with emotion. “After everything, my father wouldn’t let me visit anywhere alone for months. I think he was scared beyond anything he had experience before when he realised that I might have been killed.”

“She said the Wargals had killed them, my lord. All of them,” Gilan finished in a rush. Somehow, he felt it might be easier if he said it quickly. “She didn’t tell us details. She wasn’t up to it. She was exhausted—mentally and physically.”

Duncan nodded. “Poor girl. It must have been a terrible thing to witness. She’s a good servant—more of a friend to Cassandra, in fact,” he added softly. Gilan felt the need to keep talking to the King, to give the King whatever detail he could about the loss of his daughter.

Cassandra nodded her head sadly, remembering the friend she once had in Evanlyn , a friend worth being remembered.

“At first, we almost mistook her for a boy,” he said, remembering the moment when Evanlyn had walked into their camp.

Duncan looked up, confusion on his face. “A boy?” he said. “With that mass of red hair?”

Gilan shrugged. “She’d cut it short. Probably to conceal her appearance. The Celtic foothills are full of bandits and robbers at the moment, as well as Wargals.”

Maddie frowned, unsure if she was remembering correctly. She looked her mother’s hair to reassure herself, yep still blond and grey. Then why had her grandfather said red hair?

Something was wrong, he sensed. He was bone-weary, aching for sleep, and his brain wasn’t functioning as it should. But the King had said something that wasn’t right. Something that… He shook his head, trying to clear it, and swayed on his feet, glad of Halt’s ready arm to steady him.

Seeing the movement, Duncan was instantly apologetic. “Ranger Gilan,” he said, stepping forward and seizing his hand. “Forgive me. You’re exhausted and I’ve kept you here because of my own personal sorrow. Please, Halt, see that Gilan has food and rest.”

“Blaze…” Gilan started to say, remembering his dust-covered, weary horse outside the tent.

Halt replied gently. “It’s all right. I’ll look after Blaze.” He glanced at the King once more, nodding his head toward Gilan. “With Your Majesty’s permission?” Duncan waved the two of them out.

“Yes, please, Halt. Look after your comrade. He’s served us well.” As the two Rangers left the tent, Duncan turned to his remaining advisers. “Now, gentlemen, let’s see if we can put some reason to this latest move by Morgarath.”

“Of course, all Gilan thinks about is his horse when he’s practically collapsing from exhaustion.” Halt stated, slightly annoyed. Will patted him on the shoulder before replying, “You trained us well Halt. And trust me, you’d think the same thing about Abelard.”

Baron Thorn cast a quick glance at the others, seeking and gaining their assent to act as spokesman. “My lord,” he said awkwardly, “perhaps we should give you some time to come to terms with this news…” The other councillors all mumbled their agreement with the idea, but Duncan shook his head firmly.

“I’m the King,” he said simply. “And for the King, private matters come last. Matters of the kingdom come first.”

Cassandra nodded, basically without realising it.

“It’s gone out!” said Horace, in an agony of disappointment. The three of them looked, desperately hoping that he was wrong, that their eyes were somehow deceiving them. But he was right. The fire under the left-hand pylon had died away to a small, glowing heap of embers.

By contrast, the other side was well and truly alight, with the fire running fiercely up the tarred rope side rails to the massive cable supporting the right side of the bridge.

“That was a strange transition.” Baron Arald commented. Sir Rodney shrugged, “Blame the book, not me.”

Indeed, as they watched, one of the three ropes forming the cable burned through and the right-hand side of the bridge creaked alarmingly. “Maybe one side will be enough?” Evanlyn suggested hopefully, but Will shook his head in frustration, willing the second fire to flare up again.

“The right-hand pylon is damaged, but it’s still usable,” he pointed out. “If the left-hand side survives, they can still get across to this side. And if they can do that, they might be able to repair the whole thing before we can get warning to King Duncan.”

Maddie once again shifted to the edge of her seat, nerves alive as she worried desperately about the events happening.

Resolutely, he hitched his bow over his shoulder and started across the bridge once more. “Where are you going?” Horace asked him, eyeing the structure with distrust. The bridge had taken a definite lean to one side now that part of the right-hand cable had burned through.

As he put the question, the structure trembled again, settling a little farther toward the bottom of the abyss. Will paused, balanced on the bare beam that stretched across the gap. “I’ll have to relight it,” he said.

Maddie tightened her grip on the arms of her chair, knuckles going white. She also noticed Will was doing something similar, perhaps living the memories this book had uncovered.

He turned back and ran to the far side again. Horace felt queasy watching him move so quickly across that massive drop, with nothing but a narrow beam beneath him. Then he and Evanlyn watched in a fever of impatience as Will crouched by the embers. He began fanning them, then leaned down and blew on them until a small tongue of flame flickered inside the pile of unburned kindling. “He’s done it!” Evanlyn cried, then the triumph in her voice died as the flicker faded. Once again, Will leaned down and began to blow gently on the embers. Something else gave on the right-hand side cable and the bridge lurched, sinking farther to that side.

For a moment, Will stopped to look up at the right-hand pylon and cable, still burning fiercely. Then he went back to the embers, fanning them with a new sense of urgency. “Come on! Come on!” Horace said over and over to himself, his hands clenching and unclenching as he watched his friend. Then Tug gave a quiet whinny.

Both Horace and Evanlyn turned to look at the small horse. If it had been either of their own mounts, they wouldn’t have reacted. But they knew Tug was trained to remain silent, unless… Unless! Horace looked to where Will was crouched over the remains of the fire. Obviously, he hadn’t heard Tug’s warning.

The entire room was silent except for Sir Rodney’s reading as no one wanted to interrupt this integral movement.

Evanlyn seized Horace’s arm and pointed. “Look!” she said, and he followed her pointing finger to the mouth of the tunnel, where a glimmer of light was showing. Someone was coming! Tug pawed the ground and whinnied again, a little louder this time, but Will, close to the noise of the burning right-hand cable, didn’t hear. Evanlyn came to a decision. “Stay here!” she told Horace, and started out across the wooden beam framework.

She inched her way carefully, her heart in her mouth as the weakened bridge structure lurched and swayed. Below her was blackness, and, at the very bottom, the silver glimmer of the river that ran wildly through the base of the Fissure.

Cassandra clutched her husband’s arm tightly she se relived the moment in her head. The terror she had felt in that moment would be something that stuck with her forever.

She swayed, recovered, then went on. The planked section was only eight meters away now. Now five. Now three. The bridge swayed again and she hung there for an awful moment, arms spread to hold her balance, teetering over that horrific drop. Behind her, she heard Horace’s warning cry. Taking a deep breath, she lunged for the safety of the boardwalk, falling full length on the rough pine planks.

Heart pounding with the reaction of her near miss, she came to her feet and raced across the rest of the bridge. As she drew closer, Will sensed her movement and looked up. Breathlessly, she pointed to the mouth of the tunnel. “They’re coming!” she cried. And now, the reflected glow of light from within the tunnel was revealed to be the flare of several burning torches as a small group of figures emerged.

They paused at the tunnel mouth, pointing and shouting as they saw the flames reaching high above the bridge. She counted six of them, and from their shambling, clumsy gait, she recognized them as Wargals. The Wargals began to run toward the bridge. They were just over fifty meters away, but covering the ground quickly. And she knew there must be more behind them. “Let’s get out of here!” she said, grabbing at Will’s sleeve. But he shook her hand off, grim-faced. He was already scooping up his bow and quiver, slinging the quiver over his shoulder and checking that the bowstring was firmly anchored.

“You get back!” he told her. “I’ll stay and hold them off.” Almost as he spoke, he nocked an arrow to the string and, barely seeming to aim, sent it hissing toward the lead Wargal.

Halt was frozen like a statue, unable to move, unable to think of anything except the scene before him. If anyone had tried to speak to him in that moment, he was fairly positive that he would have been unable to reply. Lady Pauline rested a comforting hand on his shoulder which caused him to relax a little bit, but his body was still on high alert.

The arrow buried itself in the Wargal’s chest and it fell, crying out once, then lay silent. His companions halted in their tracks, seeing the arrow. They looked warily around them, trying to see where it had come from. Perhaps this was a trap, their primitive, single-track minds told them. As yet, they couldn’t see the small figure at the end of the bridge. And even as they looked, another three arrows came hissing out of the darkness.

The steel heads of two of the arrows struck sparks as they smashed into the rocks. The third took one of the Wargals at the rear of the party in the lower arm. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees. The Wargals hesitated uncertainly. Seeing the light and smoke of the fire above the hill that separated their camp area from the bridge, they had come to investigate.

Now unseen archers were firing at them. Coming to a decision, and with no one to order them forward, they retreated quickly to the shelter of the tunnel mouth. “They’re going back!” Evanlyn told Will. But he’d already seen the movement and he was on his knees again, trying to frantically rebuild the fire.

“We’ll have to reset the whole thing!” he muttered. Evanlyn dropped to her knees beside him and began shaping the half-burned strips and heavier pieces into a conical pyre. “You watch the Wargals!” she said. “I’ll look after this.” Will hesitated. After all, this was the fire she had set in the first place. He had a moment of doubt as he wondered if she’d done the job correctly.

Cassandra looked to Will in an attempt to look shocked and hurt but stopped before she could do it. She could see how the scene was affecting Will and knew there was very little she could do to help except stay silent and listen with him.

Then he looked up to the tunnel mouth, saw movement there once again and realized she was right. Grabbing his bow, he started to move toward the cover of some rocks nearby, but she stopped him. “Your knife!” she said. “Leave it with me.” He didn’t ask why. He slid the saxe from its scabbard and dropped it beside her. Then he moved to the rocks.

The bridge groaned and trembled as the right-hand cable gave a little more. Silently, he cursed the caprice of wind that had fanned one fire and extinguished the other. Encouraged by the lack of arrows whistling around their ears in the past few minutes, the four remaining Wargals had emerged from the tunnel again and were moving cautiously forward.

Without any real intelligent leadership, and with a false sense of their own superiority, they stayed grouped together, an easy target. Will fired three times, carefully aimed shots. Each one found its mark. The surviving Wargal looked at his fallen comrades, then lumbered into the cover of the rocks.

Will sent another arrow skating off the granite directly above his head, to encourage him to stay where he was. He checked his quiver. There were sixteen arrows left. Not a lot if the Wargals had sent for reinforcements. He glanced at Evanlyn. She seemed to be maddeningly slow with her efforts to rebuild the fire. He wanted to yell at her to hurry, but realized he would only distract her and slow her down if he did.

He looked back to the tunnel, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the bow. Four more figures emerged, running fast and fanning out so that they weren’t grouped together. Will brought the bow up, sighted quickly and released at the one farthest to the right. He let go a little cry of exasperation as the arrow flew behind the running figure. Then he was obscured by the rocks.

Blessing the weeks and months of practice that Halt had insisted on, Will had another arrow out of the quiver and already nocked, without even looking at it. But the other three runners had gone to ground as well. Now one of them rose in the middle of the line and darted forward.

Will’s snap shot cleaved the air above his head as he dived for cover. Then another was moving on the left, dropping into cover before Will could fire. His heart was beating rapidly as they made their quick rushes and he forced himself to breathe deeply and think calmly. The time to shoot would be in the last thirty meters, where there was less cover and where the arrows, with a shorter distance to cover, would be traveling faster and so be harder to dodge. Will’s heart hammered inside his ribs. He was remembering the last time—only a few weeks ago—when fear had made his shots go wide.

His face hardened as he determined that it would not happen again. “Stay calm,” he told himself, trying to hear Halt’s voice saying the words. Another of the figures made a short rush and this time, as the firelight illuminated him more clearly, Will held his fire as his eyes confirmed what he had begun to suspect. The newcomers weren’t Wargals. They were Skandians.

This time, not a word was spoken as Sir Rodney handed Will and book and he began reading.

Notes:

Enjoy!

Chapter 11: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 25

Summary:

Will reads chapter 25. Poor Will.

Gilan slept like a log for six hours, totally exhausted, in the tent where Halt had taken him. Throughout that time, he didn’t stir once. His mind and body were shut down, drawing new strength from total rest. Then, after those six hours, his subconscious mind stirred and began to function, and he began to dream. He dreamt of Will and Horace and the girl Evanlyn. But the dream was wild and confused and he saw them as captives of the Wargals, tied together while the two robbers Bart and Carney stood by and laughed. Gilan rolled onto one side, muttering in his sleep.

“Did you honestly believe they’d get recaptured by those idiots?” Sir Rodney asked, puzzled by the contents of the Ranger’s dream. Gilan shrugged, “I was tired, and my dreams were pretty messed up. To be honestly, now that I think about it, if they had come across the group again, they would probably run for the hills as fast as possible.”

Halt, sitting nearby repairing the fletching on his arrows, glanced up. He saw that the young Ranger was still asleep and went back to his routine task. Gilan muttered again, then fell silent. In his dream, he saw the servant Evanlyn as the King had described her— with her hair long and uncropped, masses of it flowing down her back, thick and lustrous and red. And then he sat up, wide-awake. “My God!” he said to a startled Halt. “It’s not her!”

Halt swore as he spilled the thick, viscous glue that he was using to attach the goose feather vanes to the arrow shaft. Gilan’s sudden movement had caught him by surprise. Now he mopped up the sticky liquid and turned with some irritation to his friend.

Maddie grimaced at the thought of spilling the glue used to fletch arrow feathers. It was a pain to get off your hands and you would often end up peeling away layers of skin when you tried to pry it off.

“Could you give a bit of warning when you’re going to start shouting like that?” he said peevishly. But Gilan was already out of the camp bed and hauling on his breeches and shirt. “I’ve got to see the King!” he said urgently.

Halt stood warily, not altogether sure that Gilan wasn’t sleepwalking. The young Ranger shoved past him, dashing out into the night, and tucking his shirt into his trousers as he went. Reluctantly, Halt followed him.

“Does Gilan sleepwalk?” Maddie asked Halt, the retired Ranger shrugged, “I remember there was one time in his apprenticeship that he did, although he soon got over it after he accidentally walked into a tree.” There was a chorus of laughter from around the table and Gilan pulled his cowl up as he face started to burn a little red.

There was a slight delay as they reached the King’s pavilion. The guard had changed several hours before and the new sentries didn’t know Gilan by sight. Halt smoothed things over, but not before Gilan had convinced him that it was vital for him to see King Duncan, even if it meant waking him from a well-deserved sleep.

Cassandra murmured something along the line of, “What the hell is sleep? Never heard of such a thing.” Horace laid a hand on her shoulder for sympathy, which she took before leaning further onto him.

As it turned out, in spite of the late hour, the King wasn’t sleeping. He and his supreme army commander were discussing possible reasons for the raids into Celtica when Gilan, barefoot, rumple-haired and with several buttons still askew on his shirtfront, was allowed into the pavilion.

Sir David looked up in alarm at the sight his son presented. “Gilan! What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded, but Gilan held up a hand to stop him.

“Just a moment, Father,” he said. Then, he continued, facing the King, “Sir, when you described the maid Evanlyn earlier, did you say ‘red’ hair?”

Sir David looked to Halt for an explanation. The older Ranger shrugged and Sir David turned back to his son, anger clearly showing on his face. “What difference does that make?” he began.

But again Gilan cut him off, still addressing the King. “The girl who called herself Evanlyn was blond, sir,” he said simply.

It dawned on Maddie this is what she had realised as well.

This time, it was King Duncan who held out a hand to silence his angry Battlemaster. “Blond?” he asked.

“Blond, sir. She’d cut it short, as I said, but it was blond, like your own. And she had green eyes,” Gilan told him, watching Duncan carefully, and sensing the importance of what he was telling him.

The King hesitated a moment, covering his face with one hand. Then he spoke, the hope growing in his voice. “And her build? Slight, was she? Small of stature?”

Gilan nodded eagerly. “As I said, sir, for a moment, we could have taken her for a boy. She must have used her maid’s identity because she thought it was safer if she remained incognito.”

“I wouldn’t have if I’d realised all the fuse and worry, I had caused.” Cassandra simply said. Horace was going to but in and point out that things would have turned out much differently if they knew who she was, but Will motioned for him to be silent.

Now he understood those slight hesitations in Evanlyn’s speech, and why she had a broader grasp of politics and strategy than most servants would be expected to have. Slowly, Halt and Sir David began to realize the import of what was being said. The King looked from Gilan to Halt to David, then back to Gilan again. “My daughter is alive,” he said quietly.

There was a long silence. It was finally broken by Sir David. “Gilan, how far behind you were the two apprentices and the girl?”

Gilan hesitated. “Possibly two days’ ride, Father,” he estimated, following his father to the map table and indicating the farthest point that he thought Will and the others might have reached by now.

“I think you might be overestimating Will’s ability to get himself into trouble.” Halt commented. Gilan nodded aggressively, knowing what would happen in the years to come.

Sir David took instant charge, sending messengers running to rouse the commander of the cavalry wing and have him prepare a company of light cavalry to leave camp immediately. “We’ll send a company of the Fifth Lancers to bring them in, sir,” he told the King. “If they leave within the hour and ride through the night, they should make contact sometime around noon tomorrow.”

“I’ll guide them,” Gilan offered immediately, and his father nodded assent.

“I’d hoped you’d say that.” He seized the King’s arm, smiling with genuine pleasure at the relief on the tall man’s face. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am for you, sir,” he said. The King looked at him, a little bemused. So recently, he had been privately mourning the loss of his beloved daughter Cassandra. Now, miraculously, she had been restored to life.

“My daughter is safe,” he said, almost to himself.

No one bothered to comment on the inaccuracy of his words.

Evanlyn crouched over the pile of wood beside the bridge railing. From time to time, she heard the dull thrum of Will’s bow as he fired at the approaching enemy, but she forced herself not to look up, concentrating on the job in hand. She knew they had one last chance to get the fire going properly. If she got it wrong this time, it would mean disaster for the kingdom.

Maddie couldn’t help but envy her mother. At 16 or 17 she was helping defend the kingdom from the biggest threat of the past 50 years.

So she carefully stacked and placed the wood, making sure there was sufficient air space between the pieces to allow a good draft. She had none of the shavings left to use for tinder this time, but only a few meters away, she had a perfect source of fire. The right-hand cable was still blazing fiercely.

Satisfied that the wood was stacked properly, she took Will’s saxe and cut several one-meter lengths of tarred rope from the bridge railing—thinner lengths, not the massive cable itself. It would have been almost impossible to hack through that in time. Taking the rope lengths, she came to her feet and darted across the bridge to the blazing fire on the other side.

It was a simple matter to get the lengths of tarred rope burning, then she ran back to her fire pile and draped the burning rope around the base, trailing it through the gaps she had left in the wood. The flames licked at her fingers as she pushed the rope in between pieces of wood. She bit her lip, ignoring the pain as she made sure the fire was burning freely.

The tar-fed flames crackled at the wood, flickered, then took. She fanned them for a few seconds as they became established, until the lighter kindling strips were burning fiercely, then the heavier planks began to take fire as well.

The handrail caught in several places and now tongues of flame were shooting up to the cable, beginning to lick at it, feeding on the tar, then running up to where it joined the wooden pylon structure. Only now did she take the time to glance up at Will. Her eyes were dazzled by the fire and she could see him only as a dull blur, five meters away, behind a rock outcrop.

As she looked, he rose to a standing position and fired an arrow. She looked into the surrounding darkness but could see no sign of their attackers. The bridge gave another convulsive jerk beneath her feet and the roadway tilted to an alarming degree as the second of the three strands of the righthand cable burned through and the structure sagged farther to that side.

Maddie noticed that her mentor was extremely tense, almost like he was ready to spring into action. She tried to quell for own excitement for there was an air of foreboding in the room that she couldn’t mistake.

They wouldn’t have much time to get back across to where Horace and Tug waited. She had to warn Will. Saxe knife in hand, she ran full pelt to where he crouched behind the rocks, his eyes searching the darkness for movement. He glanced quickly at her as she arrived. “The other side’s burning,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Grimly, he shook his head, then pointed with his chin to a jumble of rocks barely thirty meters from where they crouched. “Can’t risk it,” he told her. “One of them has got behind those rocks. If we go now, he might have time to save the bridge.”

A sinking feeling settled upon Maddie as she realised what was going to happen. The bridge she and Will had seen was completely destroyed, meaning the Skandians hadn’t been able to save it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick, darting movement to their left and pointed quickly. “There’s one!” she said. Will nodded.

“I see him,” he replied evenly. “He’s trying to draw my fire. As soon as I shoot at him, the one closer to us will have a chance. I have to wait for him to show himself before I can shoot.”

She looked at him, horrified, as she realized the significance of what he was saying. “But that means the others can close in on us,” she said. This time, Will said nothing.

The incipient panic he had felt was now replaced by a calm sense of resolution. Deep in his heart, a part of him was glad—glad that he hadn’t failed Halt and glad that he had repaid the faith that the older Ranger had placed in him when he chose him as an apprentice.

He glanced at Evanlyn for a long moment and she realized he was willing to be captured if it kept the enemy away from the bridge just a few minutes longer.

Maddie looked to her mentor who was staring straight ahead was a neutral expression. He had let go of the arm of the chair and the book was clutched tightly in his other hand. A few other people noticed his expression but didn’t say anything of  it.

Captured or killed, she amended. Behind them, there was a groaning crash and she turned to see the first cable finally give way in a shower of flame and sparks. It took the burned through upper half of its pylon with it. That was the result they had wanted. They had discussed the idea of simply cutting the main cables, but that would have left the major structure of the bridge untouched. The pylons themselves had to be destroyed.

Now the entire bridge was hanging, suspended by the left-hand cable, and flames were already eating their way through that. In a few more minutes, she knew, the bridge would be gone. The Fissure would be impassable once more.

Will tried to give her a reassuring smile. It wasn’t a very successful attempt. “You can’t do much more here,” he told her. “Get across the bridge while you’ve still got time.” She hesitated, desperately wanting to go but unwilling to leave him on his own.

He was only a boy, she realized, but he was willing to sacrifice himself for her and the rest of the kingdom. “Go!” he said, turning to her and shoving at her. And now she thought she could see the glitter of tears in his eyes. Her own eyes filled and she couldn’t see him clearly. She blinked to clear her vision, just in time to see a jagged rock curving down out of the firelit night.

If only she had gone, Will thought absently. Then again, if she had gone, there would have been very little chance of him surviving Skandia, or the Temujai, or earning his name.

“Will!” she shouted, but she was too late. The rock took him in the side of the head and he grunted in surprise, then his eyes rolled up and he fell at her feet, dark blood already welling from his scalp. She heard a rush of feet from several directions and she tossed the saxe knife aside and scrabbled in the dirt for Will’s bow. Then she found it and was trying to nock an arrow when rough hands grabbed her, knocking the bow from her grasp and pinning her arms to her sides.

“Damit it Svengal” Will muttered under his breath as the man in question had later confessed to be the one who threw the rock.

The Skandian held her in a bear hug, her face pressed into the rough sheepskin of his vest, smelling of grease and smoke and sweat and all but suffocating her. She kicked out, lashing with her feet and tossing her head, trying to butt the man who was holding her, but to no avail. Beside her, Will lay unmoving in the dust. She began to sob in frustration and anger and sadness and she heard the Skandians laughing. Then another sound came and they stopped.

The arms holding her released a little and she was able to see. It was a drawn-out, creaking groan and it came from the bridge. The right-hand support was gone, and the left-hand side, already weakened by the fire, was now holding the entire structure. It was never meant for such a load, even in perfect condition.

With a final sharp SNAP! the pylon shattered at its halfway point and, cables and all, the bridge collapsed slowly into the depths of the Fissure, trailing a bright shower of sparks behind it in the darkness.

Will put the book down and wordlessly handed the book to Halt who started reading, every now and then glancing at Will for reasons Maddie could only guess.

Chapter 12: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 26

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 26.

Gilan watched impatiently as the company of cavalrymen remounted after a fifteen-minute break. He was itching to be away, but he knew that both horses and men needed rest if they were to continue at the killing pace he had set them. They had been traveling for half a day and he estimated that they should meet Will’s party sometime in the early afternoon. Checking that all the troopers were mounted, he turned to the captain beside him. “All right, Captain,” he said. “Let’s get them moving.”

The captain had actually drawn breath to bellow his command when there was a call from the lead troop. “Horseman coming!” An expectant buzz ran through the cavalrymen. Most of them had no idea what their mission was about. They’d been roused out of bed in the early dawn and told to mount and ride. Gilan stood in his stirrups, shading his eyes against the midday glare, and peered in the direction the trooper had indicated. They hadn’t reached the Celtic border yet, and here the terrain was open grasslands, with occasional thickets of trees.

To the southwest, Gilan’s keen eyes could make out a small cloud of dust, with a galloping figure at the head of it. “Whoever he is, he’s in a hurry,” the captain observed.

"That was an understatement." Horace commented, remembering the long hours he had spent in the saddle.

Then the forward scout called more information. “Three horsemen!” came the shout. But already Gilan could see that the report wasn’t quite correct. There were three horses, but only one rider.

He experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Should we send out an intercept party, sir?” the captain asked him. In times like these, it wasn’t always wise to let a stranger ride full pelt into the middle of a group. But now that the rider was closer, Gilan could recognize him.

More to the point, he could recognize the horse he was riding: small, shaggy, barrel-chested. It was Will’s horse, Tug. But it wasn’t Will riding him. The lead troop had already fanned out to stop the rider’s progress. Gilan said quietly to the captain: “Tell them to let him through.”

The captain repeated the order with considerably more volume and the troopers separated, leaving a path for Horace. He saw the small group of officers around the company banner and headed for them, bringing the shaggy little Ranger horse to a halt in front of them. The other horses, which Gilan now recognized as Horace’s and the pack pony that Evanlyn had ridden, were following Tug on a lead rope.

"I'm glad you gave me the pass code to Tug, otherwise it would have taken forever to cross the country." Horace said and Will nodded, "Without it, you might not have gotten back in time to warn the army."

“They’ve got Will!” the boy shouted hoarsely, recognizing Gilan among the group of officers. “They’ve got Will and Evanlyn!”

Gilan closed his eyes briefly, feeling a lance of pain in his heart. Then, knowing the answer before he asked, he said: “Wargals?”

“Skandians!” he replied. “They took them at the bridge. They…” Gilan flinched in surprise at the word.

Surprise and horror. “Bridge?” he said urgently. “What bridge?” Horace was breathing heavily from his exertions. He’d alternated between the three horses, switching from one to the other, but not resting himself at any stage. He paused now to get his breath, realizing he should start from the beginning.

Will looked over at this friend in sympathy. It was less than a year before hand when Will had to make a trip similar to the one Horace had, no breaks, no pauses, just flat out riding.

“Across the Fissure,” he said. “That’s why Morgarath took the Celts. They were building a huge bridge for him to bring his army across. They’d almost gotten it finished when we got there.”

The captain beside Gilan had turned pale. “You mean there’s a bridge across the Fissure?” he asked. The implications of such a fact were horrendous.

“Not anymore,” Horace replied, his breathing steadier and his voice a little more under control now. “Will burned it. Will and Evanlyn. But they stayed on the other side to keep the Skandians back and—”

“Skandians!” said Gilan. “What the devil are Skandians doing on the plateau?”

Horace made an impatient gesture at his interruption. “They were the advance party for a force that’s coming up the southern cliffs. The Skandians were going to join forces with the Wargals, cross the bridge and attack the army in the rear.” The group of cavalry officers exchanged looks. Professional soldiers, all of them could imagine how disastrous that could have been for the royal forces.

“As well the bridge is gone then,” said a lieutenant. Horace swung his tormented gaze on the officer—a young man barely a few years older than himself.

“But they’ve got Will!” he cried, his eyes welling with tears as he thought of how he had stood by and watched helplessly as his friend was knocked out, then carried away.

“And the girl,” added Gilan, but Horace dismissed her. “Yes! Of course they got her!” he said. “And I’m sorry she’s been caught. But Will was my friend!”

Cassandra raised in eyebrow at her husband who flushed considerably. Halt just continued without looking up for he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

“You’re sorry she’s been caught? Do you know who…” the captain interrupted indignantly, for he was one of the few who knew the true nature of their task. But Gilan stopped him before he could say more. “That’s enough, Captain!” he said crisply.

The officer looked at him angrily and Gilan leaned forward, speaking so that only he could hear. “The fewer people who know the girl’s name now, the better,” he said, and understanding dawned in the officer’s eyes. If Morgarath knew that his men held the king’s daughter hostage, he would have a powerful tool to bargain with.

Cassandra grittered her teeth at the thought of being a tool that could be used against her father.

Gilan looked back to Horace. “Horace, is there any way they might be able to repair this bridge?” he asked, and the muscular youth shook his head vehemently.

He was devastated at the loss of his friend, but his pride in Will’s accomplishment was obvious as he described it. “No way at all,” he replied. “It’s gone, well and truly. Will made sure that nothing remained on the far side. That’s why he was caught. He wanted to make sure.” He paused and added: “They might get a small rope bridge across, of course.” That decided Gilan.

He turned to the captain. “Captain, you’ll continue with the company and make sure no bridge of any kind is thrown across the Fissure. We don’t want any of Morgarath’s forces, no matter how small, coming across. Get Horace to show you the location on a map. Hold the south side of the Fissure until you’re relieved, and keep patrols moving either side to locate any other possible crossing points. There won’t be many of those,” he added.

Maddie couldn’t stop watching the faces of the people around her, barely registering the words Halt spoke. There was much emotion in their eyes and in that moment, Maddie believed that she was there, with the company as they received the news about how the entire kingdom had been saved by some lowly Ranger’s Apprentice, a 2^nd year battle school trainee and the princess.

“Horace, you’ll come with me and report to the King. Now.” He stopped abruptly as he realized that Horace was waiting for a chance to say something. He nodded for the apprentice to go ahead.

“The Skandians,” said Horace. “They’re not just on the plateau. They’re sending a force north of the Thorntree Forest as well.” There was another buzz of comment from the officers as they realized how close their army had come to disaster.

Two unexpected forces, attacking from the rear, would have left the King’s men very hard-pressed indeed. “You’re sure of this?” Gilan asked, and Horace nodded several times. “Will overheard them talking about it,” he said. “Their forces on the beach and in the fens are a feint. The real attack was always going to come from behind.”

“Then we don’t have a moment to waste,” said Gilan. “That force in the northwest could still be a big problem if the King doesn’t know about it.” He turned to the company commander. “Captain, you have your orders. Get your men to the Fissure as soon as you can.” The captain saluted briefly and issued a few crisp orders to his officers.

"Did anything come of that?" Maddie asked. Gilan shook his head, "The Wargals weren't able to get a rope bright across, so they deserted the area and re-joined the others at Three Step Pass apparently."

They galloped off to their troops and, after a quick conference while Horace pointed out the site of the fallen bridge on a map of the area, the entire company was on the move, heading at a brisk canter for the Fissure. Gilan turned to Horace. “Let’s go,” he said simply.

Wearily, the young warrior nodded, then turned back to mount his own horse. Tug hesitated, pawing the ground as he watched the cavalry ride away—back toward where he had last seen his master. He trotted a few uncertain paces after the troop, then, at a word from Gilan, he reluctantly fell in behind the tall Ranger.

Halt didn’t want let go of the book. He skimmed the first few pages before reluctantly giving the small novel back to Will who started reading.

Chapter 13: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 27

Summary:

Will reads chapter 27.

Will’s head ached abominably. A constant, rhythmic thudding pounded through his skull, setting flashes off behind his tight-closed eyes. He forced his eyes open and found himself staring close range at a sheepskin vest and the back of a pair of leather-bound woollen leggings. The world was upside down and he realized he was being carried over someone’s shoulder. The thudding was the sound of the man’s feet as he jogged along. Will wished he would walk. He groaned aloud and the jogging stopped.

“Erak!” the man carrying him called. “’E’s awake.” And so saying, the Skandian lowered him to the ground. Will tried to take a pace, but his knees gave out and he sank to his haunches. Erak, the leader of the group, leaned down now and examined him. One thick thumb caught hold of his eyelid and he felt his eye being opened wide. The man wasn’t cruel. But he was none too gentle either.

"He's a Skandian, what exactly where you expecting?" Horace asked.

Will recognized him now as the Skandian who had come so close to discovering him when he was eavesdropping by their campfire in the valley. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Concussed, most likely. That was a good throw with that rock, Nordal,” he said to one of the others.

“Hmm.” Will said absently, noting the name wasn’t Svengal, that meant that either the author of the book was wrong, or that Svengal hadn’t been entirely truthful. (Or that the author made an error and corrected it later.)

The Skandian he’d spoken to, a giant of a man with his blond hair in two tightly plaited braids that were greased so they swept upward like horns, smiled at the praise. “Grew up hunting seals and penguins that way, I did,” he said, with some satisfaction. Erak released Will’s eyelid and moved away.

Now Will felt a gentler touch on his face and, opening his eyes again, found himself looking into Evanlyn’s eyes. She stroked his forehead gently, trying to clean away the dried, matted blood there. “Are you all right?” she said, and he nodded, then realized that was not a good idea. “Fine,” he managed, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“They got you as well?” he added, unnecessarily, and she nodded. “Horace?” he said softly, and she put a finger to her lips.

“He got away,” she whispered. “I saw him running when the bridge collapsed.” Will sighed with relief. “We did it then? We got the bridge?”

This time it was Evanlyn’s turn to nod. A smile even touched her lips at the memory of the bridge crashing into the depths of the Fissure. “It’s gone,” she said. “Well and truly.”

Erak heard the last few words. He shook his head at them. “And no thanks you’ll get from Morgarath for that,” he told them. Will felt a small chill of fear at the mention of the Lord of Rain and Night’s name.

Everyone around the table also seemed to be on edge at the mention of the man’s name. Maddie looked around but didn’t comment, as the terror of Morgarath’s rebellion came before her time.

Here on the plateau, it seemed somehow more ominous, more dangerous, altogether more malevolent. The Skandian glanced at the sun. “We’ll take a break,” he said. “Maybe our friend here will be up to walking in an hour or so.” The Skandians opened their packs and produced food and drink. They tossed a water bottle and a small loaf of bread to Will and Evanlyn and the two ate hungrily.

Evanlyn began to say something, but Will raised a hand to hush her. He was listening to the Skandians’ conversation. “So what do we do now?” asked the one called Nordal. Erak chewed a piece of dried cod, washed it down with a gulp of the fiery liquor he carried in a leather bottle and shrugged. “For mine, we get out of here as fast as we can,” he said. “We only came for the booty and there’s going to be precious little of that now that the bridge is gone.”

“They drink liqueur?” Lady Pauline asked. Halt nodded saying, “Liqueur is good for places that don’t have clean drinking water.”

Maddie frowned, “I thought Skandia was snowy? Shouldn’t they get plenty of drinking water?” Will stepped in and said, “They also like the taste. It’s better than flask water.”

“Morgarath won’t like it if we pull out,” warned a short, heavily built member of the party. Erak simply shrugged. “Horak, I’m not here to help Morgarath take over Araluen,” he replied. “Neither are you. We fight for profit, and when there’s no profit to be had, I say we go.”

Horak looked down at the ground between his feet and scratched in the dust with his fingers. He didn’t look up when he spoke again. “What about those two?” he said, and Will heard a sharp intake of breath from Evanlyn as she realized the Skandian meant her and Will. “We take ’em with us,” said Erak, and this time Horak looked up from the dust, where he was drawing senseless patterns.

Maddie’s blood chilled at the thought. Years ago, she learned that The Treaty of Hallasholm came about because a Ranger helped the Oberjarl of the time, Ragnak, defeat an incoming invasion of Temujai warriors. She had a sinking suspicious this is where this was heading.

“What good are they to us? Why shouldn’t we just hand ’em over to the Wargals?” he asked, and the others mumbled their agreement. It was obviously a question that had been on their minds. They’d simply been waiting for someone else to bring it up. “I’ll tell you,” said Erak. “I’ll tell you what good they are to us. First and foremost, they’re hostages, aren’t they?”

“Hostages!” snorted the fourth member of the group, the one who so far hadn’t spoken. Erak rounded upon him. “That’s right, Svengal,” he told him. “They’re hostages. Now, I’ve been on more raids and in more campaigns than any of you and I don’t like the way this one’s shaping up. Seems to me like Morgarath’s been getting too clever for his own good. All this leaking false plans and building secret tunnels and planning surprise attacks with Horth and his men coming around Thorntree Forest—it’s too complicated. And complicated isn’t the way to go when you’re facing people like the Araluens.”

“We just love complicated plots, don’t we Horace.” Gilan cheerfully said. The Knight just groaned and rolled his eyes saying, “Sometimes, I really just prefer the Skandian way of doing things.”

“Horth can still attack around the Thorntree,” said Svengal stubbornly, but Erak was shaking his head. “He can. But he won’t know that the bridge is gone, will he? He’ll be expecting support that will never come. I’ll wager Morgarath won’t hurry to tell him. He knows Horth would give it all away if he found out. Let me tell you, it’ll be the toss of a coin to see which way that battle goes. That’s the problem with these clever-clever plans! You take away one element and the whole thing can come crashing down.”

There was a short silence while the other Skandians thought about what he had said. A few heads nodded in agreement and Erak continued. “I’ll tell you, boys, I don’t like the way things are shaping and I say we should take the chance to get to Horth’s ships through the fens.”

“Why not go back the way we came?” asked Svengal, but his leader shook his head emphatically. “And try to get down those cliffs again, with Morgarath after us?” he asked. “No, thank you. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to deserters. We’ll go along with him as far as Three Step Pass, then once we’re in the open, we’ll head east for the coast.”

He paused to let this sink in. “And we’ll have these two as hostages in case the Araluens try to stop us,” he added. “They’re kids!” said Nordal derisively. “What use are they as hostages?”

“Didn’t you see that oakleaf amulet the boy was wearing?” Erak asked, and instinctively, Will’s hand went to the oak leaf on the thong around his neck. “That’s the Ranger’s symbol,” Erak continued. “He’s one of them. Maybe some kind of trainee. And they look after their own.”

Gilan and Halt exchanged glances knowingly. 

“What about the girl?” said Svengal. “She’s no Ranger.”

“Still, would have made a great one.” Halt added to which Cassandra beamed at him.

“That’s right,” Erak agreed. “She’s just a girl. But I’m not handing any girl over to the Wargals. You’ve seen what they’re like. They’re worse than animals, that lot. No. She comes with us.” There was another moment’s silence as the others considered his words. Then Horak spoke. “Fair enough,” he agreed. Erak looked around at the others, and saw that Horak had spoken for them all. The Skandians were warriors, and hard men. But they weren’t totally ruthless.

“Have you seen them in battle?” Horace asked incredulous, “I’d say their pretty ruthless.”

“Good,” he said. “Now let’s get on the road again.” He rose and moved toward Will and Evanlyn while the other Skandians repacked the remains of the brief meal. “Can you walk?” he asked Will. “Or does Nordal have to carry you again?” Will flushed angrily and rose quickly to his feet. Instantly he wished he hadn’t.

The ground heaved and his head swam. He staggered and only Evanlyn’s firm hand on his arm prevented him from falling. But he was determined not to show weakness in front of his captors. He steadied himself, then glared defiantly at Erak. “I’ll walk,” he managed to say, and the big Skandian studied him for a moment, an appraising look in his eye. “Yes,” he said finally. “I daresay you will.”

Will didn’t stop reading, he just continued with barely with a pause between chapters.

Chapter 14: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 28

Summary:

Will reads Chapter 28.

Notes:

Sorry for the late posting.

Battlemaster David chewed the ends of his moustache as he frowned at the plan outlined on the sand table. “I don’t know, Halt,” he said doubtfully. “It’s very risky. One of the first principles of warfare is never to split your forces.”

Halt nodded. He knew the knight’s criticism was intended to be constructive, not simply negative thinking. It was Sir David’s role to find any faults in the plan and weigh them against its possible advantages. “That’s true,” the Ranger replied. “But it’s also true that surprise is a powerful weapon.”

“Now that’s an understatement.” Baron Arald said, remembering that it was Morgarath’s main strategy.

Baron Tyler walked around the table, considering the plan from another viewpoint. He pointed with his dagger at the mass of green that represented the Thorntree Forest. “You’re sure you and Gilan can guide a large cavalry force through the Thorntree? I thought nobody could get through there,” he asked dubiously, and Halt nodded.

“The Rangers have charted and surveyed every inch of the kingdom for years, my lord,” he told the Baron. “Especially the parts people think there’s no way through. We can surprise this northern force. Then Morgarath will be caught out as well, when no Skandians turn up behind us.” Tyler continued to pace around the table, staring intently at the designs drawn there and the markers set in place in the sand map.

“No where is impassable.” Maddie said as she grinned and looked at Halt. The grumpy Ranger didn’t say anything in return; however he lips did curve upwards slightly.

“All the same,” he said, “we’ll be in a pretty scrape if the Skandians defeat Halt and the cavalry over here in the north. After all, you’ll be outnumbered almost two to one.” Halt nodded agreement again. “That’s true. But we’ll catch them in open country, so we’ll have the advantage. And don’t forget we’ll be taking two hundred archer units as well. They should even the numbers a little.”

An archer unit consisted of two men: one archer and one accompanying spearman, mutually supporting each other. Against lightly armoured infantry, they were a deadly combination, able to cut down large numbers at a distance, then retreat before their enemy could come to grips with them.

“But,” insisted Baron Tyler, “let’s assume that the Skandians do manage to win through. Then the tables will be turned. We’ll be fighting a real enemy in the northwest, with our rear exposed to Morgarath’s Wargals coming out of the pass.”

Arald managed to suppress a sigh. As a strategist, Tyler was notoriously cautious. Which was good as making reckless decisions in war could be fatal, but it was also annoying as every plan had to be almost entirely full proof which often was impossible to achieve.

“On the other hand,” he said, doing his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, “if Halt succeeds, it will be his force that Morgarath sees coming around from the northwest. He’ll assume it’s the Skandians attacking us from that direction and he’ll bring his forces out onto the Plains to attack us from behind. And then we’ll have him—once and for all.” The prospect seemed to appeal to him.

“It’s still a risk,” Tyler said stubbornly. Halt and Arald exchanged a glance, and the Baron’s shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug. Halt said, in a dry tone, “All warfare has a risk attached to it, sir. Otherwise it would be easy.” Baron Tyler looked up angrily at him. Halt met his gaze evenly. As the Baron opened his mouth to say something, Sir David forestalled him, smacking one gauntlet into his palm in a decisive gesture.

“All right, Halt,” he said. “I’ll put your plan to the King.” At the mention of the King, Halt’s face softened slightly. “How is His Majesty taking the news?” he asked, and Sir David shrugged unhappily.

“Personally, he’s devastated, of course. It was the cruellest possible blow to have his hopes raised and then shattered again. But he manages somehow to put his personal life to one side and continue to perform his duties as King. He says he’ll mourn later, when this is all over.”

“I was only captured, not dead.” Cassandra spluttered angrily.

“There may be no need for mourning,” Arald put in, and David smiled sadly at him. “I’ve told him that, of course. He says he’d prefer not to have false hopes raised once more.” There was an awkward silence in the tent. Tyler, Fergus and Sir David felt deep sorrow for their King. Duncan was a popular and just monarch.

Halt and Baron Arald, on the other hand, both felt the loss of Will deeply. In a remarkably short time, Will had become an integral part of Castle Redmont. Finally, it was Sir David who broke the silence. “Gentlemen, perhaps you might begin preparing your orders. I’ll take this plan to the King.” And as he turned away to the inner sections of the pavilion, the barons and Halt left the large tent.

Maddie looked to her mentor and whole heartedly realised that they were right. Will was part of Redmont, and she couldn’t imagine the castle without him.

Arald, Fergus and Tyler walked quickly away, to prepare movement orders for the army. Halt, seeing a dejected figure in Ranger green and grey waiting by the sentry post, moved down the small hill to talk to his former apprentice. “I want leave to go across the Fissure after them,” said Gilan.

Halt knew how deeply he felt the hurt of Will’s loss. Gilan blamed himself for leaving Will alone in the hills of Celtica. No matter how many times Halt and the other Rangers told him that he had taken the right course, he refused to believe it.

Gilan looked down, saddened about the reminder of this event. Maddie found it difficult to believe that Gilan who had such a bubbly, sarcastic personality was the same person sitting in front of her now. Lady Pauline rested a hand on his shoulder which he nodded thankfully for.

Now, Halt knew, it would hurt him even more to be refused. Nevertheless, as Rangers, their first duty was to the kingdom. He shook his head and answered curtly. “Not granted. You’re needed here. We’re to lead a force through the Thorntree to cut off Horth’s men. Go to Crowley’s tent and get hold of the charts showing the secret ways for this part of the country.”

Gilan hesitated, his jaw set. “But…” he began to protest, and then something in Halt’s eyes stopped him as the older Ranger leaned forward.

“Gilan, do you think for one moment that I do…don’t want to tear that plateau apart stone by stone until I find him? But you and I took an oath when they gave us these silver oak leaves, and now we have to live up to it.”

Will’s voice almost broke at the last few sentences. He cleared his throat and continued on, this time a little more slowly.

Gilan dropped his eyes and nodded. His shoulders slumped as he gave in. “All right,” he said in a broken voice, and Halt thought he saw traces of tears in his eyes. He turned away hurriedly before Gilan could see the moisture in his own. “Get the charts,” he said briefly.

The four Skandians and their prisoners had trudged across the bleak, windswept plateau for the rest of the day and into the evening. It wasn’t until several hours after dark that Erak called a halt, and Will and Evanlyn sank gratefully to the rocky ground. The ache in Will’s head had receded somewhat through the day, but it still throbbed dully in the background. The dried blood on the wound where the jagged rock had hit him itched abominably, but he knew that if he scratched at the irritation, he would only open the wound and set the blood flowing once more.

Maddie wondered briefly if Will had a scar from where the rock had hit him. His hair would cover it, but it still might be there.

At least, thought Will, Erak hadn’t kept them tied or restrained in any way. As the Skandian leader put it, there was nowhere for the two prisoners to run. “This plateau is full of Wargals,” he’d told them roughly. “You can take your chances with them if you choose.”

So they’d kept their position in the middle of the party, passing bands of Wargals throughout the day, and heading constantly to the northeast, and Three Step Pass.

Now, the four Skandians eased their heavy packs to the ground and Nordal began to gather wood for a fire. Svengal tossed a large copper pot at Evanlyn’s feet and gestured toward a stream that bubbled through the rocks close by. “Get some water,” he told her gruffly.

For a moment, the girl hesitated, then she shrugged, took up the pot and rose, groaning softly as her tired muscles and joints were called upon once more to take her weight. “Come on then, Will,” she said casually. “You can give me a hand.”

Erak was rummaging in his open pack. His head snapped around as she spoke. “No!” he said sharply, and the entire group turned to look at him.

He pointed one blunt forefinger at Evanlyn. “You, I don’t mind wandering off,” he said. “Because I know you’ll come back. But as for that Ranger, he might just take it into his head to make a run for it, in spite of things.” Will, who had been thinking of doing just that, tried to look surprised.

“How did that work out for you?” Horace asked sceptically. Will didn’t reply, instead he just kept reading. Horace took the the hint.

“I’m no Ranger,” he said. “I’m just an apprentice.” Erak gave a short snort of laughter. “You may say so,” he replied. “But you dropped them Wargals at the bridge as well as any Ranger might. You stay where I can keep an eye on you.”

Will shrugged, smiled wanly at Evanlyn and sat down again, sighing as he leaned his back against a rock. In a few moments, he knew, it would become hard and knobbly and uncomfortable. But right now, it was bliss.

The Skandians went ahead making camp. In short order, they had a good fire going, and when Evanlyn returned with the pot full of water, Erak and Svengal produced dried provisions, which they added to the water as it heated to make a stew. The meal was plain and fairly tasteless, but it was hot and it filled their bellies. Will thought ruefully for a few minutes of the pre-prepared food that came from Master Chubb’s kitchen.

Sadly, he realized that such thoughts of Master Chubb’s kitchen and his times in the forest with Halt were no more than memories now, and the meal was suddenly even more tasteless than before. Evanlyn seemed to sense his deepening sadness. He felt her warm, small hand cover his and he knew she was looking at him. But he couldn’t meet those vivid green eyes with his own, feeling the tears welling up in them.

“It’ll be all right,” she whispered. He tried to talk, but couldn’t form the words. Silently, he shook his head, his eyes downcast, staring intently at the scratched surface of the wooden bowl the Skandians had given him to use. They were camped some meters from the side of the road, at the top of a slight rise. Erak had stated that he liked to see anyone who might choose to approach. Now, rounding a bend in the road several hundred meters away, came a large group of horsemen, followed by a troop of Wargals, running to keep up with the horses’ trot.

The sound of the Wargals’ chant came to them on the breeze once more and Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Erak turned swiftly to the two of them, gesturing them back into the cover of the rocks behind their campsite. “Quick, you two! Behind them rocks if you value your lives! That’s Morgarath himself on the white horse! Nordal, Horak, move into the light to screen them!”

Will and Evanlyn needed no second bidding. Staying low, they scrambled into the cover provided by the rocks. As Erak had commanded, two of the Skandians stood and moved into the glare of the firelight, drawing the attention of the approaching riders away from the two small figures in the half-light.

Maddie inhaled sharply, knowing the danger her mentor and mother had been in at the time was immense, and feeling every inch of it.

The chant, mingled with the clatter of hooves and the chink of harness and weapons, came closer as Will lay on his stomach, one arm covering Evanlyn in the darkness. As he had done before, he scooped the hood of his cloak over his head, to leave his face in deep shadow. There was a tiny gap between two of the rocks and, knowing he was taking a terrible risk but unable to resist, he pressed his eye to it.

The view was restricted to a few meters of space. Erak stood on the far side of the fire, facing the approaching riders. Will realized that by doing so, he had placed the glare of the firelight between the new arrivals and the spot where he and Evanlyn lay hidden.

If any of the Wargals looked in their direction, they would be staring straight into the bright firelight. It was a lesson in tactics he filed away for future reference. The sounds of horses and men stopped. The Wargal chant died abruptly. For a second or two, there was silence. Then a voice spoke. A low voice, with a slight snakelike sibilance to it. “Captain Erak, where are you bound?”

Will glued his eye to the crack in the rocks, straining to see the speaker. Without a doubt, that cold, malevolent voice had to belong to Morgarath. The sound of it was the sound of ice and hatred. The sound of nails scraping on tile. The blood ran cold to hear it and, beneath his hand, he felt Evanlyn shiver.

Maddie unconsciously shivered as well, thankful that the Lord of Rain and Night was long dead.

If it had a similar effect on Erak, however, he showed no sign of it. “My title, Lord Morgarath,” he said evenly, “is not ‘Captain,’ but ‘Jarl.’”

“Jarl means captain,” Gilan added, for he knew some people hadn’t had the largest amount of contact with Skandians and their language.

“Well then,” replied the cold voice, “I must try to remember that, in case it is ever of the slightest interest to me. Now…Captain,” he said, laying stress on the title this time, “I repeat, where are you bound?” There was a jingle of harness and, through the crack in the rocks, Will saw a white horse move forward. Not a glossy-coated, shining white horse such as a gallant knight might ride, but a pale horse without sheen or life to its coat. It was huge, dead white and with wild, rolling eyes.

He craned slightly to one side and managed to make out a black gloved hand holding the reins loosely. He could see no more of the rider.

“Should have been happy about that.” Halt muttered, but his voice was strained.

“We thought we’d join your forces at Three Step Pass, my lord,” Erak was saying. “I assume you will still go ahead with your attack, even though the bridge is down.” Morgarath swore horribly at the mention of the bridge. Sensing his fury, the white horse sidestepped a few paces and now Will could see the rider. Immensely tall, but thin, he was dressed all in black.

He stooped in the saddle to talk down to the Skandians and the hunched shoulders and his black cloak gave him the look of a vulture. The face was thin, with a beak of a nose and high cheekbones. The skin on the face was white and pallid, like the horse. The hair above it was long, set to frame a receding hairline, and white-blond in colour. By contrast, the eyes were black pools. He was clean-shaven and his mouth was a thin red slit in the pallor of his face.

As Will looked, the Lord of Rain and Night seemed to sense his presence. He looked up, casting his gaze beyond Erak and his three companions, searching into the darkness behind them. Will froze, barely daring to breathe as those black eyes searched the night. But the light of the fire defeated Morgarath and he returned his gaze to Erak.

“Yes,” he replied. “The attack will go ahead. Now that Duncan has his own forces deployed and in what he thinks is a strong defensive position, he’ll allow us to come out onto the Plains before attacking.”

“At which point, Horth will take him in the rear,” Erak put in, with a chuckle, and Morgarath stared at him, head slightly to one side as he considered him.

Again, the birdlike pose made Will think of a vulture. “Exactly,” he agreed. “It would be preferable if there were two flanking forces as I’d planned originally, but one should be enough.”

“My thoughts too, my lord,” Erak agreed, and there was a long moment of silence. Obviously, Morgarath had no interest in whether Erak agreed with him or not. “Things would be easier if your other countryman had not abandoned us,” Morgarath said eventually. “I’ve been told that your compatriot Olvak has sailed back to Skandia with his men. I had planned that they should come up the southern cliffs to reinforce us.”

Erak shrugged, refusing to take blame for something outside his sphere of influence. “Olvak is a mercenary,” he said. “You can’t trust mercenaries. They fight only for profit.”

A few eyebrows were raised at Erak’s comment.

“And you…don’t?” the toneless voice said with scorn. Erak squared his shoulders. “I’ll honour any undertaking I’ve made,” he said stiffly. Morgarath stared at him again for a long, silent moment. The Skandian met his gaze and, finally, it was Morgarath who looked away. “Chirath told me you took a prisoner at the bridge—a mighty warrior, he said. I don’t see him.”

Again, Morgarath tried to look through the light into the further gloom. Erak laughed harshly. “If Chirath was the leader of your Wargals, neither did he,” he replied sarcastically. “He spent most of his time at the bridge cowering behind a rock and dodging arrows.”

“And the prisoner?” Morgarath asked.

“Dead,” Erak replied. “We killed him and threw him over the edge.”

Maddie sharply in-took, nervous flaring at the mention of Will and her mother.

“A fact that displeases me intensely,” Morgarath said, and Will felt his flesh crawling. “I would have preferred to make him suffer for interfering in my plans. You should have brought him to me alive.”

“And we would have preferred it if he hadn’t been whipping arrows around our ears. The only way to take him was to kill him.” Another silence as Morgarath considered the reply. Apparently, it was not satisfactory to him. “Be warned for the future. I did not approve of your actions.”

This time, it was Erak who let the silence stretch. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if Morgarath’s displeasure was a matter of absolutely no interest to him.

Eventually, the Lord of Rain and Night gathered his reins and shook them, heeling his horse savagely to turn it away from the campfire. “I’ll see you at Three Step Pass, Captain,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned his horse back.

“And Captain, don’t get any ideas about deserting. You’ll fight with us to the end.” Erak nodded. “I told you, my lord, I’ll honour any bargain I’ve made.”

This time, Morgarath smiled, a thin movement of the red lips in the lifeless white face. “Be sure of it, Captain,” he said softly. Then he shook the reins and his horse turned away, springing to a gallop. The Wargals followed, the chant starting up again and ringing through the night.

Maddie let out the breath she had been holding before studying everyone else in the room. There was still a sense of foreboding, but it was lesser than before.

Will realized that, behind the rocks, he’d been holding a giant breath. He let it go now, and heard a corresponding sigh of relief from the Skandians. “My god of battles,” said Erak, “he doesn’t half give me the creeps, that one.”

Almost everyone nodded along with Erak, agreeing whole heartedly.

“Looks like he’s already died and gone to hell,” put in Svengal, and the others nodded. Erak walked around the fire now and stood over where Will and Evanlyn were still crouched behind the rocks. “You heard that?” he said, and Will nodded. Evanlyn remained crouching, facedown, behind the rock. Erak stirred her roughly with the toe of his boot. “What about you, missy?” he said, his voice harsh. “You heard too?” Now she looked up, tears of terror staining tracks in the dust on her face.

Wordlessly, she nodded. Erak fixed her gaze with his own until he was sure the threat was fully understood. “Then remember it if you start thinking about escape,” he said coldly. “That’s all that awaits you if you get away from us.”

“Thank you Morgarath, I shall be having nightmares for the next few days.” Horace announced. A few heads nodded in agreement.

Will handed Halt back the book.

Chapter 15: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 29

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 29.

The plains of Uthal formed a wide open space of rolling grasslands. The grass was rich and green. There were few trees, although occasional knolls and low hills served to break the monotony. Some distance behind the position occupied by the Araluen army, the Plains began to rise gradually, to a low ridgeline.

Closer to the fens, where the Wargals were forming up, a creek wound its way. Normally a mere trickle, it had been swollen by the recent spring rains so that the ground ahead of the Wargals was soft and boggy, precluding any possible attack by the Araluen heavy cavalry.

Baron Fergus shaded his eyes against the bright noon sun and peered across the Plains to the entrance to Three Step Pass. “There are a lot of them,” he said mildly.

“And more coming,” Arald of Redmont replied, easing his broadsword a little in its scabbard.

The two barons were slowly walking their battle horses across the front of Duncan’s drawn-up army. It was good for morale, Arald believed, for the men to see their leaders relaxed and engaging in casual conversation as they watched their enemies emerging from the narrow mountain pass and fanning out onto the Plains. Dimly, they could hear the ominous, rhythmic chant of the Wargals as they jogged into position. “Damned noise is quite unnerving,” Fergus muttered, and Arald nodded agreement.

Seemingly casual, he cast his glance over the men behind them. The army was in position, but Battlemaster David had told them to remain at rest. Consequently, the cavalry were dismounted and the infantry and archers were sitting on the grassy slope. “No sense in wearing them out standing at attention in the sun,” David had said, and the others had agreed. By the same token, he had set the various Kitchen-masters the task of keeping the men supplied with cool drinks and fruit.

The white-clad servers moved among the army now, carrying baskets and water skins. Arald glanced down and smiled at the portly form of Master Chubb, his chef from Redmont Castle, supervising a group of hapless apprentices as they handed out apples and peaches to the men.

“He’s not wrong. Master Chubb could take out armies with that ladle of his. If he and Jenny ever joined forces, I believe they would be unstoppable.” Will said, remembering when Master Chubb had hit him with his ladle back when he stole some pies, and how his former wardmate Jenny had skilfully picked up on the habit. Maddie looked at him curiously, wondering what story that comment held behind it.

As ever, his ladle rose and fell with alarming frequency on the heads of any apprentices he deemed to be moving too slowly. “Give that Kitchen-master of yours a mace and he could rout Morgarath’s army single-handed,” commented Fergus, and Arald smiled thoughtfully. The men around Chubb and his apprentices, distracted by the fat cook’s antics, were taking no notice of the chanting from across the Plains.

“They had something far deadlier to worry about.” Horace commented, which go a few laughs.

In other areas, he could see signs of restlessness—evidence that the men were becoming increasingly ill at ease. Looking around, Arald’s eye fell on an infantry captain seated with his company. Their minimal armour, plaid cloaks and two-handed broadswords marked them as belonging to one of the northern fiefs.

He beckoned the man over and leaned down from the saddle as he saluted. “Good morning, Captain,” he said easily. “Morning, my lord,” replied the officer, his heavy northern accent making the words almost unrecognizable.

“Tell me, Captain, do you have pipers among your men?” the Baron asked, smiling. The officer answered immediately, in a very serious manner. “Aye, sir. The McDuig and the McForn are with us. And always so when we go to war.”

Maddie was just about to ask, but Will held up his finger, making her pause.

“Then perhaps you might prevail upon them to give us a reel or two?” the Baron suggested. “It might be an altogether more pleasant sound than that tuneless grunting from over yonder.” He inclined his head toward the Wargal forces and now a slow smile spread over the captain’s face.

He nodded readily. “Aye, sir. I’ll see to it. There’s nothing like a skirl or two on the pipes to get a man’s blood prancing!”

Saluting hurriedly, he turned away toward his men, shouting as he ran: “McDuig! McForn! Gather your wind and set to the pipes, men! Let’s hear ‘The Feather Crested Bonnet’ from ye!” As the two barons rode on, they heard behind them the preliminary moaning of bagpipes coming to full volume.

Fergus winced and Arald grinned at him. “Nothing like the skirl of the pipes to get the blood prancing,” he quoted. “In my case, it gets the teeth grinding,” replied his companion, surreptitiously nudging his horse with his heel to move them a little farther away from the wild sound of the pipes. But when he looked at the men behind them, he had to agree that Arald’s idea had worked.

The pipes were successfully drowning out the dull chanting and, as the two pipers marched and countermarched in front of the army, they held the attention of all the men in their immediate vicinity. “Good idea,” he said to Arald, then added, “I can’t help wondering if that’s an equally good one.”

“Reminds me of Crowley’s whistling,” Gilan commented, smiling at Halt’s sour expression. “I never know why he always seemed so cheerful while doing it.” He grumbled, but he would admit, he did miss it.

He gestured across the plain to where the Wargals were emerging from the Pass and taking up their positions. “All my instincts say we should be hitting them before they have a chance to form up.” Arald shrugged. This point had been hotly debated by the War Council for the past few days. “If we hit them as they come out, we simply contain them,” he said. “If we want to destroy Morgarath’s power once and for all, we have to let him commit his forces in the open.”

“And hope that Halt has been successful in stopping Horth’s army,” Fergus said. “I’m getting a nasty crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind us.”

“Halt has never let us down before,” Arald said mildly. Fergus nodded unhappily. “I know that. He’s a remarkable man. But there are so many things that could have gone wrong. He could have missed Horth’s army altogether. He may still be fighting his way through the Thorntree. Or, worse yet, Horth may have defeated his archers and cavalry.”

Halt raised an eyebrow at Baron Arald, the comment of being a remarkable man was not one he took lightly.

“There’s nothing we can do about it but wait,” Arald pointed out. “And keep an eye to the northwest, hoping we don’t see battle-axes and horned helmets coming over those hills.”

“There’s a comforting thought,” said Arald, trying to make light of the moment. Yet he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn in his saddle and peer anxiously toward the hills in the north.

“Yee have little faith.” Halt muttered grumpily.

Erak had waited till the last few hundred Wargals were moving down Three Step Pass to the Plains, then forced his small group into the middle of the jogging creatures. There were a few snarls and scowls as the Skandians shoved their way into the living stream that was flowing through the narrow, twisting confines of the Pass, but the heavily armed sea raiders snarled back and handled their double-sided battle-axes with such easy familiarity that the angry Wargals soon backed off and left them alone.

“Smart move.” Horace commented and he was met with total agreement from everyone.

Evanlyn and Will were in the centre of the group, surrounded by the burly Skandians. Will’s easily recognizable Ranger cloak had been hidden away in one of the packs and both he and Evanlyn wore sheepskin half capes that were too large for them. Evanlyn’s short hair was bundled up under a woollen cap. So far, none of the Wargals had taken any notice of them, assuming them to be servants or slaves to the small band of sea raiders.

“Just keep your mouths shut and your eyes down!” Erak had told them as they shoved their way into the crowd of jogging Wargals. The narrow confines of the Pass echoed to the tuneless chanting that the Wargals used as a cadence. The sound ebbed and flowed about them as they half ran with the stream.

Erak’s plan was to move eastward as soon as they had cleared the Pass, ostensibly with the purpose of taking up a position on the right flank of the Wargal army. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, the Skandians would break off and escape into the swampy wilderness of the fenlands, traveling through the bogs and grassy islands to the beaches where Horth’s fleet lay at anchor. They shuffled along, twisting and turning with the convolutions of the Pass. The narrow trail led down through the sheer mountains for at least five kilometres and Will could understand why it had always been a barrier to both sides.

Morgarath’s men couldn’t move out in any large numbers unless Duncan held back and allowed them to. Similarly, the King’s army couldn’t penetrate the Pass to attack Morgarath on the plateau. Black walls of sheer, glistening-wet rock towered above them on either side. The Pass saw sunlight for less than an hour each day, right on high noon. At any other time, it was cold and damp and shrouded in shadow. All of which served to help conceal the presence of the two younger members of the party from prying eyes.

Will felt the ground beneath his feet beginning to level out and realized they must be in the last extremities of the Pass—down at the level of the Plains. There was no way he could even see the ground ahead of him, trapped in the seething, jostling crowd. They rounded a final bend and a lance of daylight stabbed into the Pass, forcing him to throw up a hand to shield his eyes. They had reached the entrance, he realized. He felt a shove from his left. “Get over to the right!” Erak told them and the four Skandians formed a human wedge, forcing their way through the crowd until they were on the extreme right-hand side of the Pass.

“I mean, if a group of Skandians were coming at me, I’d almost be in a hurry to get out of the way.” Gilan noted.

There were growls and angry grunts from the Wargals as they shoved their way through, but the Skandians gave as good as they got in terms of threats and abuse. The sunlight hit them like a physical barrier as they emerged from the darkness of the Pass and, for a moment, Will and Evanlyn hesitated. Erak shoved them on again, more anxious now as he could hear a familiar voice calling commands for the Wargals to deploy. Morgarath was here, directing operations. “Curse him!” muttered Erak. “I’d hoped he’d be out with the vanguard of the army. Keep moving, you two!” He shoved Will and Evanlyn along a little faster. Will glanced back.

Maddie glanced once more at her mentor and saw that he had gone stock still once again. His eyes were focused on the table, but Maddie could see his whitening knuckles to now he was paying close attention to the story.

Above the heads of the Wargals, he could see the tall, thin form of the Lord of Rain and Night, now clad entirely in black mail armour and surcoat, still seated on his white horse and calling instructions to the milling, chanting Wargals. Gradually, they were moving into ordered formations, then taking their position with the main army.

As Will looked back, the pale face turned toward the group of hurrying Skandians and Morgarath urged his horse toward them, unmindful of the fact that he was trampling through his own men to reach them. “Captain Erak!” he called. The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, thin and cutting, through the chanting of the Wargals. “Keep going!” Erak ordered them in a low voice. “Keep moving.”

“Stop!” Now the voice was raised and the cold anger in it instantly silenced and stilled the Wargals. As they froze in place around them, the Skandians reluctantly did the same, Erak turning to face Morgarath. The Lord of Rain and Night spurred his horse through the throng, Wargals falling back to make way for him, or being buffeted out of the way if they failed to do so. Slowly, as his eyes locked on those of Erak, he dismounted.

Everyone leaned in instinctively. The tension in the room thickened so much that all of a sudden it was hard to breath.

Even on foot, he towered over the bulky Skandian leader. “And where might you and your men be bound today, Captain?” he asked in a silky tone. Erak gestured to the right. “It’s normal for me and my men to fight on the right wing,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “But I’ll go wherever you need me if that doesn’t suit.”

“Will you?” replied Morgarath with withering sarcasm. “Will you indeed? How terribly kind of you. You…” He broke off, his gaze on the two smaller figures whom the other Skandians had been trying, unsuccessfully, to shield from his gaze.

“Who are they?” he demanded. Erak shrugged. “Celts,” he said easily. “We took them prisoner in Celtica and I’m planning to sell them to Oberjarl Ragnak as slaves.”

The dead silence of the table spoke volumes more than words could.

“Celtica is mine, Captain. Slaves from Celtica are mine as well. They’re not for you to take and sell to your barbarian of a king.” The Skandians surrounding Will and Evanlyn stirred angrily at his words. Morgarath turned his cold eyes on them, then looked away at the thousands of Wargals who surrounded them—every one ready to obey any command of his without question. The message was clear.

Erak tried to bluff his way through the situation. “Our agreement was we fought for booty and that includes slaves,” he insisted, but Morgarath cut him off. “If you fought!” he shouted furiously. “If! Not if you stood by and let my bridge be destroyed.”

“It was your man Chirath who was in command at the bridge,” Erak flashed back at him. “It was he who decided no guard was to be left on it. We were the ones who tried to save it while he was hiding behind rocks!” Morgarath’s gaze locked with Erak’s once more and now his voice dropped to a low, almost inaudible level. “I am not spoken to in that fashion, Captain Erak,” he spat. “You will apologize to me at once. And then…”

He stopped in midsentence. Although he had been staring, unblinkingly, into Erak’s eyes, he had apparently sensed something off to one side. Those black eyes now turned and trained on Will. One white, bony finger was raised, pointing at the boy’s throat.

Maddie gasped, holding her hands over her mouth as she realised what Morgarath was pointing at.

“What is that?”

Erak looked and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. There was a dull gleam of bronze visible in the gap of Will’s open collar. Then Erak felt himself shoved to one side as Morgarath moved, snake-fast, and snatched at the chain around Will’s neck. Will staggered back, horrified at the implacable fury in those dead eyes, and the slight flare of colour above the cheekbones. Beside him, he heard Evanlyn’s intake of breath as Morgarath stared down at the small bronze oak leaf in his hand. “A Ranger!” he raged. “This is a Ranger! This is their sign!”

“Why didn’t he hide the oak leaf as well?” Maddie asked. She looked to Will for the answer, but Gilan was the one who replied, “Maybe they didn’t have time?” However even he himself was a little unconvinced.

“He’s a boy…” Erak began, but now Morgarath’s fury was turned upon him and he swept his hand in a backhanded blow across the Skandian’s cheek.

“He is no boy! He is a Ranger!” The other three Skandians moved forward at the blow, weapons ready. Morgarath didn’t even have to speak. He turned those glittering eyes on them and twenty Wargals moved as well, a warning growl in their throats, clubs and iron spears ready. Erak signalled for his men to settle.

The red mark of Morgarath’s blow flared on his cheek. “You knew,” Morgarath accused him. “You knew.” Then realization dawned on him. “This is the one! Arrows, you said! My Wargals were hiding from arrows as the bridge burned! Ranger weapons! This is the swine who destroyed my bridge!”

Will seemed to shrink back as Halt read, reliving the memories he had long tried to forget. He got a few sympathetic glances, but he was too busy trying to keep his emotions under control to notice. Cassandra had paled considerably, and she clutched Horace’s hand like her life depended on it.

The voice rose to a shriek of fury as he spoke. Will’s throat was dry and his heart pounded with terror. He knew of Morgarath’s legendary hatred for Rangers—all members of the Corps did. Ironically, it was Halt himself who had triggered that hatred when he led the surprise attack on Morgarath’s army at Hackham Heath sixteen years previously. Erak stood before the raging Black Lord and said nothing. Will felt a small, warm hand creep into his: Evanlyn.

For a moment, he marvelled at the girl’s courage, to bond herself to him like this, in the face of Morgarath’s implacable fury and hatred. Then, another horse forced its way through the crowd. On its back was one of Morgarath’s Wargal lieutenants, one of those who had learned basic human speech.

Maddie frowned, thinking that obviously these Wargals must have had a much longer time to learn human speech than the ones with Arazan’s. So she was surprised only a few learned the common tongue.

“My lord!” he called, in the peculiar, flat tones of all Wargals. “Enemy advancing.” Morgarath swung to face him and the Wargal continued. “Their skirmish line moving toward us, my lord. Battle is beginning.”

The Lord of Rain and Night came to a decision. He swung back into the saddle of his horse, his furious gaze now locked on Will, not Erak. “We will finish this later,” he said. Then he turned to a Wargal sergeant among those who had surrounded the Skandians. “Hold these prisoners here until I return. On pain of your life.”

Halt continued.

Chapter 16: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 30

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 30.

Halt started reading.

The King’s skirmish line, consisting of light infantry accompanied by archers, advanced on Morgarath’s left flank in a probing movement, retreating hastily when a battalion of heavy infantry formed up and moved forward to meet them.

The lightly armed skirmishers scampered back to the safety of their own lines, ahead of the slow-treading Wargals. Then, as a company of heavy cavalry trotted forward toward the Wargal battalion’s left flank, the Wargals re-formed from their column-of-fours marching order into a slower-moving defensive square and withdrew to their own lines.

As in most battles, the first moves were inconclusive, and for the next few hours, that remained the pattern of the battle: small forces would probe the other side’s defences. Larger forces would offer to counter and the first attack would melt away.

Arald, Fergus and Tyler sat their horses beside the King, on a small knoll in the centre of the royal army. Battlemaster David was with a small group of knights making one of the many forays toward the Wargal army. “All this to-ing and fro-ing is getting me down,” Arald said sourly. The King smiled at him. He had one of the most important attributes of a good commander: almost unlimited patience. “Morgarath is waiting,” he said simply. “Waiting for Horth’s army to show itself in our rear. Then he’ll attack, have no doubt.”

“I wish I inherited that.” Maddie grumbled. Her mother looked at her with little sympathy, “You and me both.”

“Let’s just get on with it ourselves,” growled Fergus, but Duncan shook his head, pointing to the ground immediately to the front of Morgarath’s position. “The land there is soft and boggy,” he said. “It would reduce the effectiveness of our best weapon—our cavalry. We’ll wait till Morgarath comes to us. Then we can fight him on ground that’s more to our liking.”

There was an urgent clatter of hooves from the rear, and the royal party turned to watch a courier spurring his horse up the last slope to the knoll where they waited. He hauled on his reins, looked around until he saw the King’s blond head, then dug in his spurs again, eventually bringing his horse to a sliding stop beside them. His green surcoat, light mail armour and thin-bladed sword showed him to be a scout. “Your Majesty,” he said breathlessly. “A report from Sir Vincent.”

Vincent was the leader of the Messenger Corps, a group of soldiers who acted as the King’s eyes and ears during a battle, carrying reports and orders to all parts of the battlefield. Duncan indicated that the man should go ahead and give his message. The rider swallowed several times and looked anxiously at the King and his three barons.

All at once, Arald knew this was not going to be good news. “Sir,” said the scout hesitantly. “Sir Vincent’s respects, sir, and…there appear to be Skandians behind us.” There were startled exclamations from several of the junior officers surrounding the command group. Fergus swung on them, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Be quiet!” he stormed and, in an instant, the noise dropped away.

“Skandians!” Maddie exclaimed nervously, “but I thought…”

Will looked at her, and Maddie just realised her mistake. “You’re an apprentice, you’re not ready to think.” He quipped at her. Halt and Gilan hid their smiles.

The aides looked shamefaced at their lack of discipline. “Exactly where are these Skandians? And how many are there?” Duncan asked the scout calmly. His unruffled manner seemed to communicate itself to the messenger. This time, he answered with a lot more confidence. “The first group is visible on the low ridge to the northwest, Your Majesty. As yet we can see only a hundred or so. Sir Vincent suggests that the best position for you to view the situation would be from the small hill to our left rear.”

The King nodded and turned to one of the younger officers. “Ranald, perhaps you might ride and advise Sir David of this new development. Tell him we are shifting the command post to the hill Sir Vincent suggested.”

“Yes, my lord!” replied the young knight. He wheeled his horse and set off at a gallop. The King then turned to his companions. “Gentlemen, let’s see about these Skandians, shall we?” Shading his eyes, Baron Arald peered at the small group of men on the hill behind them. Even at this distance, it was possible to make out the horned helmets and the huge circular shields that the sea raiders carried.

A small group had even advanced down the near side of the hill and they were easier to make out. Just as obvious was their choice of the typical Skandian arrowhead formation as they advanced. He estimated that several hundred of the enemy were now in sight, with who knew how many more hidden on the other side of the hills.

He felt a great weight of sadness upon his shoulders. The fact that the Skandians were there meant only one thing: Halt had failed.

Halt raised an eyebrow at his friend.

And knowing Halt as he did, he knew that probably meant that the grizzled Ranger had died in the attempt. He knew Halt would never have surrendered—not when the need to stop the Skandians breaking through to the army’s rear was so vital. Duncan voiced the thoughts of all of them. “They’re Skandians, all right.” He glanced around the hilltop. “We’re going to have to fight a defensive battle, my lords,” he continued. “I suggest we begin to pull our men into a circle around this hill. It’s as good a spot as any to be fighting on both sides.”

They all knew it was only a matter of time now before Morgarath advanced, to crush them between the two jaws of the trap he had set. “Rider coming!” called one of the aides, pointing.

Halt’s eyebrows raised even higher if that was even possible. The Baron was ignoring this obvious sign of amusement from the Ranger.

They all turned to face the way he indicated. From a copes of trees at the right-hand end of the ridge, a lone rider burst into sight. Several of the Skandians gave chase, hurling spears and clubs after him. But he was stretched low over his horse’s neck, his grey-green cloak streaming behind him in the wind, and he soon outdistanced the pursuit. “That’s Gilan,” Baron Arald muttered, recognizing the bay horse he rode.

He looked in vain for a second Ranger behind Gilan, hoping against hope that Halt might have somehow survived. But it was not to be. The Baron’s shoulders sagged a little as he recalled the force that had marched off so boldly into the Thorntree Forest. Of all those men, it seemed that only Gilan had survived.

Halt snorted, “As if. Gilan wouldn’t be the only survivor since I’d bet he’d try a desperate rescue attempt himself.” Gilan raised his hands in mock surrender, not even trying to counter his mentor’s accusations.

Gilan had hit the flat land now and was still riding full pelt. He saw the royal standards flying on the knoll and swerved Blaze toward them. In a few minutes, he drew rein beside them, covered in dust, one sleeve of his tunic ripped and a rough, bloodstained bandage around his head. “Sir!” he said breathlessly, forgetting the niceties of addressing royalty. “Halt says can you—” He got no further as at least four people interrupted him.

Baron Fergus’s voice, however, was the loudest. “Halt? He’s alive?” Gilan grinned in reply. “Oh, yes, sir! Alive and kicking.”

This time Halt’s eyebrows were turned on his former apprentice, who didn’t even have the discipline to look sheepish.

“But the Skandians…?” King Duncan began, indicating the lines of men on the far ridge. Gilan’s grin widened even further.

“Beaten, sir. We caught them totally by surprise and cut them to pieces. Those men there are our archers, wearing helmets and shields taken from the enemy. It was Halt’s idea—”

“Of course it was.” Arald muttered. Halt’s eyebrows now were focused on him once again. A smile smirk was threatening to plaster it’s self all over the Ranger’s face but he reeled it in, somewhat reluctantly.

“To what purpose?” Arald asked crisply, and Gilan turned to face him, with an apologetic nod of his head to the King.

“To deceive Morgarath, my lord,” he replied. “He’s expecting to see Skandians attack you from the rear, and now he will. That’s why they even made a pretence of trying to stop me just now. Our own cavalry is just beyond the brow of the ridge. Halt proposes that he should advance with the archers, forcing you to turn and face the rear. Then, with any luck, as Morgarath attacks with his Wargals, both the archers and your main army should open a path through the centre, allowing the hidden cavalry to come through and hit Morgarath when he’s in the open.”

“By God, it’s a great idea!” said Duncan enthusiastically. “Odds are that we’ll stir up so much dust and confusion that he won’t see Halt’s cavalry until it’s right on top of him.”

“Then, my lord, we can deploy the heavy cavalry from either wing to hit the Wargals in the flanks.” The new speaker was Sir David. He had arrived unnoticed as Gilan was explaining Halt’s plan. King Duncan hesitated for a second or two, tugging at his short beard.

Then he nodded decisively. “We’ll do it!” he said. “Gentlemen, you’d better get to your commands straightaway. Fergus, Arald, take a section of the heavy cavalry each to the left and right wings, and stand ready. Tyler, command the infantry in the centre. Have them shout and cry out and beat their swords on their shields as these ‘Skandians’ approach. We’ll make it sound like a battle as well as look like one. Have them ready to split to the sides at three horn blasts.”

“Three horn blasts. Aye, my lord,” said Tyler. He dug his spurs into his battle horse’s side and galloped away to take command of the infantry. Duncan looked to his remaining commanders. “Get to it, my lords. We don’t have much time.”

From behind, one of his aides called out, “Sir! The Skandians are moving downhill!” A second or so later, another man echoed the cry: “And the Wargals are beginning to move forward!” Duncan smiled grimly at his commanders. “I think it’s time we gave Morgarath a little surprise,” he said.

“I have to say that was one of your most brilliant plans.” Gilan said seriously, for once not joking around. Halt nodded his thanks and continued reading.

Chapter 17: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 31

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 31

From his command position at the centre of his army, Morgarath watched the apparent confusion in the King’s forces. Horses were galloping back and forth, men were turning where they stood. Shouts and cries drifted across the plain to the Army of Rain and Night.

Morgarath stood in his stirrups. In the far distance, he could see movement on the ridge to the north of the kingdom’s army. Men were forming up and moving forward. He strained his eyes to see more clearly. That was the direction from which he expected Horth to appear, but the rising dust kicked up by all the movement made it difficult to see details.

“That was the point, idiot.” Arald muttered. No one paid him any mind, as everyone was focused on the upcoming battle.

Although the bulk of Morgarath’s forces were the Wargals, whose minds and bodies had been enslaved to his own will, the Lord of Rain and Night was surrounded by a small coterie of men whom he had allowed to retain their own powers of thought and decision.

Renegades, criminals and outcasts, they came from all over the country. Evil always attracts its own and Morgarath’s inner circle was, to a man, pitiless, black-hearted and depraved. All, however, were capable warriors and most were cold-blooded killers. One of them now rode to Morgarath’s side. “My lord!” he cried, a smile opening on his face, “the barbarians are behind Duncan’s forces! They’re attacking now!”

“If only he knew how wrong he was…” Maddie said sadly, but the smirk on her face told a different story.

Morgarath smiled back at the young man. His eyes were renowned for their keenness. “You’re sure?” he asked, in his thin, flat voice. The black-clad lieutenant nodded confidently. “I can make out their ridiculous horned helmets and their round shields, my lord. No other warriors carry them.” This was the truth. While some of the kingdom’s forces did use round bucklers, the Skandians’ shields were enormous affairs, made of hardwood studded with metal.

They were over a meter in diameter and only the huge Skandians, heavily muscled from rowing their wolfships across the winter seas, could bear such heavy shields in a battle for any length of time. “Look, my lord!” the young man continued. “The enemy are turning to face them!” And so they appeared to be. The front ranks of the army facing them were now milling in confusion and turning about.

The shouting and noise rose in pitch. Morgarath looked to his right, and saw the small hill where the King’s standard marked the enemy command post. Mounted figures were pointing, facing the north. He smiled once more. Even without the forces from across the Fissure bridge, his plan would be successful. He had Duncan’s forces trapped between the hammer of the Skandians and the anvil of his own Wargals.

“Advance,” he said softly. Then, as the bugler beside him didn’t hear the words, he turned, his face expressionless, and whipped the man across the face with his leather-covered steel riding crop. “Sound the advance,” he repeated, no more loudly than before.

The bugler, ignoring the agony of the whip cut and the blood that poured down his forehead and into his eye, raised a horn to his lips and blew an ascending scale of four notes. Along the lines of the Wargal army, company commanders stepped forward, one every hundred meters. They raised their curved swords and called the first few sounds of the Wargal cadence.

Like a mindless machine, the entire army took up the chant immediately—this one set at a slow jog pace—and began to move forward. Morgarath allowed the first half-dozen ranks to pass him, then he and his attendants urged their horses forward and moved with the army.

The Lord of Rain and Night felt his breath coming a little faster, his pulse beginning to accelerate. This was the moment he had planned and waited for over the past fifteen years. High in his windy, rain-swept mountains, he had expanded his force of Wargals until they formed an army that no infantry could defeat.

Without minds of their own, they were almost without fear. They were inexorable. They would suffer losses no other troops would bear and continue to advance. They had only one weakness and that was facing cavalry. The high plateaux were no place for horses and he had been unable to condition their minds to stand against mounted soldiers.

He knew that he would lose many of his own troops to Duncan’s cavalry, but he cared little about that. In a normal confrontation, the King’s cavalry would be a decisive factor in their battle. Now, however, split between the Wargals and the attacking Skandians, their numbers would be insufficient to stop him. He accepted the fact that Duncan’s cavalry would cause immense losses among his troops without a qualm. He cared nothing for his army, only for his own desires and plans.

“Faster!” he cried, sliding his huge broadsword from its scabbard and wielding it in gigantic circles over his head. The Wargals didn’t need to hear the word. They were bound to him in an unbreakable linkage of minds.

Maddie winced at the thought of being mentally tied to such a horrid and ruthless individual.

The cadence of the chant increased and the black army began to move faster and faster. In front all was confusion. The enemy, first turning to face the Skandians, now saw the new threat developing at their rear. They hesitated, then, for some unaccountable reason, they responded to three horn blasts by drawing to either side, opening a gap in the heart of their line.

Morgarath screamed his triumph. He would drive his army into the gap, separating the left and right wings of the army. Once an army’s front line was broken, it lost all cohesion and control and was more than halfway defeated. Now, in their panic, the enemy was presenting him with the perfect opportunity to strike deep into their hearts. They had even left the way open to their own command centre— the small group of horsemen standing under the royal standard on a hill. “To the right!” Morgarath screamed, pointing his sword toward King Duncan’s eagle standard.

Maddie looked at her parents, both with grim expressions.

As before, the Wargals heard the words and his thought in their minds. The army wheeled slightly, heading for the gap. And now, through the chanting, Morgarath heard a dull drumming sound. An unexpected sound. Hoofbeats. The sudden doubt in his mind communicated instantly to the minds of his army. The advance faltered for a moment.

Then, cursing the Wargals, he drove them forward again. But the hoofbeats were still there and now, peering through the clouds of dust raised by the enemy army, he could see movement. He felt a sudden, overpowering surge of fear and again the Wargal army hesitated. And this time, before he could mentally flail them forward, the curtains of dust seemed to part and a wedge of heavy cavalry, fully armoured and at the gallop, burst into sight, less than a hundred meters from his army’s front line.

Maddie cheered as everyone else gave small smiles.

There was no time to form into the sort of defensive square that was infantry’s only hope against a cavalry attack. The armoured wedge smashed into the extended front line of the Wargals, collapsing the formation and driving into the heart of Morgarath’s army. And the farther they penetrated, the wider the gap became, as the wedge shape split and separated the Wargals, just as Morgarath had been planning to do to his enemy.

Now Morgarath heard one long, rising horn blast in the distance. Standing high in the stirrups, he cast his glance left and right, and saw, from either wing of Duncan’s army, more cavalry deploying, driving in on his flanks, smashing his formations. Dimly, he realized that he had exposed his army to the worst possible situation that he could have contrived: caught in the open by the full force of Duncan’s cavalry.

Maddie grinned at her parents, the Baron and Sir Rodney as she felt the exhilaration of a well-thought-out plan come to it’s climax.

Over the years, Sir David of Caraway Fief had studied the tactics of cavalry in battle. He knew that the major effect of a cavalry charge came in the first moments of thunderous impact as horsemen drove into an enemy line. With the full momentum of the charge behind them, their three-meter long lances smashed through armour, flesh and bone and hurled enemy troops back in disarray, to be trampled under the horses’ hooves. But once the horsemen lost their momentum, and a general melee formed, that major advantage was lost.

Maddie once again leaned forward, eager to hear how the victory was won.

Accordingly, he had trained the Araluen cavalry in a new series of manoeuvres. After that first thundering charge, the cavalry that had hit the centre of the Wargal line withdrew and quickly reformed. Each company of eighty cavalry men now split into four arrowhead formations of twenty troopers each—the formations riding one behind the other.

The cavalry approaching from either wing were already deployed in the same formation. Now, as a bugle signal sounded, they employed a tactic that Sir David had christened The Hammer blows.

The leading arrowheads thundered forward and crashed into the Wargal line, scattering dead and wounded Wargals to either side as they drove in. Then, before their momentum was lost, they pivoted their horses and galloped away, splitting to either side. A few seconds behind them, the second wave was already at the gallop. Giving the Wargals no chance to recover, they smashed into the line, lances thrusting, horses trampling.

Then, before the Wargals could come to close quarters, the second arrowhead swung about and withdrew, making room for the third wave to come crashing in after them. As the fourth squadron began to gallop forward to attack, the first was already re-forming behind them, ready to begin the whole process over again.

All along the line, the Araluen cavalry hit the Wargal army with a rapid, nonstop series of devastating hammer blows, sending the savage, bearlike soldiers reeling at twenty different points, cutting the line into a series of disjointed, uncontrolled groups, which were then struck in their own turn. From his central vantage point, Morgarath watched, enraged, as his line was systematically cut to pieces.

There was no tactic he could devise to counter Sir David’s brilliantly executed battle plan. Even if there had been, he could never have communicated it to the Wargals. Their simple minds understood basic commands—advance, fight, kill. Their major advantage in battle was their implacable savagery, and their total confidence in their own eventual victory.

But now there was a new presence on the battlefield, casting its shadow over the Wargal army. Fear.

They had an innate fear of cavalry and Morgarath sensed the first flickering premonition of panic and defeat among them. He tried to force them forward, willing them to advance. But their fear and their helplessness against these new Araluen tactics were too strong.

They still fought ferociously, and their swords and short spears took a fierce toll on those horsemen they could reach. But their resolve was beginning to buckle, along with their formation. And Morgarath knew it. Screaming with fury, he sent a mental order he had sent only once before: Retreat.

Maddie cheered again, but this time was hushed quickly. This wasn’t the end of the story, not even close.

Then he wheeled his horse and, with his henchmen beside him, galloped back through his fleeing army, clearing a path with his sword as he went. At Three Step Pass, there was a hopeless tangle as thousands of the rear guard tried to force their way through the narrow gap in the rocks. There would be no escape for him there—but escape was the last thought on his mind.

His only wish now was for revenge against the people who had brought his plans crashing into the dust. He drew his remaining troops into a defensive half circle, their backs to the sheer rocks that barred the way to the high plateau. Seething in fury and frustration, he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

The Skandian attack had melted away as if it were never there. And then he realized that it never had been. The soldiers advancing down from the ridge wore Skandian helmets and carried Skandian shields, but it had been a ruse to draw him forward. The fact that they had the helmets and shields meant that, somewhere, Horth’s forces had been defeated. That could only have been accomplished if someone had led an intercepting force throughout the impenetrable tangle of the Thorntree Forest. Someone?

Maddie looked towards Halt who just continued to read, seemingly not noticing the looks he was getting from the princess.

Deep in his mind, Morgarath knew who that someone was. He didn’t know how he knew. Or why. He knew it had to be a Ranger and there was only one Ranger who would have done it. Halt. Dark, bitter hatred surged in his heart. Because of Halt, his fifteen-year dream was crumbling before his eyes. Because of Halt, fully half of his Wargal soldiers were lying broken in the dust of the battlefield.

The day was lost, he knew. But he would have his revenge on Halt. And he was beginning to see the way. He turned to one of his captains. “Prepare a flag of truce,” he said.

Maddie looked around and noticed how little anyone said. Though not all of them were there at the time, this was an accurate and detailed re-telling of their past. A battle that may have been the only one of the war, but it had still cost lives. With that grim thought in mind, Maddie made a note to smother her excitement a little as these events had happened, and those lives were still lost

Notes:

Hey guys, I'll be slowing down postings to every two days from now on just because otherwise I'll run out of chapters.

Chapter 18: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 32

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 32.

The kingdom’s main army advanced slowly across the littered battlefield. The crushing attacks by the cavalry on three sides had given them a decisive victory in the space of a few short minutes. In the second line of the command party, Horace rode beside Sir Rodney. The Battlemaster had selected Horace as his shield man, riding on his left side, in recognition of his service to the kingdom. It was a rare honour for someone in his first battle, but Sir Rodney thought the boy had more than deserved it.

“How does putting an apprentice with a skilled knight an honour?” Maddie asked. Sir Rodney replied, “It means that the knight trusts the apprentice enough to fight together in battle. And it also increases the apprentice’s chance of surviving as well.” He finished grimly.

Horace viewed the battlefield with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was vaguely disappointed that, so far, he had not been called upon to play a part. On the other, he felt a profound sense of relief. The reality of battle was far removed from the glamorous dreams he had entertained as a boy.

He had pictured a battle like this as a series of carefully coordinated, almost choreographed actions involving skilful warriors performing brave acts of chivalry. Needless to say, in those dreams, the most prominent and chivalrous warrior on the field had been Horace himself.

The Baron and Sir Rodney scoffed at the thought and Horace tried to hide behind his wife, embarrassed by the thoughts he had as a boy.

Instead, he had watched in horror the stabbing, hacking, shoving brawl of blood and dust and screams that had developed before him. Men and Wargals and horses had all died and their bodies sprawled now in the dust of the Plains of Uthal like so many scattered rag dolls. It had been fast and violent and confused. But now, as they rode forward, details began to emerge and he was horrified as he saw the red surcoats of Battleschool apprentices among the dead.

Maddie grimaced at the description, glad that the war didn’t last any longer than it had to.

He saw one body, limp and lifeless as the stretcher bearers turned it over, and beneath the blood and dirt that smeared the pale face, he recognized Paul, a Year 4 apprentice who had been an assistant sword drill instructor. Over the past months, as Horace’s natural skill with the sword had become evident, he and the older boy had become casual friends.

Horace looked down sadly. It had been months since he had thought of Paul, and yet his death was the first when it came to people who knew and had a good relationship with.

When Horace was hurriedly packing his kit for the trip to Celtica, Paul had come to the barracks to lend him a warm cloak and a pair of strong boots. Now he was dead and the debt would never be repaid. Horace felt a sense of emptiness and loss. He glanced now at Sir Rodney. The Battle master’s grim face told him that it was always this way. Horace’s throat was dry and he tried to ease it by swallowing.

He felt a sudden stab of doubt. He wondered, if he were called upon to fight, whether he would simply freeze in fear. For the first time in his life, it had been driven home to him that people actually died in battles. And this time, he could be one of those people.

Maddie remembered feeling a similar way when she first began her apprenticeship. So many things happened so quickly, and she wasn’t used to defending herself. Or taking the lives of others.

He tried to swallow again. This attempt was no more successful than the last. Morgarath and his remaining soldiers were in a defensive formation at the base of the cliffs. The soft marshy ground held the cavalry back and there was no option but to take the infantry forward and finish the job in bloody hand-to-hand fighting. Any normal enemy commander would have seen the inevitable result by now and surrendered to spare the lives of his remaining troops. But this was Morgarath and they knew there would be no negotiating.

They steeled themselves for the ugly task ahead of them. It would be a bloody and senseless fight, but there was no alternative. Once and for all, Morgarath’s power must be broken.

“And thank goodness for that!” The Baron exclaimed, knowing that the final confrontation with Morgarath would be the traitors’ last.

“Nevertheless,” said Duncan grimly, as his front rank stopped a bare hundred meters from the Wargals’ defensive half circle, “we’ll give him the chance to surrender.” He drew breath, about to order his trumpeter to sound the signal for a parley, when there was movement at the front rank of the Wargal army.

“Sir!” said Gilan suddenly. “They have a flag of truce!” The kingdom’s leaders looked in surprise as the white flag was unfurled, carried by a Wargal foot soldier.

He stepped forward into the clear ground. From deep within the Wargal ranks came a horn signal, five ascending notes —the universal signal that requested a parley. King Duncan made a small gesture of surprise, hesitated, then signalled to his own trumpeter. “I suppose we’d better hear what he has to say,” he said. “Give the reply.” The trumpeter moistened his lips and blew the acceptance in reply—a descending sequence of four notes.

“It will be some kind of trick,” said Halt grimly.

“I thought so to at first…” Baron Arald said before trailing off.

When the cavalry had swept through the Araluen army to attack the Wargals, he had resumed his place at the command centre. Now he frowned at the enemy’s latest move. “Morgarath will send a herald to talk while he’s making his escape. He’ll…”

His voice tailed off as the Wargal ranks parted once more and a figure rode forward. Immensely tall and thin, clad in black armour and a beaked black helmet, it was, unmistakably, Morgarath himself.

Halt’s right hand went instinctively to the quiver slung at his back and, within a second, a heavy, armour-piercing arrow was laid on his bowstring. King Duncan saw the movement. “Halt,” he said sharply, “I’ve agreed to a truce. You’ll not cause me to break my word, even to Morgarath.”

Halt rolled his eyes, muttering, “It would have made life a lot easier if I had just shot the bastard, right there and then.”

The trumpet signal was a pledge of safety and Halt reluctantly returned the arrow to his quiver. Duncan made quick eye contact with Baron Arald, signalling him to keep a close eye on the Ranger. Halt shrugged. If he chose to put an arrow into Morgarath’s heart, neither Baron Arald nor anyone else would be quick enough to stop him.

“You underestimate my speed?” The Baron inquired. Halt shook his head replying, “I don’t, I just know my own.”

Slowly, the vulturine figure on the white horse paced forward, his Wargal standard bearer before him. A low murmur rose among the kingdom’s army as men saw, for the first time, the man who for the past fifteen years had been a constant threat to their lives and well-being.

“And the people of the future’s wellbeing.” Maddie added in.

Morgarath stopped a mere thirty meters from their front rank. He could see the royal party where they had moved forward to meet him. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the small figure hunched in a grey cloak on a shaggy pony. “Duncan!” he called, his thin voice carrying through the sudden silence. “I claim my rights!”

Halt snorted, “What rights?”

“You have no rights, Morgarath,” the King replied. “You’re a rebel and a traitor and a murderer. Surrender now and your men will be spared. That’s the only right I will grant you.”

“Should have taken it.” Horace said, knowingly.

“I claim the right of trial by single combat!” Morgarath shouted back, ignoring the King’s words. Then he continued contemptuously, “Or are you too cowardly to accept a challenge, Duncan? Will you let thousands more of your men die while you hide behind them? Or will you let fate decide the issue here?”

For a moment, Duncan was caught off guard. Morgarath waited, smiling quietly to himself. He could guess at the thoughts running through the minds of the King and his advisers. He had offered them a course of action that might spare the lives of thousands of their soldiers.

Maddie saw how much an option like that would appeal to her grandfather, a king who hated that others had to fight his war for him.

Arald moved his horse alongside the King’s and said angrily: “He has no claim to a knight’s privileges. He deserves hanging. Nothing more.” Some of the others muttered agreement.

“And yet…” said Halt quietly, and they all turned to look at him. “This could solve the problem facing us. The Wargals are mind-bound to Morgarath’s will. Now that we can’t use cavalry, they’ll continue to fight as long as he wills them to. And they’ll kill thousands of our men in the process. But, if Morgarath were killed in single combat—”

Tyler interrupted, finishing the thought: “The Wargals would be without direction. Chances are they would simply stop fighting.”

“No chance about it.” Gilan stated a matter a fact.

Duncan frowned uncertainly. “We don’t know that…” he began. Sir David of Caraway interrupted. “Surely, sir, it’s worth a try. Morgarath has outsmarted himself here, I think. He knows we can’t resist the chance to end this on a single combat. He’s thrown the dice today and lost. But he obviously plans to challenge you —to kill you as a final act of revenge.”

“What’s your point?” Duncan asked.

“As Royal Battlemaster, I can respond to any challenge made to you, my lord.” There was a brief murmur at this. Morgarath might be a dangerous opponent, but Sir David was the foremost tournament knight of the kingdom.

Like his son, he had trained with the fabled Sword master MacNeil, and his skill in single combat was legendary.

Gilan grinned at the praise the book was giving to his father, for he knew it was well deserved.

He continued eagerly. “Morgarath is using the rules of knighthood to gain a chance to kill you, sir. Obviously, he’s overlooked the fact that, as King, you can be represented by a champion. Give him the right to challenge. And then let me accept.” Duncan considered the idea. He looked to his advisers and saw grudging agreement.

Abruptly, he made up his mind. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll accept his right to challenge. But nobody, nobody, says anything in acceptance. Only me. Is that clear?”

Halt rolled his eyes and Maddie got the feeling something wrong was going to happen.

His council nodded agreement. Duncan stood in his stirrups and called to the ominous black figure. “Morgarath,” Duncan called, “although we believe you have forfeited any rights you may have had as a knight, go ahead and make your challenge. As you say, let fate decide the issue.”

Now Morgarath allowed the smile to creep over his entire face, no longer trying to conceal it from those who watched him. He felt a quick surge of triumph in his chest, then a cold wash of hatred swept over him as he looked directly at the small, insignificant-looking figure behind the King.

“Don’t tell me he’s going to – ” Maddie wasn’t able to finish. Lady Pauline started reading over her as she herself wanted to know how exactly it all played out.

“Then, as is my right before God,” he said carefully, making sure he used the exact, ancient words of challenge, “and before all here present, I do so make my challenge to prove my cause right and just to…”

“Drama queen.” Baron Arald muttered which Pauline chose to ignore.

He couldn’t help hesitating and savouring the moment for a second. “Halt the Ranger.”

Maddie looked to the man in questioned who didn’t seem concerned at all about how the story was playing out.

There was a stunned silence. Then, as Halt urged Abelard forward to accept the challenge, Duncan’s penetrating cry of “No!” stopped him.

His eyes glittered fiercely. “I’ll take my chance, my lord,” he said grimly. But Duncan threw out an arm to stop him from moving forward.

“Halt is not a knight. You cannot challenge him,” he called urgently.

Morgarath shrugged. “Actually, Duncan, I can challenge anyone. And anyone can challenge me. As a knight, I don’t have to accept any challenge, unless it is issued by another knight. But I can choose to do so. And I can choose whom I challenge.”

“Did you do it?” Maddie asked, her curiosity burning and her nerves being heightened in an instant as adrenaline surged in her veins.

“Halt is forbidden to accept!” Duncan said angrily.

Morgarath laughed thinly. “Still slinking and hiding then, Halt?” he sneered. “Like all Rangers. Did I mention that we have one of your Ranger brats as a prisoner? So small, we nearly threw him back. But I’ve decided to keep him for torture instead. That will make one less sneaking, hiding spy in the future.”

Halt felt the blood draining from his face. There was only one person Morgarath could be talking about. There was an ominous calm to his voice as he spoke. “Turn him loose now, Morgarath, and I’ll let you die quickly. Otherwise…”

Will looked to his mentor who had a dark and grim expression on his face, suddenly glad that Horace had been the one to challenge the Lord of Rain and Night, cause otherwise Halt might have been legible for a few other crimes far worse than murder.

He left the rest of the threat unspoken. But Morgarath saw the pale face and recognized the barely restrained anger in his old enemy. Obviously the Ranger brat meant something special to Halt. Then, instinctively, he recognized the truth. The boy was Halt’s own apprentice!

“You really should have taken better care of your whelp, Halt,” he said casually. “After I’ve finished with you, I’ll see to him personally.” Halt felt a red surge of rage and hatred for the vulturelike figure before him.

Hands reached out to stop him, but he shoved his horse forward, facing Morgarath. “Then, let’s get to it, Morgarath!” he said. “I acc—”

Maddie’s heart was in her mouth as she listened intently.

“Halt! I command you to stop!” Duncan shouted, drowning him out. But then all eyes were drawn to a sudden movement from the second rank of the army.

A flicker of confusion came across Maddie’s features until she realised who it was.

A mounted figure burst clear, covering the short distance to Morgarath in a heartbeat. The Lord of Rain and Night reached for his sword, then realized the newcomer’s own weapon was sheathed. Instead, his right arm drew back and he hurled his gauntlet into Morgarath’s thin face.

“Morgarath!” he yelled, his young voice cracking. “I challenge you to single combat!” Then, wheeling his horse a few paces away, Horace waited for Morgarath’s reply.

Maddie looked to her father, who also had a grim expression on his face. She had completely forgotten what had happened that day and now she was sure she would never forget it.

Lady Pauline gave the book to Gilan.

Chapter 19: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 33

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 33.

Will and Evanlyn never learned what it was that caused the wave of uncertainty in the Wargals who surrounded their small group.

Will huffed, “That’s a lie, it just took a few months.”

They had no way of knowing that it had happened at the moment when Morgarath realized he had been tricked into exposing his army to Duncan’s cavalry.

The two captives and the four Skandians all noticed the sudden uneasiness and hesitancy in the twenty or so Wargal warriors who had been left to guard them. Erak glanced quickly at his men, sensing an opportunity.

So far, they had not been disarmed. The odds of four against twenty were too much, even for Skandians, and the Wargals had only been told to detain them, not disarm them.

“Something’s happening,” the Skandian jarl muttered. “Stay ready, everyone.” Unobtrusively, the small party made sure their weapons were free and ready for action. Then the moment of uncertainty turned to real, palpable fear among the Wargals.

Morgarath had just signalled a general retreat and those at the rear didn’t distinguish themselves from the front line troops for whom the order was intended. Over half of the Wargals guarding them simply ran. One sergeant, however, retained a vestige of independent thought and he growled a warning to his section—eight in total.

“8 against 4 is pretty good odds for Skandians.” Gilan said.

As their companions struggled and fought to make their way into the jam-packed entrance to Three Step Pass, the remaining eight black-clad troops held their position. But they were distracted and nervous and Erak decided that the opportunity wouldn’t get any better than this.

“Now, lads!” he yelled, and swept his double-headed axe in a low horizontal arc at the sergeant. The Wargal tried to bring his iron spear up in defence, but he was a fraction too slow. The heavy axe sheared through his armour and he went down.

No one spoke as many realised that the book was almost over.

As Erak sought another opponent, his men fell on the rest of the Wargal troop. They chose the moment when another mind command went out from Morgarath for his men to withdraw and form a defensive position. The confusing orders in their minds made them easy targets for the Skandians and they fell in short order.

The others around them, intent on escaping to Three Step Pass, took no notice of the brief and bloody skirmish. Erak looked around him with some satisfaction, wiping his axe blade clean on a cloth he’d taken from one of the dead Wargals. “That’s better,” he said heartily. “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”

But the Wargals hadn’t left their group unscathed. As he spoke, Nordal staggered and sank slowly to one knee. Bright blood stained the corner of his mouth and he looked hopelessly at his leader. Erak moved to his side and dropped to his knees. “Nordal!” he cried. “Where are you wounded?” But Nordal could barely talk.

He was grasping his right side, where the sheepskin vest was already heavily stained with his blood. The heavy sword he favoured as a weapon had fallen from his grip. His eyes wide with fear, he tried to reach it, but it was beyond his grasp.

Maddie looked to her parents and mentor for information, but Will just held up his hand to stop the question that he knew was coming.

Quickly, Horak scooped up the weapon and put it in his hand. Nordal nodded his thanks, and slowly let himself drop to a sitting position. The fear was gone from his eyes now. Will knew that Skandians believed a man must die with his weapon in hand if his soul were not to wander in torment for eternity. Now that he had his sword firmly in his grasp, Nordal was not afraid to die. Weakly, he waved them away. “Go!” he said, finally finding his voice. “I’m…finished…get to the ships.”

Maddie made an o shape with her mouth as she listened.

Erak nodded quickly. “He’s right,” he said, straightening up from beside his friend. “There’s nothing we can do for him.” The others nodded and Erak grabbed first Will and then Evanlyn and shoved them along in front of him.

“Come on, you two,” he said roughly. “Unless you want to stay here till Morgarath gets back.” And, moving together in a tight little group, the five of them shoved their way through the milling crowd of Wargals, all trying to move in the opposite direction.

Morgarath was stung by the impact of the heavy leather glove on his face. Furious, he turned to stare at the challenger who had ruined his plan. Then he allowed that thin smile to spread over his face once more. His challenger was no more than a boy, he realized.

Big, certainly, and muscular. But the fresh face under the simple conical helmet couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Before the startled members of the King’s council could react, he replied swiftly. “I accept the challenge!” He was a second ahead of Duncan’s furious cry: “No! I forbid it!”

“He’s going to regret that…” Halt said. Gilan looked to his ex-mentor in surprise, “Who? Horace or Morgarath?”

Realizing he was too late, he sought desperately for a way to prevent this one-sided contest. He forced himself to laugh scornfully at the black-clad figure. “Really, Morgarath, is this your knightly challenge? You want to fight an apprentice? A mere boy? I’ve always known you as a treacherous swine, but at least I never doubted your courage. Now I see you’ve turned coward as well as traitor.”

Horace winced slightly, thinking I don’t remember that.

Morgarath smiled sardonically at the King before he answered. “Is that the best you can do, Duncan?” he asked. “Do you really think I’ll fall for such a transparent ploy? Do you believe I care what you or your toadies think of me? I’ll fight the boy, and I’ll do it gladly. As you know, once a challenge is given and accepted, there can be no withdrawal.”

He was right, of course. The strict rules of chivalry and knighthood, by which they had all sworn solemn oaths to be bound, did decree just that. Morgarath smiled now at the boy beside him. He would make short work of him. And the boy’s quick death would serve to infuriate Halt even more.

Halt, meanwhile, watched the Lord of Rain and Night through slitted eyes. “Morgarath, you’re already a dead man,” he muttered. Halt felt a firm hand on his arm and he turned to look into Sir David’s grim eyes.

The Battlemaster had his sword drawn and resting over his right shoulder. “The boy will have to take his chances, Halt,” he said.

“What chances? He has no chance!” Halt replied.

“Nice to know that you believe in me Halt.” Horace said drily. Halt just shrugged, “You were an apprentice, I wasn’t sure I should.”

Sir David acknowledged the fact sadly. “Be that as it may. You can’t interfere in this combat. I’ll stop you if I even think you’re going to try. Don’t make me do that. We’ve been friends far too long.” He held Halt’s angry gaze for a few seconds, then the Ranger agreed bitterly. He knew the knight wasn’t bluffing.

The codes of chivalry meant everything to him. The byplay hadn’t been lost on Morgarath. He was confident that the moment the boy fell, Halt would accept his original challenge, King’s orders or no King’s orders. And then, at least, Morgarath would know the satisfaction of killing his old, hated enemy before his own world came crashing down around him.

“Like you could.” Halt scoffed to himself.

He turned now to Horace. “What weapons, boy?” he said in an insulting tone. “How do you choose to fight?” Horace’s face was white and strained with fear. For a moment, his voice was trapped inside his throat. He wasn’t sure what had come over him when he’d galloped forward and issued his challenge. It certainly wasn’t something he’d planned. A red rage had overtaken him and he had found himself out here in front of the entire army, throwing his gauntlet into Morgarath’s startled face.

Then he thought of Morgarath’s threat to Will, and how he’d been forced to leave his friend at the bridge and he managed, at last, to speak. “As we are,” he said.

Will looked to his friend in surprise, he hadn’t known that Horace had challenged Morgarath because he threatened him.

Both of them carried swords. In addition, Morgarath’s long, kite-shaped shield hung at his saddle and Horace carried his round buckler slung on his back. But Morgarath’s sword was a twohanded broadsword, nearly a foot longer than the standard cavalry sword Horace carried.

Morgarath turned now to call once more to Duncan. “The whelp chooses to fight as we are. You’ll stand by the rules of conduct, I assume, Duncan?” he said.

“You’ll fight unmolested,” Duncan agreed in a bitter tone.

Those were the rules of single combat. Morgarath nodded and made a mocking bow in the King’s direction. “Just be sure that murderous Ranger Halt understands that,” he said, continuing his plan of driving Halt to a cold fury. “I know he has little knowledge of the rules of knighthood and chivalry.”

Halt didn’t deny it.

“Morgarath,” said Duncan coldly, “don’t try to pretend that what you’re doing has any connection with real chivalry. I ask you one more time, spare the boy’s life.”

Morgarath feigned a surprised expression. “Spare him, Your Majesty? He’s a lump of a boy, big for his age. Who knows, you might be better served asking him to spare me.”

“If only he knew…” Baron Arald said sadly, but the smirk on his face gave away his actual feelings.

“If you must persist with murder, that’s your choice, Morgarath. But save us your sarcasm,” said Duncan. Again Morgarath made that mocking bow.

Then he said casually, over his shoulder, to Horace: “Are you ready, boy?” Horace swallowed once, then nodded.

“Yes,” he said. It was Gilan who saw what was coming and managed to shout a warning, just in time. The huge broadsword had snaked out of its scabbard with incredible speed and Morgarath swung it backhanded at the boy beside him.

Maddie yelped, out of fear for her father.

Warned by the shout, Horace rolled to one side, the blade hissing inches above his head. In the same movement, Morgarath had set spurs to his dead-white horse and was galloping away, reaching for his shield and settling it on his left arm. His mocking laughter carried back to Horace as the boy recovered.

“Then let’s get started!” He laughed, and Horace felt his throat go dry as he realized he was now fighting for his life.

“What were you fighting for before?” Sir Rodney asked his former apprentice. Horace shrugged, not actual sure himself. Will, he thought. And maybe Evanlyn, but definitely Will.

Gilan passed the book to Horace.

Chapter 20: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 34

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 34.

Morgarath was wheeling his horse in a wide circle to gain room. Horace knew that he’d swing around soon and charge down on him, using the momentum of his charge as much as the force of his sword to try to strike him from the saddle.

Guiding his horse with his knees, he swung away in the opposite direction, shrugging his buckler around from where it hung on his back and slipping his left arm through the straps. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Morgarath, eighty meters away, spurring his horse forward in a charge.

Once again, no one spoke.

Horace clapped his heels into his own horse’s ribs and swung him back to face the black-clad figure. The two sets of hoofbeats overlapped, merged, then overlapped once more as the riders thundered toward each other. Knowing his opponent had the advantage of reach, Horace determined to let him strike the first blow, then attempt a counterstrike as they passed.

They were nearly on each other now and Morgarath suddenly rose in his stirrups and, from his full height, swung an overhand blow at the boy. Horace, expecting the move, threw up his shield. The power behind Morgarath’s blow was devastating.

The sword had Morgarath’s immense height, the strength of his arm and the momentum of his galloping horse behind it. Timing it to perfection, he had channelled all those separate forces and focused them into his sword as it cleaved down.

Maddie winced.

Horace had never in his life felt such destructive force. Those watching winced at the ringing crash of sword on shield and they saw Horace sway under the mighty stroke, almost knocked clean from his saddle on the first pass.

All thought of a counterstrike was gone now. It was all he could do to regain his saddle as his horse skittered away, dancing sideways, as Morgarath’s mount, trained for battle, lashed out with its rear hooves.

Horace’s left arm, his shield arm, was rendered completely numb by the terrible force of the blow. He shrugged it repeatedly as he rode away, moving the arm in small circles to try to regain some feeling. Finally, he felt a dull ache there that seemed to stretch the entire length of the limb.

Now he knew real fear. All his training, he realized, all his practice, was nothing compared to Morgarath’s years and years of experience.

He wheeled to face Morgarath and rode in again. On the first pass, they had met shield to shield. This time, he saw his opponent was angling to pass on his right side—his sword arm side—and he realized that the next shattering blow would not land on his shield. He would have to parry with his own sword.

Everyone was hooked onto the action. The entire table was trying to live every second of the battle that they could as Horace recounted the events of the duel.

His mouth was dry as he galloped forward, trying desperately to remember what Gilan had taught him. But Gilan had never prepared him to face such overpowering strength. He knew he couldn’t take the risk of gripping his sword lightly and tightening at the moment of impact.

His knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword and, suddenly, Morgarath was upon him and the massive broadsword swung in a glittering arc at his head. Horace threw up his own sword to parry, just in time.

The mighty crash and slithering scream of steel on steel set the watchers’ nerves jangling. Again, Horace reeled in the saddle from the force of the blow. His right arm was numb from fingertip to elbow. He knew that he would have to find a way to avoid Morgarath’s near-paralysing blows. But he couldn’t think how.

He heard hoofbeats close behind and, turning, realized that this time, Morgarath hadn’t gone on to gain ground for another charge. Instead, he had wheeled his horse almost immediately, sacrificing the extra force gained in the charge for the sake of a fast follow-up attack. The broadsword swung back again.

Maddie’s hands squeezed the arms of the chair, knuckles going white.

Horace reared his horse onto its hind legs, spinning it in place, and taking Morgarath’s sword on his shield once more. This time, the force behind it was a little less devastating, but not by much. Horace cut twice at the black lord, forehand and backhand. His smaller, lighter sword was faster to wield than the mighty broadsword, but his right arm was still numb from the parry and his strokes had little power behind them. Morgarath deflected them easily, almost contemptuously, with his shield, then cut again at Horace, overhand this time, standing in his stirrups for extra purchase.

Once again, Horace’s shield took the force of the sword stroke. The circular piece of steel was bent almost double by the two massive strokes it had taken. Much more of this and it would be virtually useless to him.

He spurred his horse away from Morgarath, scrambling to remain mounted. His breath now came in rapid gasps and sweat covered his face. It was as much the sweat of fear as of exertion. He shook his head desperately to clear his vision. Morgarath was riding in again.

Everyone was leaning in; the tension was once again at its peek.

Horace changed his direction at the last moment, dragging his horse’s head to the left, taking him across the path of Morgarath’s charging horse as he tried to evade that huge sword. Morgarath saw it coming and changed to a backhand stroke, crashing it onto the rim of Horace’s shield. The broadsword bit deep into the steel of the shield, then caught there. Seizing the moment, Horace stood in his stirrups and cut overhand at Morgarath. The black shield came up just a fraction too late and Horace’s blow glanced off the black, beaked helmet. He felt the shock of it up his arm, but this time, the jarring felt good. He cut again as Morgarath wrenched and heaved to remove his sword.

This time, Morgarath caught the blow on his shield. But for the first time, Horace managed to put some authority behind the stroke and the Lord of Rain and Night grunted as he was rocked in his saddle. His shield dropped fractionally. Now Horace used the shorter blade of his sword to lunge at the gap that had opened between shield and body and drove the point at Morgarath’s ribs.

Maddie hoped beyond hope that it was over but alas that was not the case.

For a moment, those watching felt a brief flare of hope. But the black armour held against the thrust, which was delivered from a cramped position and had little force behind it.

Maddie heart sank as she realised the perilous battle wasn’t over.

Nonetheless, it hurt Morgarath, cracking a rib behind the mail armour, and he cursed in pain and jerked at his own sword once more. And then, disaster! Weakened by the crushing blows Morgarath had struck at it, Horace’s shield simply gave way.

The huge sword tore free at last, and as it went, it ripped loose the leather straps that held the shield on Horace’s arm. The battered, misshapen shield came free and spun away into the air.

Horace reeled in the saddle again, desperately trying to retain his balance. Too close to use the full length of his blade, Morgarath slammed the double-handed hilt of the sword into the side of the boy’s helmet and the onlookers groaned in dismay as Horace fell from his saddle.

Everyone in the room was deadly quiet. Horace’s voice was also getting slightly quieter, as there was nothing else to fill the void of space the voices had occupied before.

His foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged for twenty meters or so behind his terrified, galloping horse. Oddly enough, that fact probably saved his life, as he was carried clear of the murderous reach of Morgarath’s broadsword.

Finally managing to kick himself free, he rolled in the dust, his sword still grasped in his right hand. Staggering, he regained his feet, his eyes full of sweat and dust. Dimly, he saw Morgarath bearing down on him again. Gripping his sword with both hands, he blocked the downward cut of the huge sword, but was beaten to his knees by the force of it.

A flailing rear hoof took him in the ribs and he went down in the dust again as Morgarath galloped clear. A hush had fallen over the watchers. The Wargals were unmoved by the spectacle, but the kingdom’s army watched the one-sided contest in silent horror. The end was inevitable, they all knew.

Slowly, painfully, Horace climbed to his feet once more. Morgarath wheeled his horse and set himself for another charge. Horace watched him coming, knowing that this contest could have only one possible result. A desperate idea was forming in his mind as the dead-white battle horse thundered toward him, heading to his right, leaving Morgarath room to strike down with his sword.

Maddie noticed that Will had sit back in his chair, his head titled to one side just like he did when he was focused or interested in something.

Horace had no idea whether or not his armour would protect him from what he had in mind. He could be killed. Then, dully, he laughed at himself. He was going to be killed anyway. He tensed himself, ready. The horse was almost upon him now, swerving away to his right to leave Morgarath striking room. In the last few meters, Horace hurled himself to the right after it, deliberately throwing himself under the horse’s front hooves.

There was a quick in take of breath from many people around the room.

Unprepared for his suicidal action, the horse tried desperately to avoid him. Its forelegs crossed and it stumbled, then somersaulted in a tangle of legs and body into the dust. A great, wordless cry went up from the onlookers as, for a moment, the scene was obscured by a cloud of roiling dust.

Horace felt a hoof strike him in the back, between the shoulder blades, then saw a brief red flash as another slammed into his helmet, breaking the strap and knocking it from his head. Then he was hit more times than he could count and the world was a blur of pain and dust and, most of all, noise. As his horse went down, Morgarath somehow kicked his feet out of the stirrups and fell clear.

He crashed heavily to the ground, the broadsword falling from his grasp. Screaming in rage and fear, the white horse struggled to its feet again. It kicked one more time at the prone figure that had brought it down, then trotted away.

“Dammed horse.” Horace muttered before continuing.

Horace grunted with pain and tried to stand. He came to his knees and, vaguely, he heard the swelling cheers of the watching army. Then the cheers gradually died away as the still, black-clad figure a few meters away began to move. Morgarath was winded, nothing more. He dragged in a vast lungful of air and stood. He looked around, saw the broadsword lying half buried in the dust and moved to retrieve it.

Horace’s heart sank as the tall figure, outlined now against the low afternoon sun, began to advance on him, one long stride at a time. Desperately, Horace retrieved his own sword and scrambled to his feet.

There was hardly an inch of his body that wasn’t throbbing with pain. Groggy and trying to focus, he saw that Morgarath had discarded his triangular black shield. Now, holding the broadsword in a two-handed grip, he advanced. Again came that nerve-jangling, screeching clash of steel. Morgarath rained blow after blow down on Horace’s sword.

Desperately, the apprentice warrior parried and blocked. But with each massive blow, his arms were losing their strength. He began to back away, but still Morgarath came on, beating down Horace’s defence with blow after shattering blow. And then, as Horace allowed the point of his sword to drop, unable to find the strength to keep it up anymore, Morgarath’s huge broadsword whistled down one last time, smashing onto the smaller sword and snapping the blade in two.

Maddie listened on in horror. She wouldn’t have been able to believe her father survived that battle if he hadn’t been sitting across from her.

He stepped back now, a cruel smile on his face, as Horace stared dumbly at the shorn-off blade in his right hand. “I think we’re nearly finished now,” Morgarath said in that soft, toneless voice. Horace still looked at the useless sword. Almost unconsciously, his left hand reached for his dagger and slid it from its sheath.

Morgarath saw the movement and laughed. “I don’t think that will do you much good,” he sneered. Then, deliberately, he took the great broadsword up and back for a final, mighty overhand blow that would cleave Horace to the waist.

It was Gilan who realized what was going to happen, a second before it did. The broadsword began its downward arc, splitting the air. And now Horace, throwing everything into one final effort, stepped forward, crossing the two blades he held, the dagger supporting the shortened sword.

A smile of surprise broke out from Maddie’s features as she realised what her father did.

The locked blades took the impact of Morgarath’s mighty stroke. But Horace had stepped close to the taller man, and so reduced the leverage of the long blade and the force of the blow. Morgarath’s sword clanged into the X formed by the two blades.

“The Double Knife Defence, we have Gilan to thank for that.” Horace said nodding to the Ranger. Gilan smiled, “Good to know you put it to good use far quicker than I would have expected.”

Horace’s knees buckled, then held, and for a moment Morgarath and he stood locked, chest to chest. Horace could see the puzzled fury on the madman’s face. Then the fury turned to surprise and Morgarath felt a deep, burning agony pour through his body as Horace slipped the dagger free and, with every ounce of his strength behind it, drove it through Morgarath’s chain mail and up into his heart.

Slowly, the Lord of Rain and Night sagged and crumpled to the ground. Stunned silence gripped the onlookers for a good ten seconds. Then the cheering started.

The room erupted to applause as Horace sheepishly gave the book to Cassandra who glanced at Halt before starting to read.

Chapter 21: The Burning Bridge - Chapter 35

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 35.

Notes:

Thank you people who are leaving kudos. It means a lot and I'm hoping the lack of comments means that people are fine with how I'm interpreting this. Hope you enjoy!

What had, a few minutes before, been a battlefield now became a confusion. The Wargal army, released in an instant from Morgarath’s mind control, now milled mindlessly about, waiting for some force to tell them what to do next.

All sense of aggression had left them and most of them simply dropped their weapons and wandered off. Others sat down and sang quietly to themselves. Without Morgarath’s direction, they were like little children.

“Very ugly children.” Baron Arald noted.

The group struggling to escape up Three Step Pass now stood mute and unmoving, waiting patiently for those at the front to clear the way. Duncan surveyed the scene in bewilderment. “We’ll need an army of sheepdogs to round up this lot,” he said to Baron Arald, and his councillor smiled in reply.

“Better that than what we faced, my lord,” he said, and Duncan had to agree. The small inner circle of Morgarath’s lieutenants was a different matter. Some had been captured, but others had fled into the waste-lands of the fens.

Crowley, the Ranger Corps Commandant, shook his head as he realized that he and his men faced many long, hard days in the saddle after this. He would have to assign a Ranger task force to hunt down Morgarath’s lieutenants and bring them back to face the King’s justice. It was always this way, he thought wryly. While everyone else could sit back and relax, the Rangers’ work continued, nonstop.

“True that.” Gilan said, with Maddie, Will and Halt nodding along with him.

Horace, bruised, battered and bleeding, had been taken to the King’s own tent for treatment. He was badly injured after his insane leap under the battle horse’s hooves. There were several broken bones and he was bleeding from one ear. But amazingly, none of the injuries were critical and the King’s own healer, who had examined him immediately, was confident that he would make a full recovery.

Sir Rodney had hurried up to the litter as the bearers were preparing to carry the boy off the field. His moustache bristled with fury as he stood over his apprentice.

Horace wined in sympathy, remembering the earful he had gotten after the fight from his craftsmaster.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he roared, and Horace winced. “Who told you to challenge Morgarath? You’re nothing but an apprentice, boy, and a damned disobedient one at that!”

Horace wondered if the shouting was going to continue for much longer. If it were, he could almost wish to be back facing Morgarath.

He was dazed and sick and dizzy and Sir Rodney’s angry red face swam in and out of focus in front of him. The Battle master’s words seemed to bounce from one side of his skull to the other and back again and he wasn’t sure why he was yelling so much.

“Because you were dammed disobeying orders!” Sir Rodney said, but with little venom in his voice.

Maybe Morgarath was still alive, he thought groggily, and as the thought struck him, he tried to get up. Instantly, Rodney’s glare faded and his expression changed to one of concern. He gently stopped the wounded apprentice from rising. Then he reached down and gripped the boy’s hand in a firm grasp. “Rest, boy,” he said. “You’ve done enough today. You’ve done well.”

Meanwhile, Halt shoved his way through the harmless Wargals. They gave way without any resistance or resentment as he searched desperately for Will. But there was no sign of the boy, nor of the King’s daughter.

Will looked to Halt, remembering this part well. The grim Ranger met his former apprentice’s eyes before looking down in shame. Shame about how he failed his apprentice. Shame that it took him so long to find the boy he thought of as a son. Will had told him not to blame himself, but the old Ranger couldn't help but feel guilty of what happened to Will in Skandia. 

Once they had heard Morgarath’s taunt, the Araluens had realized that if Will were still alive, there was a chance that Cassandra, as Evanlyn was really called, might have survived as well. The fact that Morgarath hadn’t mentioned her indicated that her identity had remained a secret.

This, of course, Halt realized, was why she had assumed her maid’s name. By doing so, she prevented Morgarath’s knowing what a potential lever he had in his hands.

“That would have been a nightmare scenario.” Horace commented.

He pushed impatiently through another group of silent Wargals, then stopped as he heard a weak cry from one side. A Skandian, barely alive, was sitting leaning against the bole of a tree. He had slumped down, his legs stretched straight in front of him in the dust, his head lolling weakly to one side. A huge stain of blood marked the side of his sheepskin vest. A heavy sword lay beside him, his hand too weak to hold it any longer. He made a feeble scrabbling gesture toward it and his eyes beseeched Halt to help him.

Nordal, growing weaker by the moment, had allowed his grasp on the sword to release. Now, weak and almost blinded, he couldn’t find it and he knew he was close to death. Halt knelt beside him. He could see there was no potential danger in the man; he was too far gone for any treachery. He took the sword and placed it in the man’s lap, putting his hands on the leather-bound hilt. “Thanks…friend…” Nordal gasped weakly. Halt nodded sadly.

He admired the Skandians as warriors and it bothered him to see one laid as low as this—so weak that he couldn’t maintain his grip on his sword. The Ranger knew what that meant to the sea raiders. He rose slowly and began to turn away, then stopped.

Horace had said that Will and Evanlyn had been taken by a small party of Skandians. Maybe this man knew something. He dropped to one knee again and put a hand on the man’s face, turning it toward his own. “The boy,” he said urgently, knowing he had only a few minutes. “Where is he?” Nordal frowned. The words struck a chord in his memory, but everything that had ever happened to him seemed such a long time ago and somehow unimportant.

“Boy,” he repeated thickly, and Halt couldn’t help himself. He shook the dying man.

“Will!” he said, his face only a few centimetres from the other’s. “A Ranger. A boy. Where is he?”

Will’s eyebrows lifted at the ‘Ranger’ part but didn’t comment. He wasn’t to know that Halt – even then - believed his apprentice would grow to become one of, if not, the best Ranger to ever live. Far surpassing his mentor.

A small light of understanding and memory burned in Nordal’s eyes now as he recalled the boy. He’d admired his courage, he remembered. Admired the way the boy had stood them off at the bridge. Without realizing it, he actually said the last three words. “At the bridge…” he whispered, and Halt shook him again.

“Yes! The boy at the bridge! Where is he?” Nordal looked up at him. There was something he had to remember. He knew it was important to this grim-faced stranger and he wanted to help. After all, the stranger had helped him find his sword again.

He remembered what it was. “…Gone,” he managed finally. He wished the stranger wouldn’t shake him. It caused him no pain at all, because he couldn’t feel anything. But it kept waking him from the warm, soft sleep he was drifting into. The bearded face was a long way from him now, at the end of a tunnel. The voice echoed down the tunnel to him.

“Gone where?” He listened to the echo. He liked the echo. It reminded him of…something from his childhood. “Where-where-where?” the echo came again, and now he remembered. “The fens,” he said. “Through the fens to the ships.” He smiled when he said it. He’d wanted to help the stranger and he had.

And this time, when the warm softness crept over him, the stranger didn’t shake him. He was glad about that. Halt stood up from the body of Nordal. “Thank you, friend,” he said simply. Then he ran to where he’d left Abelard grazing quietly and vaulted into the saddle.

The fens were a tangle of head-high grasses, swamps and winding passages of clear water. To most people, they were impassable. An incautious step could lead to a person sinking quickly into the oozing mire of quicksand that lurked on every side.

Once in the featureless marshes, it was easy to become hopelessly lost and to wander until exhaustion overcame you, or the venomous water snakes that thrived here found you unawares.

Maddie shivered, not wanting to visit these ferns anytime soon. They sounded like they could swallow entire armies whole and no one would even notice.

Wise people avoided the fens. Only two groups knew the secret paths through them: the Rangers and the Skandians, who had been raiding along this coastline for as long as Halt could remember.

“Not anymore.” Will murmured which Halt nodded in recognition.

Surefooted as Ranger horses were, once Halt was truly into the tangle of tall grass and swampland, he dismounted and led Abelard. The signs of the safe path were minute and easy to miss and he needed to be close to the ground to follow them.

He hadn’t been traveling long when he began to see signs that a party had come before him and his spirits lifted. It had to be the rest of the Skandians, with Will and Evanlyn.

He quickened his pace and promptly paid the consequences for doing so, missing a path marker and ending chest-deep in a thick mass of bottomless mud. Fortunately, he still had a firm grip on Abelard’s reins and, at a word of command, the stocky horse dragged him clear of the danger. It was another good reason to continue leading the horse behind him, he realized.

He backtracked to the path, found his bearings and set out again. In spite of his seething impatience, he forced himself to go carefully. The marks left by the party in front of him were becoming more and more recent. He knew he was catching them. The question was whether he would catch them in time.

Once again silence spread through the room.

Mosquitoes and marsh flies hummed and whined around him. Without a breath of breeze, it was stiflingly hot in the marshes and he was sweating freely. His clothes were soaked and sodden with stinking mud and he’d lost one boot as Abelard had hauled him out of the quicksand.

Nevertheless, he limped on, coming closer and closer to his quarry with every sodden step. At the same time, he knew, he was coming closer and closer to the end of the fenlands. And that meant the beach where the Skandian ships lay at anchor.

He had to find Will before the Skandians reached the beach. Once Will was on one of their wolfships, he would be gone forever, taken back across the Stormwhite Sea to the cold, snowbound land of the Skandians, where he would be sold as a slave, to lead a life of drudgery and unending labour.

Maddie looked to her mentor. Seeing him there, a Ranger, and a dam good one at that gave her hope of the events to come.

Now, above the rotting smell of the marshes, he caught the fresh scent of salt air. The sea! He redoubled his efforts, throwing caution to the wind as he chanced everything to catch up with the Skandians before they reached the water.

The grass was thinning in front of him now and the ground beneath his feet became firmer with every step. He was running, the horse trotting behind him, and he burst clear onto the windswept length of the beach.

A small ridge in the dunes in front of him blocked the sea from his sight and he swung up into Abelard’s saddle on the run and set the horse to a gallop.

Maddie’s spirits lifted as hope flared through her mind. If she had bothered to read the room, she would notice the sombre note and understand that this story was far from over.

They swept over the ridge, the Ranger leaning forward, low on his horse’s neck, urging him to greater speed. There was a wolfship anchored offshore. At the water’s edge, a group of people were boarding a small boat and, even at this distance, Halt recognized the small figure in the middle as his apprentice.

“Will!” he shouted, but the sea wind snatched the words away. With hands and knees, he urged Abelard onward. It was the drumming of hooves that alerted them. Erak, waist-deep in water as he and Horak shoved the boat into deeper water, looked over his shoulder and saw the green-and-grey-clad figure on the shaggy horse.

“Hergel’s beard!” he shouted. “Get moving!” Will, seated beside Evanlyn in the centre of the boat, turned as Erak spoke and saw Halt, barely two hundred meters away. He stood, precariously trying to keep his balance in the heaving boat.

“Halt!” he yelled, and instantly Svengal’s backhanded blow sent him sprawling into the bottom of the little craft.

“Stay down!” he ordered, as Erak and Horak vaulted into the boat and the rowers sent it surging into the first line of waves.

Halt glared at the scene in his head, making a note to return the gesture to Svengal next time he saw him. Will’s eyes went to Halt’s, for he had a pretty good idea his mentor was planning to get Svengal back for the backhand. Even after all these years.

Will just gave slight shake of his head. Halt’s only reply was a small sigh as he dropped his gaze.

The wind, which had stopped them from hearing Halt’s cry, carried the boy’s thin shout to Halt’s ears. Abelard heard it too and found a few more yards of pace, his muscles gathering underneath him and sending him along in huge bounds. Halt was riding without reins now as he unslung the longbow and laid an arrow on the string.

At a full gallop, he sighted and released. The bow oarsman gave a grunt of surprise and lurched sideways over the gunwale of the boat as Halt’s heavy arrow slammed into him, transfixing his upper arm.

The boat began to crab sideways and Erak dashed forward, shoved the man aside and took over the oar. “Pull like hell!” he ordered them. “If he gets to close range, we’re all dead men.”

Now Halt guided Abelard with his knees, swinging the horse into the sea itself and thrusting forward to try to catch the boat. He fired again, but the range was extreme and the target was heaving and tossing on the waves. Added to that was the fact that Halt couldn’t shoot near the centre of the boat, for fear of hitting Will or Evanlyn. His best chance was to get close enough for easy shooting and pick off the oarsmen one at a time.

He fired again. The arrow bit deep into the timbers of the boat, barely an inch from Horak’s hand, in the stern. He jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Gorlog’s teeth!” he yelped in surprise, then flinched as a third arrow hissed into the water behind the boat, not a foot away.

But now the boat was gaining, as Abelard, breast-deep in the waves, could no longer maintain his speed. The little horse thrust valiantly against the water, but the boat was drawing alongside the wolfship and was now over a hundred meters away.

Maddie’s heart sunk as she realised what was going to happen.

Halt urged the horse a few meters closer, then stopped, defeated, as he saw the figures being hauled up from the boat. The two smallest passengers were dragged toward the stern steering position. The Skandian crew lined the sides of the ship, standing on the rail to shout their defiance at the small figure who was almost obscured by the rolling grey waves.

On the wolfship, Erak yelled at them, diving for cover behind the solid bulwark. “Get down, you fools! That’s a Ranger!” He’d seen Halt’s bow coming up, then saw his hands move at incredible speed. His remaining nine arrows were arcing high in the air before the first one struck.

Within the space of two seconds, three of the Skandians lining the rail went down under the arrow storm. Two of them lay groaning in pain. The other was ominously still.

Maddie, impressed by the shooting, looked to Halt, which seemed to confirm the thought she had been having about the end of the story. His expression could have been carved of stone as he watched Cassandra read.

The rest of the crew flung themselves flat on the deck as arrows hissed and thudded around them. Cautiously, Erak raised his head above the bulwark, making sure that Halt was out of arrows. “Get under way,” he ordered, and took the steering oar.

Will, temporarily forgotten, moved to the rail. It was less than two hundred meters and nobody was watching him. He could swim that far, he knew, and he began to reach for the railing. Then he hesitated, thinking of Evanlyn. He knew he c…couldn’t ab…abandon her.

Cassandra stumbled upon her last words. She took a second to gather herself before looking at Will. “You could have escaped?” She said at barely a whisper. Will just nodded at her before replying, “I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

There were tears glistening in both of their eyes, but Cassandra just cleared her throat before continuing.

Even as he had the thought, Horak’s big hand closed over the collar of his jacket and the chance was gone. As the ship began to gather way, Will stared at the mounted figure in the surf, buffeted by the waves.

Halt was so near and yet now so impossibly out of reach. His eyes stung with tears and, faintly, he heard Halt’s voice. “Will! Stay alive! Don’t give up! I’ll find you wherever they take you!”

Choking on tears, the boy raised his arm in farewell to his friend and mentor. “Halt!” he croaked, but he knew the Ranger would never hear him.

He heard the voice again, carrying over the sounds of wind and sea. “I’ll find you, Will!” Then the wind filled the big, square sail of the wolfship and she heeled away from the shore, moving faster and faster toward the northeast.

For a long time after she’d dropped below the horizon, the sodden figure sat there, his horse chest-deep in the rolling waves, staring after the ship. And his lips still moved, in a silent promise only he could hear.

Cassandra closed the book with tears threatening to leek from her eyes. She silently moved over to Will before giving him a solid hug from behind. Quietly enough so only he could hear, she whispered “Thank you, for staying with me.”

Will squeezed one of her hands and replied, “Always.”

Maddie looked to her mentor and mother for a minute. “So you were both captured and went to Skandia?” Her mother nodded, still hugging Will. Maddie looked to the pile of books that were now in the corner of the room. She got up from her chair and went over to the stack before picking up the third book that was called The Icebound Land.

Maddie placed down the book on the table and reads the blurb out loud.

Kidnapped after the fierce battle with Lord Morgarath, Will and Evanlyn are bound for Skandia as captives aboard a fearsome wolfship. Halt has sworn to rescue Will, and he will do anything to keep his promise–even defy his King. Expelled from the Rangers he has served so loyally, Halt is joined by Will's friend Horace as he travels toward Skandia. On their way, they are challenged constantly by freelance knights–but Horace knows a thing or two about combat. Soon he begins to attract the attention of knights and warlords for miles around with his uncanny skill. Even so, will they be in time to rescue Will from a horrific life of slavery?

Looking out the window, Gilan commented, “We should probably go to bed.” It was fully dark outside, and the moon was on a 30-degree angle. Maddie sighed but knew that what her commandant said was true. Everyone got up and started to make their way back to their bed. Maddie and Will re-strapped their gear and picked up their bows before standing in the doorway. Will asked, “So…we are doing this again tomorrow?”

Halt shrugged. “If you want.”

Maddie looked to her mentor and saw that he was conflicted. She looked to him pleadingly, hoping that she could both get out of training and also listen to the stories of her mentor and parent. Will just sighed. “We’ll be back in the morning.” With that the two left in silence as shadows in the moonlight.

Notes:

I can't believe that's book 2 finished. I won't upload on the weekend as I'm a bit busy and I want to get further a head in the Ice Bound Land. I'll start updating again on Monday and continue every second day. I hope you guys enjoyed and see you all in book 3 :)

Chapter 22: The Icebound Land - Chapter 1

Summary:

Here we go again.

Maddie reads chapter 1.

Will sat down with an inward sigh. He really did not want to relive in the events of what happened in Skandia, but his apprentice had insisted on coming back to read the next book, so he had no choice.

Perhaps she would understand why he had avoided these events has they were re-tolled, but that didn’t make it any easier. He was tense the entire ride up to the castle. Maddie was too excited about the prospect of reading the next book to notice, and he couldn’t blame her.

The events that occurred in Skandia were not something a lot of people knew about. Publically, the people of Araluen only knew that a Ranger’s Apprentice and the princess in disguise were captured by Skandians and were kept as slaves. Eventually a ranger and a young knight went across multiple countries to rescue them. In the process they found out that a Temuji invasion was imminent and made an alliance with the Oberjarl of the Skandians, Ragnak, to protect Skandia and created the treaty of Hallasholm. After that, Erak was elected new Oberjarl and the ranger, ranger’s apprentice, knight, and princess all went back to Araluen.

That was the end of the story. No mention of being drugged, no mention of Halt’s banishment, not even details about the battle itself. That’s all even the most educated people know. Everyone else, it was even less. But now, now they would know. Will had forgotten many memories but he’d made some sort of peace with his past. Now it was time to bring them all up again. Hopefully, for the last time.

-----

Everyone sat around the table, tense. Maddie seemed the only one who didn’t sense the foreboding atmosphere. Instead, she was jittery with excitement. No one moved to grab the book, so Maddie took the hint and picked up the novel. She started reading.

The wolfship was only a few hours from Cape Shelter when the massive storm hit them. For three days, they had sailed north toward Skandia through a sea that was calm as a millpond—a fact appreciated by Will and Evanlyn.

Will and Cassandra’s expression’s tightened, knowing that the trip would be anything but smooth sailing.

“This isn’t too bad,” Will said as the narrow ship cut smoothly through the waters. He had heard grim tales of people becoming violently sick on board ships at sea. But he could see nothing to worry about in this gentle rocking motion. Evanlyn nodded, a little doubtfully. She was by no means an experienced sailor, but she had been to sea before.

A few heads started to turn towards Halt at the violently sick part, but no one said anything as he shot them a murderous glare. Maddie noticed the exchange but didn’t say anything.

“If this is as bad as it gets,” she said. She had noticed the worried looks that Erak, the ship’s captain, was casting to the north, and the way he was urging Wolfwind’s rowers on to greater speed. For his part, Erak knew that this deceptively calm weather heralded a change for the worse—much worse.

Dimly, on the northern horizon, he could see the dark storm line forming. He knew that if they couldn’t round Cape Shelter and get into the lee of the landmass in time, they would take the full force of the storm. For several minutes, he assessed speeds and distances, judging their progress against that of the onrushing clouds.

“We’re not going to make it,” he said finally to Svengal. His second in command nodded agreement.

“Looks that way,” Svengal said philosophically. Erak was glancing keenly around the ship, making sure that there was no loose gear that needed to be secured. His eye rested on the two prisoners, huddled in the bow. “Better tie those two to the mast,” he said. “And we’ll rig the sweep steering oar as well.”

“Why are they tying you to the mast?” Maddie asked. No one said anything and she shrugged, presuming that meant it was answered later at some point.

Will and Evanlyn watched Svengal as he made his way toward them. He had a coil of light hemp in his hand. “What now?” Will asked. “They can’t think we’re going to try to escape.”

“Perhaps it’s to keep you out of trouble.” Gilan suggested, innocently. Will raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

But Svengal had stopped by the mast, and was beckoning urgently to them. The two Araluens rose and moved uncertainly toward him. Will noticed that the ship’s motion was becoming a little more pronounced and the wind was increasing. He staggered as he made his way to Svengal. Behind him, he heard Evanlyn mutter an unladylike swearword as she stumbled and barked her shin on a bollard.

Everyone looked at the Queen who just smiled sweetly. “Trust me, I’ve said worse.”

Svengal drew his saxe knife and cut two lengths of cord from the coil. “Tie yourselves to the mast,” he told them. “We’re in for the mother of all storms any minute.”

Now the table was silent, and Maddie looked curiously at everyone. Her mentor and mother seemed to be the tensest, as they both looked ready to either run or fight at a moment’s notice.

“You mean we could be blown overboard?” Evanlyn asked incredulously. Svengal noted that Will was tying himself to the mast with a neatly executed bowline knot. The girl was having some trouble, so Svengal took the rope, passed it around her waist and then secured her as well.

“Maybe,” he replied to her question. “More likely washed overboard by the waves.” He saw the boy’s face go pale with fear.

“It wasn’t the most ideal first voyage out to sea.” Will said huffy, but everyone could tell h words were forced.

“You’re telling us that the waves actually…come on board?” Will said. Svengal darted a fierce, humourless grin at him.

“Oh yes, indeed,” he said, and hurried back to assist Erak in the stern, where the captain was already rigging the massive sweep oar.

Maddie licked her lips nervously. She also had heard stories of disastrous storms at sea, but always thought that the sailors exaggerated. Now, at least, she’d get as accurate depiction as she could without actually being in one herself.

Will swallowed several times. He had assumed that a ship like this would ride over the waves like a gull. Now he was told that the waves were likely to come crashing on board. He wondered how they could possibly stay afloat if that were to happen.

“Oh God…what is that?” Evanlyn said softly, pointing to the north. The thin dark line that Erak had seen was now a roiling black mass only a quarter of a kilometre away, sweeping down on them faster than a horse could gallop. The two of them huddled close to the base of the mast, trying to wrap their arms all the way around the rough pine pole, scrabbling for a grip with their fingernails.

Then the sun was blotted out as the storm hit them.

The sheer force of the wind took Will’s breath away. Literally. This wasn’t a wind like any Will had ever known. This was a savage, living, primeval force that wrapped around him, deafening him, blinding him, punching the breath out of his lungs and preventing him from taking another: smothering him as it tried to claw his grip loose.

His eyes were shut tight as he struggled to breathe, holding desperately to the mast. Dimly, he heard Evanlyn scream and felt her begin to slip away from him. He grabbed blindly at her, caught her hand and dragged her back.

The first massive wave struck and the wolfship’s bow canted up at a terrifying angle. They began to rise up the face of the wave, then the ship faltered and began to slide—backward and downward! Svengal and Erak screamed at the rowers. Their voices were plucked away by the wind, but the crew, their backs to the storm, could see and understand their body language.

They heaved on the oars, bending the oak shafts with their efforts, and the backward slide slowly eased. The ship began to claw its way up the face of the wave, rising higher and higher, moving more and more slowly until Will was sure they must begin the terrible backward sliding motion again.

Then the crest of the wave broke and thundered over them.

Tons of water crashed onto the wolfship, driving it down, rolling it far over to the right until it seemed that it would never recover. Will screamed in absolute animal terror, then had the scream cut off as freezing salt water hammered against him, breaking his grip on the mast, filling his mouth and lungs and hurling him along the deck until the fragile cord brought him to a stop, swirling this way and that until the mass of water passed over and around him. He was left flapping on the deck like a fish as the ship righted itself. Evanlyn was beside him and together they scrambled back to the mast, clinging on with renewed desperation.

Then the bow pitched forward and they went plummeting down the back of the wave into the trough, leaving their stomachs far behind and screaming with sheer terror once more. The bow sliced into the trough of the wave, splitting the sea and hurling it high above them.

Once again, water cascaded over the deck of the ship, but this time it lacked the full force of the breaking wave and the two young people managed to hold on. The water, waist-deep, surged past them. Then the slender wolfship seemed to shake itself free of the massive weight.

A few people glanced at Will and Cassandra as Maddie read, and they could see the book was painting an all too familiar picture. Both currently gripped the side of their chairs so tightly their knuckles were white.

In the rowing benches, the relief crew was already hard at work, baling water over the side with buckets. Erak and Svengal, in the most exposed part of the ship, were also tied in place, either side of the storm sweep. This was a massive steering oar, half as big again as one of the normal oars. It was used instead of the smaller steering board at times like these. The long oar gave the helmsman greater purchase so he could assist the rowers in dragging the head of the ship around. Today, it took the strength of both men to manage it.

Deep in the trough between waves, the wind seemed to have lost some of its force. Will dashed the salt from his eyes, coughed and vomited seawater onto the deck. He met Evanlyn’s terrified gaze. Weakly, he felt he should do something to reassure her. But there was nothing he could say or do. He couldn’t believe that the ship could withstand another wave like that.

Yet another was already on the way. Even bigger than the first, it marched toward them across several hundred meters of the trough, rearing and massing itself high above them, higher than the walls of Castle Redmont. Will buried his face against the mast, felt Evanlyn doing the same as the ship began that awful, slow rise again.

Up and up they went, clawing at the face of the wave, the men heaving until their hearts might burst as they tried to drag Wolfwind up the wave against the combined force of wind and sea. This time, before the wave broke, Will felt the ship seem to lose the last moment of the battle. He opened his eyes in horror as she began to surge backward to certain disaster.

Then the crest curled over and smashed down upon them, and again he was sent spinning and scrabbling on the deck, fetching up against the rope that secured him, feeling something slam painfully into his mouth and realizing that it was Evanlyn’s elbow.

Cassandra winced at that.

Water thundered over him then the bow pitched down once more, and Wolfwind began another sliding, careering dive down the far side, rolling upright, shedding the seawater like a duck. This time, Will was too weak to scream. He moaned softly and crawled back to the mast. He looked at Evanlyn and shook his head. There was no way they could survive this, he thought. He could see the same fear in her eyes.

In the stern, Erak and Svengal braced themselves as Wolfwind slammed into the trough, sending sheets of water high either side of the bow, the whole fabric of the ship vibrating to the impact. She rolled, shook, righted herself again.

“She’s taking it well,” Svengal shouted. Erak nodded grimly. Terrifying as it might seem to Will and Evanlyn, the wolfship was designed to cope with massive seas like this. But even a wolfship had its limitations. And if they reached them, Erak knew, they would all be dead.

“That last one nearly had us,” he replied. It was only a last-minute surge by the rowers that had dragged the ship through the crest as she had been about to slide backward into the trough.

“We’re going to have to turn her and run before the storm,” he concluded, and Svengal nodded agreement, staring ahead through eyes slitted against the wind and the salt spray. “After this one,” he said. The next wave was a little smaller than the one that had nearly finished them. But smaller was a relative term. The two Skandians tightened their grip on the sweep oar.

“Heave, damn you! Heave!” Erak roared at the rowers as the mountain of water reared high above them and Wolfwind began another slow, precarious climb.

“Oh no. Please, please, let it end,” Will moaned as he felt the bow cant upward once more. The terror was physically exhausting. He just wanted it to stop. If necessary, he thought, let the ship go under. Let it all go. Make an end of it. Just make this mind-numbing terror stop. He could hear Evanlyn beside him, sobbing with fear. He placed an arm around her but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more to comfort her. Up, up and up they went, then there was the familiar roar of the collapsing crest and the thunder of water crashing down upon them. Then the bow came through the crest, slamming against the back of the wave and plummeting down. Will tried to scream but his throat was raw and his energy exhausted. He managed only a low sob.

Wolfwind sliced into the sea at the base of the wave again. Erak bellowed instructions to the rowers. They would have a short time in the wind shadow of the next approaching wave, and that was the time to make their turn.

“To the starboard side!” he bellowed, pointing his hand in the direction of the turn just in case his voice didn’t carry to some of the forward rowers—although there was little fear of that.

The rowers set their feet against the wooden bracing boards. Those on the starboard, or right-hand, side of the ship drew their oar handles back toward them. The left-hand-side rowers pushed theirs forward. As the ship levelled, Erak roared out his order.

“Now!”

The oar blades dipped into the sea, and as one side pushed and the other pulled, Erak and Svengal threw their weight on the sweep. The long, narrow ship pivoted neatly, almost in one spot, bringing the stern around to the wind and sea.

“Now pull together!” Erak roared, and the oarsmen went to it with a will. He had to keep the ship moving a little faster than the following sea or it would overwhelm them. He glanced once at the two young Araluen captives, huddled miserably by the mast, then forgot them as he went back to judging the ship’s movements, keeping her stern to the following sea. Any error on his part and she’d broach sideways, and that would be the end of them. They were riding easier, he knew. But this was no time to be distracted.

To Will and Evanlyn, the ship was still plunging and rearing in a terrifying fashion, traveling through a vertical distance of as much as fifteen meters as she went from crest to trough. But now the movement was more controlled. They were going with the sea, not fighting it. Will sensed a slight easing in the motion. Spray and solid water still slammed over them at regular intervals, but the terrifying, backsliding motion was a thing of the past. As the ship coped with each successive mountain of water sweeping under and around it, Will began to believe that they might have a slight chance of survival.

But it was a slim might. He still felt the same surge of bowel-gripping terror with every wave that overtook them. Each time, he felt that this could well be the last. He put both arms around Evanlyn, felt her arms go around his neck in return, her icy cheek pressed against his own. And so the two young people sought, and found, comfort and courage from each other.

Evanlyn was whimpering with fear. And so was he, Will realized with some surprise—muttering meaningless words over and over, calling out to Halt, to Tug, to anyone who might listen and help. But as wave followed wave and Wolfwind survived, the blinding terror lessened and nervous exhaustion took its place and, eventually, he slept.

Will let out a sigh and leaned back on his chair. Those first few days had been some of the worst he’d ever experienced in his short life. And he was grateful that he’d never experienced a storm like that one since.

For seven more days, the ship was driven far to the south, out of the Narrow Sea and into the fringes of the Endless Ocean. And Will and Evanlyn huddled by the mast: sodden, exhausted, freezing. The numbing fear of disaster was always present in their minds but, gradually, they began to believe that they might survive.

On the eighth day, the sun broke through. It was weak and watery, to be sure, but it was the sun. The violent plunging motion ceased, and once again the ship rode smoothly across the face of the rollers.

Erak, his beard and hair rimed with salt, hauled tiredly on the sweep, bringing the ship around in a smooth curve to face north once more.

“Let’s head for Cape Shelter,” he told his crew.

Maddie looked around and Cassandra motioned for the book. She skimmed the first few lines, glanced briefly at Halt, before starting to read.

Notes:

Sorry for the lack of comments for the last part. Wasn't really sure what to say because it's all absolute terror and sailing stuff.

Chapter 23: The Icebound Land - Chapter 2

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 2.

Halt stood motionless against the massive trunk of an oak tree as the bandits swarmed out of the forest to surround the carriage. He was in full view but nobody saw him. In part this was due to the fact that the robbers were totally intent on their prey, a wealthy merchant and his wife. For their part, they were equally distracted, staring with horror at the armed men who now surrounded their carriage in the clearing.

Halt gave a silent sigh; he knew where this was leading.

But in the main, it was due to the camouflage cloak that Halt wore, its cowl pulled up over his head to leave his face in shadow, and the fact that he stood absolutely stock-still. Like all Rangers, Halt knew that the secret of merging into the background lay with the ability to remain unmoving, even when people seemed to be looking straight at him. Believe you are unseen, went the Ranger saying, and it will be so.

“Trust the cloak.” Another old saying all the Ranger’s voiced simultaneously.

A burly figure, clad entirely in black, now emerged from the trees and approached the carriage. Halt’s eyes narrowed for a second, then he sighed silently. Another wild-goose chase, he thought.

“I take it you weren’t hunting geese?” Maddie asked thoughtfully. Halt shook his head grimly.

The figure bore a slight resemblance to Foldar, the man Halt had been pursuing since the end of the war with Morgarath. Foldar had been Morgarath’s senior lieutenant. He had managed to escape capture when his leader died and his army of subhuman Wargals faded away.

Gilan also realised what this was and shook his head sadly. After Halt had been banished, he had been the one tasked with finishing his mentor’s job of hunting down the lieutenant.

But Foldar was no mindless beast. He was a thinking, planning human being—and a totally warped and evil one. The son of a noble Araluen family, he had murdered both his parents after an argument over a horse. He was barely a teenager at the time and he had escaped by fleeing into the Mountains of Rain and Night, where Morgarath recognized a kindred spirit and enlisted him. Now he was the sole surviving member of Morgarath’s band and King Duncan had made his capture and imprisonment a number-one priority for the kingdom’s armed forces.

Halt seethed, remembering how every time he tried to get permission to go after Will, it had been refused. All because of this one idiot.

The problem was, Foldar impersonators were springing up everywhere—usually in the form of everyday bandits like this one. They used the man’s name and savage reputation to strike fear into their victims, making it easier to rob them. And as each one sprang up, Halt and his colleagues had to waste time tracking them down. He felt a slow burning of anger at the time he was wasting on these minor nuisances. Halt had other matters to attend to. He had a promise to keep and fools like this were preventing him from doing so.

The fake Foldar had stopped by the carriage now. The black cloak with its high collar was somewhat similar to the one Foldar wore. But Foldar was a dandy and his cloak was immaculate black velvet and satin, whereas this was simple wool, badly dyed and patched in several places, with a collar of crudely tanned black leather.

“He’s not even a good copy.” Maddie muttered, and everyone else silently agreed with her.

The man’s bonnet was unkempt and badly creased as well, while the black swan’s feather that adorned it was bent in the middle, probably where some careless bandit had sat on it. Now the man spoke, and his attempt to imitate Foldar’s lisping, sarcastic tones was spoiled by his thick rural accent and clumsy grammar.

“Step down from the carriage, good sor and mad’m,” he said, sweeping a clumsy bow. “And fear not, good lady, the noble Foldar ne’er harms one as fair as thee art.” He attempted a sardonic, evil laugh. It came out more as a thin cackle.

Maddie had to resist the urge to facepalm.

The “good lady” was anything but fair. She was middle-aged, overweight and plain in the extreme. But that was no reason why she should be subjected to this sort of terror, Halt thought grimly. She held back, whimpering with fear at the sight of the black figure before her. “Foldar” took a pace forward, his voice harsher, his tone more threatening.

“Get down, missus!” he shouted. “Or I’ll hand you your husband’s ears!”

His right hand dropped to the hilt of a long dagger in his belt. The woman cried out and cowered farther back into the carriage. Her husband, equally terrified and more than fond of his ears where they were, was trying to push her toward the carriage door.

How rude, Maddie thought to herself. But then again, she herself liked her ears.

Enough, Halt thought. Satisfied that no one was looking in his direction, he nocked an arrow, drew and sighted in one economical motion and released.

“Foldar,” real name Rupert Gubblestone, had a brief impression of something flashing past, just in front of his nose. Then there was an almighty jerk on the raised collar of his cloak and he found himself pinned against the carriage by a quivering black arrow that thudded into the wood.

Horace thought dully to himself, what type of name is Gubblestone?

He gave a startled yelp, lost his balance and stumbled, saved from falling by his cloak, which now began to choke him where it fastened around his neck.

“He’s hanging himself.” Gilan pointed out cheerfully. No one made a comment.

As the other bandits turned to see where the arrow had come from, Halt stepped away from the tree. Yet to the startled robbers, it seemed as if he had stepped out of the massive oak.

“You wonder why the rumours of us using Black Magic is so common.” Will muttered with a straight face. He ignored the raised eyebrow he got from his mentor.

“King’s Ranger!” Halt called. “Drop your weapons.”

There were ten men, all armed. Not a single one thought to disobey the order. Knives, swords and cudgels clattered to the ground. They had just seen a firsthand example of a Ranger’s black magic: the grim figure had stepped clean out of the living trunk of an oak tree. Even now, the strange cloak that he wore seemed to shimmer uncertainly against the background, making it difficult to focus on him. And if sorcery weren’t enough to compel them, they could see a more practical reason—the massive longbow, with another black-shafted arrow already on the string.

“Good choice.” Arald said to himself. One thing he’d learned is never get on the wrong end of a Ranger’s arrow.

“On the ground, belly down! All of you!” The words cut at them like a whip and they dropped to the ground. Halt pointed to one, a dirty-faced youth who couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“Not you!” he said, and the boy hesitated, on his hands and knees. “You take their belts and tie their hands behind them.” The terrified boy nodded several times, then moved toward the first of his prone comrades. He stopped as Halt gave him a further warning.

“Tie them tight!” he said. “If I find one loose knot, I’ll…” He hesitated for a second, while he framed a suitable threat, then continued, “I’ll seal you up inside that oak tree over there.”

That should do it, he thought. He was aware of the effect that his unexplained appearance from the tree had on these uneducated country folk. It was a device he had used many times before. Now he saw the boy’s face whiten with fear under the dirt and knew the threat was effective. He turned his attention to Gubblestone, who was plucking feebly at the thong securing his cloak as it continued to choke him. He was already red in the face, his eyes bulging. They bulged farther as Halt unsheathed his heavy saxe knife.

“Oh, relax,” said Halt irritably. He slashed quickly through the cord and Gubblestone, suddenly released, fell awkwardly to the ground. He seemed content to stay there, out of the reach of that gleaming knife. Halt glanced up at the occupants of the carriage. The relief on their faces was all too obvious.

“I think you can be on your way if you like,” he said pleasantly. “These idiots won’t bother you any further.”

The merchant, remembering guiltily how he had tried to shove his wife out of the carriage, tried to cover his discomfort by blustering.

“They deserve hanging, Ranger! Hanging, I say! They have terrified my poor wife and threatened my very person!” Halt eyed the man impassively until the outburst was finished.

“Some how I doubt he got any sympathy.” Horace said. Halt didn’t comment, but the knight had a feeling that he was right.

“Worse than that,” he said quietly, “they’ve wasted my time.”

“The answer is no, Halt,” said Crowley. “Just as it was the last time you asked.”

He could see the anger in every line of Halt’s body as his old friend stood before him. Crowley hated what he had to do. But orders were orders, and as the Ranger Commandant, it was his job to enforce them. And Halt, like all Rangers, was bound to obey them.

“You don’t need me!” Halt burst out. “I’m wasting time hunting these imitation Foldars all over the kingdom when I should be going after Will!”

The man in question was completely still. Halt had never told him the entire story of how he got banished. Perhaps this was an opportunity for him to learn what his mentor had been through in order to get his apprentice home safely.

“The King has made Foldar our number-one priority,” Crowley reminded him. “Sooner or later, we’ll find the real one.”

Halt made a dismissive gesture. “And you have forty-nine other Rangers to do the job!” he said. “For God’s sake, that should be enough.”

“King Duncan wants the other forty-nine. And he wants you. He trusts you and depends on you. You’re the best we have.”

“It’s true.” Cassandra said softly. All eyes immediately turned to her. “My father replied upon Halt far more than he did on anyone else. You helped him through both rebellions, and I think there is almost no one else he trusts more.”

“I’ve done my share,” Halt replied quietly, and Crowley knew how much it hurt the other man to say those words. He also knew that his best reply would be silence—silence that would force Halt further into the sort of rationalization that Crowley knew he hated.

“The kingdom owes that boy,” Halt said, with a little more certainty in his tone.

“The boy is a Ranger,” Crowley said coldly.

“An apprentice,” Halt corrected him, and now Crowley stood, knocking his chair over with the violence of his movement.

“A Ranger apprentice assumes the same duties as a Ranger. We always have, Halt. For every Ranger, the rule is the same: kingdom first. That’s our oath. You took it. I took it. And so did Will.”

Halt remembered this conversation clearly. It was one of the times he and Crowley had disagreed over the years about something so important. Though he regretted the hurt he laid upon everyone for what he did, he would never regret getting himself banished to bring his apprentice home.

There was an angry silence between the two men, made all the uglier by the years they had lived as friends and comrades. Halt, Crowley realized, was possibly his closest friend in the world. Now here they were, trading bitter words and angry arguments. He reached behind him and straightened the fallen chair, then made a gesture of peace to Halt.

“Look,” he said in a milder tone, “just help me clear up this Foldar business. Two months, maybe three, then you can go after Will, with my blessing.”

“Two months?!” Gilan exclaimed angrily. “All of Skandia would have been invaded by then.”

Halt’s grizzled head was already shaking before he’d finished.

“In two months he could be dead. Or sold on as a slave and lost forever. I need to go now while the trail is still warm. I promised him,” he added after a pause, his voice thick with misery.

“No,” said Crowley, with a note of finality. Hearing it, Halt squared his shoulders.

“Then I’ll see the King,” he said.

Cassandra exchanged looks with Horace. Her father had told her years ago that what happened with Halt’s banishments was one of the hardest and most difficult things he had to do. Later, when her father was sick, Cassandra had told Horace, as she had needed someone to confide with.

Crowley looked down at his desk.

“The King won’t see you,” he said flatly. He looked up and saw the surprise and betrayal in Halt’s eyes.

“He won’t see me? He refuses me?” For over twenty years, Halt had been one of the King’s closest confidants, with constant, unquestioned access to the royal chambers.

No one was surprised. Maddie was pretty sure Will had the same thing these days though she wasn’t sure.

“He knows what you’ll ask, Halt. He doesn’t want to refuse you, so he refuses to see you.”

Now the surprise and betrayal were gone from Halt’s eyes. In their place was anger. Bitter anger. “Then I’ll just have to change his mind,” he said quietly.

Cassandra handed the book to Horace.

Chapter 24: The Icebound Land - Chapter 3

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 3.

Horace begins reading.

As the wolfships rounded the point and reached the shelter of the bay, the heavy swell died away. Inside the small natural harbor, the tall, rocky headlands broke the force of both wind and swell so that the water was flat calm, its surface broken only by the spreading of the wolfship’s wake.

“Is this Skandia?” Evanlyn asked.

Cassandra almost face planted by her younger self’s stupidity.

Will shrugged uncertainly. It certainly didn’t look the way he had expected. There were only a few small, ramshackle huts on the shore, with no sign of a town. And no people.

“It doesn’t seem big enough, does it?” he said.

Svengal, coiling a rope nearby, laughed at their ignorance.

“This isn’t Skandia,” he told them. “We’re barely halfway to Skandia. This is Skorghijl.” Seeing their puzzled looks, he explained further. “We can’t make the full crossing to Skandia now. That storm in the Narrow Sea delayed us so long that the Summer Gales have set in. We’ll shelter here until they’ve blown out. That’s what those huts are for.”

“What are the Summer Gales?” Maddie asked. “They are warm wind that causes massive storms across the Endless Ocean.” Will replied.

Will looked dubiously at the weathered timber huts. They looked grim and uncomfortable.

“How long will that take?” he asked, and Svengal shrugged.

“Six weeks, two months. Who knows?” He moved off, the coil of rope over one shoulder, and the two young people were left to survey their new surroundings.

“I take it it’s an island, right?” Maddie asked. Her mother nodded.

Skorghijl was a bleak and uninviting place of bare rock, steep granite cliffs and a small level beach where the sun and salt-whitened timber huts huddled. There was no tree or blade of green anywhere in sight. The rims of the cliffs were scattered with the white of snow and ice. The rest was rock and shale, granite black and dull grey. It was as if whatever gods the Skandians worshipped had removed all vestige of colour from this rocky little world.

“Somehow, I doubt the Skandian gods would care about a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. From what I’ve heard they prefer sacrifices and bloodshed.” Sir Rodney commented.

Unconsciously, without the need to battle the constant backward set of the waves, the rowers slackened their pace. The ship glided across the bay to the shingle beach. Erak, at the tiller, kept her in the channel that ran deep right up to the water’s edge, until the keel finally grated into the shingle and the wolfship was, for the first time in days, still.

Will and Evanlyn stood, their legs uncertain after days of constant movement.

The ship rang with the dull thuds of timber on timber as the oars were drawn in board and stowed. Erak looped a leather thong over the tiller to secure it and prevent the rudder from banging back and forth with the movement of the tide. He glanced briefly at the two prisoners.

“Go ashore if you like,” he told them. There was no need to restrain them or guard them in any way. Skorghijl was an island, barely two kilometres across at its widest point. Apart from this one perfect natural harbour that had made it a refuge for Skandians during the Summer Gales, Skorghijl’s coast was an uninterrupted line of sheer cliffs, dropping into the sea.

“Definitely not a destination I’d like to visit.” Gilan said serious, “Sounds too boring.”

Halt muttered to himself something about Gilan still being able to find trouble for himself, but no one commented.

Will and Evanlyn moved to the bow of the ship, passing the Skandians, who were unshipping barrels of water and ale and sacks of dried food from the sheltered spaces below the centre deck. Will climbed over the gunwale, hung full length for a few seconds, then dropped to the shale below. Here, with the prow canted up as it had slid up the beach, there was a considerable drop to the stones. He turned to help Evanlyn, but she was already dropping after him.

They stood uncertainly.

“My God,” Evanlyn muttered, feeling herself sway as the solid land beneath her seemed to roll and pitch. She stumbled and fell to one knee.

Will was in no better state. Now that the constant movement had ceased, the dry land beneath them seemed to heave and lurch. He placed one hand against the timbers of the boat to stop himself from falling.

“What is it?” he asked her. He stared at the ground beneath his feet, expecting to see it forming and rolling into hummocks and hills. But it was flat and motionless. He felt the first traces of nausea gathering in the pit of his stomach.

Maddie was about to ask a question, but Will stopped her.

“Look out down there!” a voice from above warned, and a sack of dried beef thudded onto the pebbles beside him. He looked up, swaying uncertainly, into the grinning eyes of one of the crew.

“Got the land-wobbles, have you?” the man said, not unsympathetically. “Should be all right again in a few hours’ time.”

Maddie frowned, her question still unanswered. Will saw the movement and looked up in despair. He felt a pair of eyes on him, and he found himself staring at Halt who looked entirely unsympathetic.

Will’s head spun. Evanlyn had managed to regain her feet. She was still swaying, but at least she wasn’t assailed by the same nausea that Will was feeling. She took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “There are some benches up there by those huts. We might be better off sitting down.”

And, lurching drunkenly, they stumbled through the shingle to the rough wooden benches and tables that were set outside the huts.

Will sank gratefully onto one, holding his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees for support. He groaned in misery as another wave of nausea swept over him. Evanlyn was in slightly better shape. She patted his shoulder.

“What’s causing this?” she said in a small voice.

“It happens when you’ve been on board ship for a few days.” Jarl Erak had approached behind them. He had a sack of provisions slung over one shoulder and he swung it down to the ground outside the door of one of the huts, grunting slightly with the effort.

“For some reason,” he continued, “your legs seem to think you’re still on the deck of a ship. Nobody knows why. It’ll only last a few hours and then you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t imagine ever feeling fine again,” Will groaned in a thick voice.

“You will be,” Erak told him. “Get a fire going,” he said brusquely. He jerked a thumb toward a blackened circle of stones a few meters from the nearest hut. “You’ll feel better with a hot meal inside you.”

Will groaned at the mention of food. Nevertheless, he rose unsteadily from the bench and took the flint and steel that Erak held out to him. Then he and Evanlyn moved to the fireplace. Stacked beside it was a pile of sun-and salt-dried driftwood. Some of the planks were brittle enough to break with bare hands and Will began to stack the slivers into a pyramid in the middle of the circle of stones.

“Just like old times.” Horace said thoughtfully.

Evanlyn, for her part, gathered together bunches of dried moss to act as kindling, and within five minutes they had a small fire crackling, the flames licking eagerly at the heavier pieces of firewood they added now to the blaze.

“Just like old times,” Evanlyn murmured with a small grin. Will turned quickly to her, smiling in return. All too clearly, he could see Morgarath’s bridge looming above them once more, with the fires they had set feeding voraciously on the tarred ropes and resin-laden pine beams. He sighed deeply. Given the chance to do it over, he still would have acted as he had. But he wished Evanlyn hadn’t been involved. Wished she hadn’t been captured with him.

No one said a word.

Then, even as he wished it, he realized that she was the one bright spark in his life of misery now and that by wishing her away, he was wishing away the only small glow of happiness and normality in his days.

He felt a sense of confusion. In a moment of extreme surprise, he realized that, if she were not here with him, life would be barely worth living. He reached out and touched her hand lightly. She looked at him again, and this time, he was the first to smile. “Would you do it again?” he asked her. “You know, the bridge and everything?”

This time, she didn’t smile back at him. She thought seriously for several seconds, then said, “In a moment. You?” He nodded. Then he sighed again, thinking of all that they had left behind.

Unnoticed by the two young people, Erak had seen the little exchange. He nodded to himself. It was good for each of them to have a friend, he thought. Life was going to be hard for them when they reached Hallasholm and Ragnak’s court. They’d be sold as slaves and their life would be hard physical labour, with no respite and no release. One grindingly hard day after another, month in, month out, year after year. A person living that life would need a friend.

It would be going too far to say that Erak was fond of the two youngsters. But they had won his respect. The Skandians were a warrior race who valued bravery and valour in battle above all else, and both Will and Evanlyn had proved their courage when they’d destroyed Morgarath’s bridge. The boy, he thought, was quite a scrapper. He’d dropped the Wargals like ninepins with that little bow of his. Erak had rarely seen faster, more accurate shooting. He guessed that was a result of the Ranger training.

“He was right.” Will said confidently, briefly looking at Halt.

And the girl had shown plenty of courage too, first of all making sure the fire had caught properly on the bridge, then, when Will finally went down, stunned by a rock hurled by one of the Skandians, she’d tried to grab the bow herself and keep shooting.

“I doubt I would have helped.” Cassandra admitted. Maddie was quick to back her up, “You tried to help instead of escaping. It’s the thought that counts.”

It was difficult not to feel sympathy for them. They were both so young, with so much that should have been ahead of them. He’d try to make things as easy as possible for them when they reached Hallasholm, Erak thought. But there wasn’t a lot he’d be able to do. Then he shook himself angrily, breaking the introspective mood that had fallen over him.

“Getting damn maudlin!” he muttered to himself. He noticed that one of the rowers was trying to sneak a prime piece of pork from a provision sack nearby. He moved quietly behind the man and planted his foot violently in his backside, lifting him clean off the ground with the force of the kick.

“Keep your thieving hands to yourself!” he snarled. Then, ducking his head under the doorway lintel, he went into the dark, smoke-smelling hut to claim the best bunk for himself.

“Huh. I thought Erak had a soft spot for us.” Cassandra voiced. “Without him, I doubt any of it would have turned out the way it did.”

Chapter 25: The Icebound Land - Chapter 4

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 4.

Horace passed the book to Halt who accepted it begrudgingly.

The tavern was a dingy, mean little place, low-ceilinged, smoke-filled and none too clean. But it was close to the river where the big ships docked as they brought goods for trade into the capital, and so it usually enjoyed good business.

Halt stopped for a moment. Lady Pauline asked her husband, “Do you want me to read this part?” He shook his head and continued, this time a little faster.

Right now, though, business had dropped off, and the reason for the decline was sitting at one of the spill-stained bare tables, close to the fireplace. He glared up at the tavern keeper now, his eyes burning under the knotted brows, and banged the empty tankard on the rough pine planks of the table.

“It’s empty again,” he said angrily. There was just the slightest slurring of his words to remind the tavern keeper that this would be the eighth or ninth time he’d refilled the tankard with the cheap, fiery brandy-spirit that was the stock-in-trade of dockside bars like this. A sale was a sale, he told himself doubtfully, but this customer looked like trouble waiting to happen and the tavern keeper wished fervently that he’d go and let it happen someplace else.

Will, Gilan, Horace, Sir Rodney and Baron Arald all realised what this was. Lady Pauline had already figured it out and was trying her best to comfort her husband. The atmosphere in the room was bleak as Halt continued to read.

His usual customers, with their uncanny instinct for trouble brewing, had mostly cleared out when the small man had arrived and begun drinking with such unswerving purpose. Only half a dozen had remained. One of them, a hulking stevedore, had looked over the smaller man and decided he was easy pickings. Small and drunken the customer might be, but the gray-green cloak and the double knife scabbard at his left hip marked him as a Ranger. And Rangers, as any sensible person could tell you, were not people to trifle with.

Maddie was confused. What Ranger would be drinking at such a rundown scum hole like this? She thought.

The stevedore learned that the hard way. The fight barely lasted a few seconds, leaving him stretched unconscious on the floor. His companions hastily departed for a friendlier, and safer, atmosphere. The Ranger watched them go and signalled for a refill. The innkeeper stepped over the stevedore, nervously topped up the Ranger’s tankard, then retreated behind the relative safety of the bar.

Then the real trouble started.

“It has come to my attention,” the Ranger announced, enunciating his words with the careful precision of a man who knows he has drunk too much, “that our good King Duncan, lord of this realm, is nothing but a poltroon.”

Maddie gasped. Insulting your monarch privately was one thing. But doing it in public in front of witnesses was another. Especially as a Ranger. Whoever this was, they were endanger of being accused of treason and being kicked out of the corps entirely.

If the atmosphere in the bar before this had been anticipatory, it now became positively sizzling with tension. The eyes of the few remaining customers were locked on the small figure at the table. He gazed around, a grim little smile playing on his lips, just visible between the grizzled beard and the moustache.

“A poltroon. A coward. And a fool,” he said clearly.

Maddie sat on the edge of her seat, biting her fingernails nervously.

Nobody moved. This was dangerous talk. For a normal citizen to abuse or insult the King in public like this would be a serious crime. For a Ranger, a sworn member of the kingdom’s special forces, it was close to treason. Anxious glances were exchanged. The few remaining customers wished they could leave quietly. But something in the Ranger’s calm gaze told them this was no longer an option.

They noticed now that the longbow he had leaned against the wall behind him was already strung. And the quiver beside it was full of arrows. They all knew that the first person to try to go through the front door would be followed in rapid time by an arrow. And they all knew that Rangers, even drunk Rangers, rarely missed what they aimed at.

Yet to remain here while the Ranger berated and insulted the King was equally dangerous. Their silence might well be taken as acquiescence should anyone ever find out what was going on.

The table was silent was again.

“I have it on good authority,” the Ranger continued, almost jovially now, “that good King Duncan is not the lawful occupant of the throne. I’ve heard it said that he is, in fact, the son of a drunken privy cleaner. Another rumour has it that he was the result of his father’s fascination with a traveling hatcha-hatcha dancer. Take your pick. Either way, it is hardly the correct lineage for a king, is it?”

Halt winced. Though he hadn’t actually been that drunk, he haven’t meant to say anything about the king’s lineage. The alcohol must have loosened his tongue further than he had anticipated. He gave an apologetic look to Cassandra who waved it away. She knew the reason for the insults and personally she thought it was justifiable what Halt had done.

A small sigh of concern passed from someone’s lips. This was becoming more and more dangerous by the moment. The tavern keeper shifted nervously behind the bar, saw a movement in the back room and moved to get a clearer view through the doorway. His wife, on her way into the taproom with a plate of pies for the bar, had stopped as she heard the Ranger’s last statement. She stood white-faced, her eyes meeting her husband’s in an unspoken question.

Halt remembered the exchange briefly. He remembered feeling slightly sorry for the two, as having a Ranger speaking treason in the tavern you owned wasn’t exactly good for business.

He glanced quickly at the Ranger, but the other man’s attention was now focused on a wagoner who was trying to make himself inconspicuous at the far end of the bar. “Don’t you agree, sir…you in the yellow jerkin with most of yesterday’s breakfast spilled upon it…that such a person doesn’t deserve to be king of this fair land?” he asked. The wagoner mumbled and shifted in his seat, unwilling to make eye contact.

The tavern keeper jerked his head almost imperceptibly toward the back entrance of the building. His wife looked away to it, then back to him, her eyebrows raised in a query. “The Watch,” he mouthed carefully, and saw understanding dawn in her eyes. Stepping quietly, and still out of the Ranger’s line of sight, she crossed the back room and let herself out the rear door, closing it behind her as silently as she could manage.

For all her care, the latch made a slight click as it fell into place behind her. The Ranger’s eyes snapped around to the tavern keeper, suspicious and questioning. “What was that?” he demanded, and the tavern keeper shrugged, rubbing damp palms on his stained apron. He didn’t try to speak. He knew his throat was far too dry to form words.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flash of satisfaction in the other man’s expression, but he dismissed the thought as ridiculous. As the minutes dragged by, the Ranger’s insults and slandering of King Duncan grew more vivid and more outrageous. The landlord swallowed nervously. His wife had been gone ten minutes now. Surely she must have found a detachment of the Watch? Surely they should be arriving here any minute, to remove this dangerous man and stop this treasonous talk?

And, even as he framed the thought, the front door banged back on its hinges and a squad of five men, led by a corporal, forced their way into the dimly lit room. Each of them was armed with a long sword and a short, heavy-headed club hanging at his belt, and each wore a round buckler slung across his back.

“Five men to take down a Ranger?” Maddie asked incredoulsly. “How drunk did they think he was?”

The corporal appraised the room as his men fanned out behind him. His eyes narrowed as they made out the figure hunched at the table. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, and the Ranger smiled. It was a smile that never reached his eyes, the tavern keeper noticed.

“We were talking politics,” he said, his words laden with sarcasm.

Maddie felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Not what I heard,” the corporal replied, thin-lipped. “I heard you were talking treason.”

The Ranger’s mouth formed an incredulous O and his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Treason?” he repeated, then looked curiously around the room. “Has someone here been telling tales out of school, then? Is someone here a tell-tale tit, whose tongue should be…split!”

It happened so quickly that the tavern keeper barely had time to throw himself flat behind the bar. As the Ranger spat out the last word, he had somehow scooped up the longbow from behind him and nocked and fired an arrow. It slammed into the wall behind the spot where the tavern keeper had been standing a second before, and buried itself deep into the wood panel, quivering still with the force of its impact.

“That’s enough…,” the corporal began. He started to move forward, but incredibly, the Ranger had another arrow nocked already. The dully gleaming broadhead was aimed at the corporal’s forehead, the bow was drawn and tensed. The corporal stopped, staring death in the face.

“Put it down,” he said. But his voice lacked authority and he knew it. It was one thing to keep dockside drunks and rowdies in line, another entirely to face a Ranger, a skilled fighter and a trained killer. Even a knight would think twice about such a confrontation. It was way beyond the capabilities of a simple corporal of the Watch.

Maddie glanced at Halt who seemed entirely focused on reading each word right. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she had a suspicion about who this Ranger was.

Yet the corporal was no coward and he knew he had a duty to perform. He swallowed several times, then slowly, slowly, raised his hand to the Ranger. “Put…down…the…bow,” he repeated. There was no answer. The arrow remained cantered on his forehead, at eye level. Hesitantly, he took a pace forward.

“Don’t.” The word was flat and unequivocal. The corporal was sure he could hear his own heart beating, rattling like a kettledrum. He wondered if others in the room could hear it too. He took a deep breath. He’d taken an oath of loyalty to the King. He wasn’t a noble or a knight, just an ordinary man. But his word meant as much to him as it did to any highborn officer. He’d been happy to wield his authority for years, dealing with drunks and minor criminals. Now the stakes were higher, much higher. Now was the time to return payment for those years of authority and respect.

He took another step.

The twang of the bow releasing was almost deafening in the tension-charged room. Instinctively, violently, the corporal flinched and staggered back a pace, expecting the burning agony of the arrow, then the blackness of certain death.

And realized what had happened: the bowstring had snapped.

Maddie’s eyebrows raised on her forehead. What a coincidence, she thought.

The Ranger stared incredulously at the useless weapon in his hands. The tableau remained frozen for a full five seconds. Then the corporal and his men leaped forward, swinging the short, heavy clubs that they carried, swarming over the small grey-and-green-clad figure.

As the Ranger went down under the rain of blows, no one noticed him drop the small blade he had used to sever the bowstring. But the tavern keeper did wonder how a man who had moved so quickly to defeat a stevedore twice his size now seemed to be so slow and vulnerable.

Halt clapped the book shut and Horace asked hurriedly, “Anyone else hungry?” He was met with a few replied as people realised it was probably a good idea to give the book a break while Halt cooled down.

Chapter 26: The Icebound Land - Chapter 5

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 5.

Lady Pauline opened up the book and began reading.

On the barren, windswept island of Skorghijl, Will was running. He had done five laps of the shingle beach. Now he turned toward the steep cliffs that reared above the tiny harbour. His legs burned with the effort as he forced himself to climb, the muscles in his thighs and calves protesting. The weeks of inactivity on the wolfship had taken their toll on his fitness and now he was determined to regain it, to harden his muscles and bring his body back to the fine-tuned edge that Halt had demanded of him.

Halt shifted in his seat and Will glanced over. When he recounted what happened on Skorghijl the first time, Will hadn’t mentioned to Halt his training exercises, mostly because he hadn’t thought it was important at the time.

He might not be able to practice his archery or knifework, but he could at least make sure his body was ready if the chance came to escape.

“Escape?!” Maddie exclaimed. “You’re on an island! There’s nowhere to escape to!”

And Will was determined that such a chance would come.

He drove himself up the steep slope, the small stones and shale slipping and giving way under his feet. The higher he went, the more the wind plucked at his clothes until, finally, he reached the top of the cliff and was exposed to the full force of the north wind—the Summer Gales, as the Skandians called them. On the northern side of the island, the wind drove the waves against the unyielding black rock, sending fountains of spray high into the air. In the harbour behind him, the water was relatively calm, sheltered from the wind by the massive horseshoe of cliffs that surrounded it.

As he always did when he reached this point, he scanned the ocean for some sign of a ship. But as ever, there was nothing to see but the relentlessly marching waves.

Will snorted, “Only a fool would try navigating the Summer Gales. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He expected Halt to make some passing remark about how apprentices weren’t ready to think, but instead he was met with silence.

He looked back into the harbour. The two large huts seemed ridiculously small from here. One was the dormitory where the Skandian crew slept. The other was the eating hall, where they spent most of their time, arguing, gambling and drinking. To the side of the dormitory, built against one of the long side walls, was the lean-to that Erak had assigned to him and Evanlyn. It was a small space but at least they didn’t have to share with the Skandians, and Will had rigged an old blanket across one end to provide Evanlyn with a little privacy.

“Props to living with giants.” Cassandra said, smiling.

She was sitting outside the lean-to now. Even from this distance, Will could see the dispirited slump in her shoulders and he frowned. Some days ago, he had suggested that she might like to join him in his attempt to keep fit. She had dismissed the idea out of hand. She seemed to have simply accepted their lot, he thought. She had given in, and over the past few days, their exchanges had become increasingly waspish as he tried to boost her spirits and talked about the possibility of escape—for he already had an idea forming in that direction.

He was puzzled and hurt by her attitude. It was unlike the Evanlyn he remembered from the bridge—the brave, resolute partner who had run across the narrow beams of the bridge to help him without any thought for her personal safety, then tried to fight off the Skandians as they closed in on them.

The Queen smiled at how the book described her actions when she herself had felt absolutely terrified at the time.

This new Evanlyn was strangely dispirited. Her negative attitude surprised him. He would never have picked her as someone who would quit when the going got tough. Maybe that’s how girls were, he told himself. But he didn’t believe it. He sensed there was something else, something she hadn’t told him. Shrugging away the thoughts, he started down the cliff once more.

Cassandra once again winced.

The downhill run was easier than uphill, but not by too much. The slippery, treacherous surface beneath his feet meant that he had to continually run faster and faster to maintain his balance, setting off miniature landslides as he went. Where the uphill course had burned his thigh muscles, now he felt it in his calves and ankles. He reached the bottom of the slope, breathing hard, and dropped to the shingle to do a series of rapid push-ups.

His shoulders were burning after a few minutes but he kept at it, forcing himself past the point of pain, blinded by the perspiration that was running into his eyes until, eventually, he could continue no longer. Exhausted, he collapsed, his arms unable to bear his weight, and lay facedown on the shingle, panting for breath.

No one offered any comments about his routine and Will didn’t care much to bring it up.

He hadn’t heard Evanlyn approaching as he was doing the push-ups. Now he was startled by the sound of her voice.

Will winced, as tired as he was, he should have been alert for the sound of footsteps. He was beginning to notice a regular pattern of people catching him by surprise, merely by walking up to him.

“Will, it’s a waste of time.” Her voice didn’t have the argumentative tone that had been so much in evidence in the last few days. She sounded almost conciliatory, he thought. With a slight groan of pain, he pushed himself up from the shingle, then rolled over and sat, dusting the wet sand from his hands.

He smiled at her and she smiled in return, then moved to sit beside him on the beach. “What’s a waste of time?” he asked. She made a vague gesture that included the beach where he had just been doing push-ups and the cliff he had climbed and descended.

“All this running and exercising. And all this talk of escape.” He frowned slightly. He didn’t want to start an argument with her, so he was careful not to react too vehemently to her words. He tried to keep a reasonable, neutral tone. “It’s never a waste of time to stay in shape,” he said.

She nodded, conceding that point. “Perhaps not. But escaping? From here? What chance would we have?” He knew he would have to be careful now. If it seemed he was lecturing her, she might well retreat into her shell again. But he knew how important it was to keep hope alive in a situation like this and he wanted to impress that fact on her.

No one commented, but Baron Arald had to agree with Will on at least one thing. Keeping the spirits high meant a greater chance of success. It’s a strategy that is never given enough credit when it comes to planning out wars.

“I’ll admit it doesn’t look too promising,” he said. “But you never know what tomorrow may bring. The important thing is to stay positive. We mustn’t give up. Halt taught me that. Never give up because, if an opportunity arises, you have to be ready to take it. Don’t give up, Evanlyn, please.”

Maddie looked to Will, who was focused on the table in front of him. She was impressed by her mentor’s determination and resilience. She herself would have probably given up all hope by that stage, but apparently, he still hadn’t.

She was shaking her head again but not in argument. “You’re missing my point. I haven’t given up. I’m just saying this is a waste of time because it’s not necessary. We don’t need to escape. There’s another way out of this.”

Will made a show of looking around, as if he might see this other way she was talking about. “There is?” he said. “I don’t see it, I’m afraid.”

“We can be ransomed,” she said, and he laughed out loud—not scornfully but in genuine amusement at her naïveté.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Will who shrugged in reply. To him at the time, her idea had made little sense and seemed impossible.

“I very much doubt it. Who’s going to ransom an apprentice Ranger and a lady’s maid? I mean, I know Halt would if he could, but he doesn’t have the sort of money it would take. Who’s going to pay out good money for us?”

She hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “The King,” she said simply, and Will looked at her as if she’d lost her senses. In fact, for a moment he wondered if she had. She certainly didn’t seem to have too firm a grip on reality.

This time when the eyebrow went up Will at least had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“The King?” he repeated. “Why would the King take the slightest interest in us?”

“Because I’m his daughter.”

The smile faded from Will’s face. He stared at her, not sure that he had heard her correctly. Then he recalled Gilan’s words back in Celtica, when the young Ranger had warned him that there was something not quite right about Evanlyn.

“You’re his—” he began, then stopped. It was too much to comprehend.

“His daughter. I’m so sorry, Will. I should have told you sooner. I was traveling incognito in Celtica when you found me,” she explained. “It had become almost second nature not to tell people my real name. Then, after Gilan left us, I was going to tell you. But I realized if I did, you’d insist on getting me back to my father immediately.”

Will shook his head, trying to catch up with what he was hearing. He glanced around the tiny, cliff-bound harbour. “Would that have been so bad?” he asked her, with a touch of bitterness. She smiled sadly at him.

“Think, Will. If you’d known who I was, we never would have followed the Wargals. We never would have found the bridge.”

“We never would have been captured,” Will put in, but she shook her head once more.

“Morgarath would have won,” she said simply.

Maddie had to let her brain catch up slowly. Her mother and mentor were the sole reason why Morgarath hadn’t won in the rebellion. She realised with a start that if Will hadn’t had the idea to follow the Wargals, heck if he had never become a Ranger’s apprentice in the first place then the entire kingdom would look a lot different.

He looked into her eyes then and realized she was right. There was a long moment of silence between them. “So your name is…” He hesitated and she finished the sentence for him.

“Cassandra. Princess Cassandra.” Then she added, with a rueful smile, “And I’m sorry if I’ve been behaving like a bit of a princess over the past few days. I’ve been feeling bad because I hadn’t told you. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“No, no, that’s all right,” he said vaguely. He was still overwhelmed by her news. Then a thought struck him. “When are you going to tell Erak?”

“I don’t think I should,” she replied. “This sort of thing is best handled at the highest levels. Erak and his men are little more than pirates, after all. I don’t know how they’d react. I think it’s best if I remain as Evanlyn until we reach Skandia. Then I’ll find a way to approach their ruler—what’s his name?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Horace warned. Cassandra merely nodded in acknowledgement. “They were different back then.”

“Ragnak,” Will said, his mind racing. “Oberjarl Ragnak.” Of course she was right, he thought. As Princess Cassandra of Araluen, she would be worth a small fortune to the Oberjarl. And since Skandians were essentially mercenaries, there was no doubt that she would be ransomed.

Maddie frowned, there was something that wasn’t adding up. When she was learning about the Treaty of Hallasholm, she was sure her mother had spent at least some time there as a slave.

He, on the other hand, was a different matter. He realized she was talking again. “Once I tell them who I am, I’ll arrange for both of us to be ransomed. I’m sure my father will agree.”

Halt nodded himself. He knew the king would have paid any price for his daughter. Just like he himself had been willing to do for Will.

And that was the problem, Will knew. Perhaps if she could appeal to her father in person, he might be swayed. But the matter would be in the hands of the Skandians. They would tell King Duncan that they had his daughter, and set a price for her ransom. Nobles and princesses might be ransomed—in fact, they often were in times of war. But people like warriors and Rangers were a different matter. The Skandians could well be reluctant to release a Ranger, even an apprentice Ranger, who might cause trouble for them in the future.

“Trouble?” Gilan said cheerfully. “I doubt Will even knew that was a word.” Will tried to best to look innocent.

There was another side to it all too. The message would take months, perhaps the best part of a year, to reach Araluen. Duncan’s reply would take an equally long time to make the return trip. Then negotiations would begin. In all that time, Evanlyn would be kept safe and comfortable. She was a valuable property, after all. But who could say what might have happened to Will? He could be dead by the time any ransom was paid. Evanlyn obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. She was continuing with her previous thought.

“So you see, Will, there’s no point to all this running and climbing and trying to find a way to escape. You don’t need to do it. And besides, Erak is getting suspicious. He’s no fool and I’ve seen him watching you. Just relax and leave it all to me. I’ll get us home.”

He opened his mouth, about to explain what he had been thinking. Then he shut it again. Suddenly he knew that she wouldn’t accept his point of view. She was strong-willed and determined—used to having her own way, he realized now. She was convinced that she could organize their return and nothing he said would change her mind. He smiled at her and nodded. But it was a thin parody of his normal smile.

“I would have listened!” Cassandra protested loudly. Will raised an eyebrow and she was forced to reconsider that thought. Perhaps he was right, she thought glumly.

In his heart, he knew he was going to have to find his own way home.

Chapter 27: The Icebound Land - Chapter 6

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 6.

Notes:

Sorry for the late update guys, life got in the way for a minute.

Lady Pauline skimmed the first few lines of the next chapter and wordlessly gave the book back to Halt. The retired Ranger started reading.

Castle Araluen, the seat of king Duncan’s rule, was a building of majestic beauty. The tall, spire-topped towers and soaring buttresses had an almost lifelike grace to them that belied the strength and solidity of the castle. It was beautiful, surely enough, built in huge blocks of honey-coloured hardstone, but it was almost impregnable as well.

The many high towers gave the castle a sense of light and air and gracefulness. But they also provided the inhabitants with a score of positions from which to pour arrows, rocks and boiling oil on any attackers who might be unwise enough to assault the walls.

No one uttered a word.

The throne room was the heart of the castle, situated inside a series of walls and portcullises and drawbridges, which, in the event of a prolonged siege, provided defenders with a succession of fall back positions. Like everything else about the castle, the throne room was vast in scale, with a vaulted ceiling that towered high above, and a paved floor finished in black and dull pink marble squares.

The tall windows were glazed with stained glass that glowed brilliantly in the low angle sunshine of winter. The columns that added immense strength to the walls were grouped and fluted to heighten the illusion of lightness and space in the room. Duncan’s throne, a simple affair carved from oak, surmounted with a carving of an oak leaf, dominated the northern wall.

Maddie raised her eyebrows at that. She had never noticed the oak leaf design of the chair and now being part of the Ranger corps, it made a lot more sense.

At the opposite end, wooden benches and tables were provided for the members of Duncan’s cabinet. In between, the room was bare, with space for several hundred courtiers to stand. On ceremonial occasions, they would throng the area, their brightly coloured clothes and coats of arms catching the red, blue, gold and orange light that spilled through the stained-glass windows, sending highlights sparkling from their polished armour and helmets.

Today, by Duncan’s command, there were barely a dozen people present—the minimum number required by law to see justice dispensed. The King faced the task before him with little pleasure. And he wanted as few witnesses as possible present to see what he knew he would have to do.

He sat, frowning heavily, on the throne, facing straight ahead, his eyes locked on the towering double doors at the other end of the room. His massive broadsword, its pommel carved with the leopard’s head that was Duncan’s personal insignia, rested in its scabbard, leaning against the right-hand arm of the throne.

Lord Anthony of Spa, Duncan’s chamberlain for the past fifteen years, stood to one side of the throne and several steps below it. He looked meaningfully at the King now and cleared his throat apologetically to attract the monarch’s attention.

Duncan’s blue eyes swivelled to him, the eyebrows raised in an unspoken question, and the Chamberlain nodded. “It’s time, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

Short and overweight, Lord Anthony was no warrior. He had no skill at arms at all, and as a consequence, his muscles were soft and untrained. His value was as an administrator. Largely due to his help, the Kingdom of Araluen had long been a prosperous and contented realm.

Cassandra looked down sadly. It had only been a few years since Lord Anthony’s death, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Duncan was a popular king, and a just one. Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a strong ruler, willing and committed to enforcing the laws of the realm—laws that had been laid down and maintained by his predecessors, going back six hundred years.

And there lay the reason for Duncan’s frown and his heavy heart. Because today he would have to enforce one of those laws on a man who had been his friend and loyal servant. A man, in fact, to whom Duncan owed everything—a man who twice in the past two decades had been instrumental in saving Araluen from the dark threat of defeat and enslavement at the hands of a madman.

Maddie’s heart sank as it all but confirmed her suspicions.

Lord Anthony shifted restlessly. Duncan saw the movement and waved one hand in a defeated gesture. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s have done with this business.”

Anthony turned to face the throne room. The few people gathered there stirred at the movement, looking expectantly toward the doors. The Chamberlain’s symbol of office was a long ebony staff, shod in steel. He raised it now and brought it down twice on the flagstone floors. The ringing crack of steel on stone echoed through the room, carrying clearly to the men who waited beyond the closed doors.

There was a slight pause, then the doors swung open, almost soundless on their well-oiled, perfectly balanced hinges. As they came to a stop, a small party of men entered, proceeding at ceremonial slow-march pace to stand at the base of the wide steps leading up to the throne.

There were four men all told. Three of them wore the surcoats, mail and helmets of the King’s Watch. The fourth was a small figure, clad in nondescript green and dull grey clothes. He was bare-headed and his hair was a pepper-and-salt grey, shaggy and badly cut. He marched between the two leading men of his guard, the third bringing up the rear directly behind him. The small man’s face was matted with dried blood, Duncan saw, and there was an ugly bruise on his upper left cheek that all but closed the eye above it. “Halt?” he said, before he could stop himself. “Are you all right?”

Halt was silent for a moment. He hadn’t remembered looking that bad, but then again he was more focused on the trial than his looks.

Halt’s gaze rose now to meet his. For a brief moment, Duncan thought he saw an unfathomable depth of sadness there. Then the moment was gone and there was nothing in those dark eyes but fierce resolve and a hint of mockery.

“I’m as well as can be expected, Your Majesty,” he said dryly. Lord Anthony reacted as if stung by a wasp.

“Hold your tongue, prisoner!” he snapped. At his words, the corporal standing beside Halt raised one hand to strike the prisoner. But before the blow could be launched, Duncan half rose from his throne.

“That’s enough!” His voice cracked out in the near empty room. The corporal lowered his hand, a little shamefaced. It occurred to Duncan that nobody present was enjoying this scene. Halt was too well known and too well respected a figure in the kingdom. Duncan hesitated, knowing what he must do next but hating to do it.

Maddie leaned on to her mother as she supressed the sadness that threatened to consume her. She understood this had happened years ago but that didn’t matter. Halt was like family, and she couldn’t imagine the pain he must have been feeling at that moment.

“Shall I read the charges, Your Majesty?” Lord Anthony asked. It was actually up to Duncan to tell him to do that. Instead, the King waved one hand in reluctant acquiescence.

“Yes, yes. Go ahead, if you must,” he muttered, then regretted it as Anthony looked at him, a wounded expression on his face. After all, Duncan realized, Anthony didn’t want to do this either. Duncan shrugged apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Lord Anthony. Please read the charges.”

Anthony cleared his throat uncomfortably at that. It was bad enough that the King had abandoned the formal procedure. But infinitely more embarrassing to the Chamberlain was the fact that the King now saw fit to apologize to him.

“The prisoner Halt, a Ranger in Your Majesty’s forces, carrying the King’s commission and a bearer of the Silver Oakleaf, was heard to scandalize the King’s personage, his birth right and his parentage, Your Majesty,” he said.

From the small knot of official witnesses, an almost inaudible sigh carried clearly to the two men on the throne platform. Duncan glanced up, looking for the source. It could have been Baron Arald, lord of Castle Redmont, and ruler of the fief Halt was commissioned to serve. Or possibly Crowley, Commandant of the Ranger Corps. The two men were Halt’s oldest friends.

Halt paused before continuing, a little shaky. Everyone pretended not to notice.

“Your Majesty,” Anthony continued tentatively, “I remind you that, as a serving officer of the King, such comments are in direct contravention of the prisoner’s oath of loyalty and so constitute a charge of treasonous behaviour.” Duncan looked to the Chamberlain with a pained expression. The law was very clear on the matter of treasonous behaviour. There were only two possible punishments.

“Oh, surely, Lord Anthony,” he said. “A few angry words?” Anthony’s gaze was troubled now. He had hoped that the King wouldn’t try to influence him in this matter.

“Your Majesty, it’s a contravention of the oath. It’s not the words themselves that are the issue, but the fact that the prisoner broke his oath by saying them in public. The law is clear on the matter.” He looked at Halt and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

A slight smile touched the Ranger’s battered features. “And you’d be breaking yours, Lord Anthony, by not informing the King so,” Halt said. This time, Anthony didn’t order him to remain silent. Unhappily, he nodded his agreement. Halt was right. He had created an intolerable situation for everyone with his ridiculous drunken behaviour.

Duncan went to speak, hesitated, then started again. “Halt, surely there must be some misunderstanding here?” he suggested, hoping that the Ranger could somehow find a way out of the charge. Halt shrugged.

 “I can’t deny the charges, Your Majesty,” he said evenly. “I was heard to say some…unpleasant things about you.” And there was the other horn of the dilemma: Halt had made his appalling comments in public, in front of at least half a dozen witnesses. As a man and a friend, Duncan could—and certainly would—be willing to forgive him. But as king, he must uphold the dignity of his office.

“But…why, Halt? Why do this to us all?” It was the Ranger’s turn to shrug now. His eyes dropped from the King’s. He muttered something in a low voice that Duncan couldn’t quite make out.

“What did you say?” he asked, wishing for some way out of the corner he found himself in. Halt’s eyes came up to meet his again. “Too much brandy-spirit, Your Majesty,” he said in a louder tone. Then, forcing a humourless grin, he added, “I never had much of a head for liquor. Perhaps you could add a charge of drunkenness as well, Lord Anthony?”

For once, Anthony’s composure and sense of protocol was rattled. “Please, Halt…,” he began, about to plead with the Ranger not to make light of the proceedings. Then he recovered himself and turned to the King. “Those are the charges, Your Majesty. Admitted to by the prisoner.”

Maddie glanced around at the people listening. Most looked sad while others just hid their expressions entirely. Lady Pauline had a comforting hand on Halt’s shoulder and Gilan had his head in his hands to hide the tears that threaten to leek out. Her parents, neither of which were there, had their gaze down. Baron Arald and Sir Rodney were both looking at Halt, knowing that reading this was causing him a great deal of pain.

Finally, she glanced at Will, and he had to be the worst of them all. He had pulled his cowl up at some point, so his face was hidden in shadow His body language was completely neutral and his was stiff as stone. She had no idea what he was feeling, and no one else did for that matter.

For a long moment, Duncan sat, unspeaking. He stared at the small figure in front of him, trying to see through the defiant expression in those eyes to find the reason behind Halt’s actions. He knew the Ranger was angry because he had been refused permission to try to rescue his apprentice. But Duncan truly believed that it was vital that Halt remain in Araluen until the situation with Foldar was resolved. With each day that passed, Morgarath’s former lieutenant was becoming a greater danger, and Duncan wanted his best advisers around him to deal with the matter.

And Halt was one of the very best.

Halt cleared his throat and continued, a small amount of moisture gathering in his eyes.

Duncan drummed his fingers on the wooden arm of the throne in frustration. It was unlike Halt not to be able to see the bigger picture. In all the years they had known each other, Halt had never put his own interests before those of the kingdom. Now, seemingly out of spite and anger, he had allowed alcohol to cloud his thinking and his judgment. He had publicly insulted the King, in front of witnesses—an action that could not be ignored, or passed off as a few angry words between friends. Duncan looked at his old friend and adviser. Halt’s eyes were cast down now. Perhaps if he would plead for mercy, claim some leniency for his past services to the crown…anything.

“Halt?” Duncan began before he realized it. The Ranger’s eyes came up to meet his and Duncan made a helpless little interrogatory gesture with his hands. But Halt’s eyes hardened even as they met the King’s and Duncan could tell that there would be no plea for mercy there. The greying head shook slightly in refusal and Duncan’s heart sank even further. He tried one more time to bridge the gap that had grown between him and Halt. He forced a small, conciliatory smile to his face.

“After all, Halt,” he added in a reasonable tone, “it’s not as if I don’t understand exactly how you feel. My own daughter is with your apprentice. Do you think I wouldn’t like to simply leave the kingdom to its own devices to go and rescue her?”

Maddie winced at the turmoil that would have caused.

“There is a fairly major difference, Your Majesty. A king’s daughter can expect to be treated a little better than a mere apprentice Ranger. She’s a valuable hostage, after all.” Duncan sat back a little in his chair. The bitterness in Halt’s tone was like a slap in the face. Worse, the King realized, Halt was right. Once the Skandians knew Cassandra’s identity, she would be well treated while she waited to be ransomed. Sadly, he realized that his attempt at reconciliation had only widened the rift between them.

Anthony broke the growing silence in the room. “Unless the prisoner has anything to say in his own defence, he is adjudged guilty,” he warned Halt.

Halt’s eyes remained on the King’s, however, and once again there came that tiny negative movement of the head. Anthony hesitated, looking around the room at the other noblemen and officers gathered there, hoping that someone, anyone, might find something to say in Halt’s defence. But of course, there was nothing. The Chamberlain saw Baron Arald’s heavyset shoulders slump in despair, saw the pain on Crowley’s face as the Ranger Commandant looked away from the scene unfolding before them all.

“The prisoner is guilty, Your Majesty,” said Anthony. “It remains for you to pass sentence.” And this, Duncan knew, was the part of being king that they never prepared you for. There was the loyalty, the adulation, the power and the ceremony. There was luxury and fine foods and wines and the best clothes and horses and weapons.

And then there were the moments when one paid for all of those things. Moments like this, when the law must be upheld. When tradition must be preserved. When the dignity and power of the office must be protected even if, by so doing, he would destroy one of his most valued friends.

“The law sets down only two possible punishments for treason, Your Majesty,” Anthony was prompting again, knowing how Duncan was hating every minute of this.

“Yes. Yes. I know,” Duncan muttered angrily, but not soon enough to stop Anthony in his next statement.

“Death or banishment. Nothing less,” the Chamberlain intoned solemnly. And, as he said the words, Duncan felt a small thrill of hope in his chest.

Maddie gripped the hands of her chance fiercely. Willing her grandfather to make the right decision, even though she herself had little knowledge of what to do.

“Those are the choices, Lord Anthony?” he asked mildly, wishing to be sure. Anthony nodded gravely.

“There are no others. Death or banishment only, Your Majesty.”

Slowly, Duncan stood, taking the sword in his right hand. He held it out in front of him, grasping the scabbard in his right hand below the intricately carved and inlaid crosspiece. He felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He had asked Anthony twice, to make sure. To make sure that the Chamberlain’s exact words were heard by the witnesses in the throne room.

“Halt.” He spoke firmly, feeling every eye in the room upon him. “Former King’s Ranger to the Redmont Fief, I hereby, as lord of this realm of Araluen, declare you to be banished from all my lands and holdings.”

Again, there was that small intake of breath throughout the room as the listeners felt the relief of knowing that the sentence was not to be death. Not, he realized, that any of those present would have expected it to be. But now came the part they weren’t expecting.

“You are forbidden, under pain of death, to set foot in this kingdom again…” He hesitated, seeing now the sadness in Halt’s eyes, the pain that the greying Ranger could no longer hide. Then he completed his statement: “…for the period of one year from this day.”

Maddie let out an enormous sigh and a smile plastered itself permanently on her features. She knew that Halt couldn’t have been executed, or banishment fully, but that didn’t make her any less nervous.

Instantly, there was uproar in the throne room. Lord Anthony started forward, the shock evident on his face.

“Your Majesty! I must protest! You can’t do this!”

Duncan kept his face solemn. Others in the room were not quite so controlled. Baron Arald’s face, he saw, was creased in a broad smile, while Crowley was doing his best to hide a grin in the grey cowl of his Ranger’s cloak. Duncan noted with a grim sense of satisfaction that, for the first time this morning, Halt was somewhat startled by the turn of events. But not nearly so much as the loudly protesting Lord Anthony. The King looked at the Chamberlain, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Can’t, Lord Anthony?” he queried, with great dignity. Anthony hurriedly retracted the statement, realizing that it was not his part to issue orders to the King.

“I mean, Your Majesty…banishment is…well, it’s banishment,” he concluded lamely.

“Put a sock in its Lord Anthony!” Cassandra said grimly. Which was followed with cheers from across the table. Halt breathed deeply before continuing to read.

Duncan nodded gravely. “Quite so,” he replied. “And, as you told me yourself, it’s one of only two choices that I can make.”

“But, Your Majesty, banishment is…it’s total! It’s for life!” Anthony protested. His face was red with embarrassment. He bore Halt no ill feeling. In fact, up until the Ranger had been arrested for scandalizing the King’s reputation, Anthony had felt a distinct admiration for him. But it was his job, after all, to advise the King on matters of law and propriety.

“The law stipulates that specifically, does it?” Duncan asked now, and Anthony shook his head and made a helpless gesture with his hands, very nearly losing his grip on his staff of office in the process.

“Well, not specifically, no. It doesn’t need to. Banishment has always been for life. It’s traditional!” he added, finding the words he was looking for.

“Exactly,” replied Duncan. “And tradition is not law.”

“But…,” Anthony began, then found himself wondering why he was protesting so much. Duncan had, after all, found a way to punish Halt, but at the same time to leaven that punishment with mercy. The King saw the hesitation and took the initiative.

“The matter is settled. Banished, prisoner, for twelve months. You have forty-eight hours to leave the borders of Araluen.”

The entire room seem to calm down a bit. Everyone except Will had gone back to breathing normally.

Duncan’s gaze met Halt’s one last time. The Ranger’s head inclined slightly, in a mark of respect and gratitude to his king. Duncan sighed. He had no idea why Halt had forced this situation upon them all. Perhaps, sometime after the next year had passed, he might find out. Suddenly he felt a welling up of distaste for the whole matter. He shoved the scabbarded sword through his belt.

“This matter is completed,” he told those assembled. “This court is closed.”He turned and left the throne room, exiting through a small anteroom on the left. Anthony surveyed those assembled and shrugged his shoulders.

“The King has spoken,” he said, his tone suggesting how overwhelmed he was by the whole thing. “The prisoner is banished for a twelvemonth. Escort, take him away.” And so saying, he followed the King out of the throne room.

Halt rubbed his face with his hand, grateful that the chapter was over and that he didn’t have to bring up those memories anymore. He looked up from the book and noticed that Will still hadn’t moved as he looked at the table, cowl hiding his features. Halt frowned before asking, “Will, are you alright?”

Slowly Will turned towards his former mentor and said very quietly, “You never told me that you could have been executed.”

Halt supressed the urge to shrug, as he knew that probably wouldn’t help the situation. “I had faith that King Duncan wouldn’t execute me.” But Will just shook his head.

“That doesn’t mean anything. You were willing to give up your life as a Ranger, your friends, your future, everything because we got captured!” Will’s voice rose and Halt suddenly understood.

“I don’t regret what I did.” He said to his former apprentice, but Will brushed that aside immediately.

“It doesn’t matter whether you regretted it or not. You would have lost everything if it weren’t for the king’s intuition, for us.”

Will stood up before saying evenly, “I need a minute.” No one said anything and Will walked out of the room without another word. Halt moved to go after him, but Gilan stopped him.

“Let him go Halt.” The Ranger was about to protest before the words died on his lips. Gilan had moisture in his eyes and spoke like an older brother. “He needs time.”

Halt sat back down. “Why is Will so upset?” He asked and Gilan offered a small smile. “He’s upset because you were willing to sacrifice everything for him. If King Duncan hadn’t made the precedent, then Will would have had to come back to Araluen without you.”

Halt shrugged. “At least he would have been home.” Gilan sighed, shaking his head. “His home is with you Halt; it always has been. I think Will just realised how luck he was that Duncan only banished you for a year.” With that thought in mind, the group waited for Will to return. He came back into the room about five minutes later and sat down.

Chapter 28: The Icebound Land - Chapter 7

Summary:

Cassandra reads Chapter 7.

Halt slid the book across to Cassandra and she took it back again.

Evanlyn watched with growing irritation as Will completed another lap of the beach, then dropped to the ground and performed a rapid ten push-ups. She couldn’t understand why he persisted with this ridiculous exercise program. If it were simply a matter of keeping fit, she might have accepted it—after all, there was little enough to do on Skorghijl and it was one way of keeping busy. But she sensed it was tied to a deeper reason. In spite of their conversation some days earlier, she was sure he still had plans to escape.

“Stubborn, pig-headed idiot,” she muttered. It was just like a boy, she thought. He couldn’t seem to accept that she, a girl, could take charge of things and arrange their return to Araluen. She frowned. It wasn’t the way Will had behaved in Celtica. When they were planning the destruction of Morgarath’s massive bridge, he seemed to welcome her input and ideas. She wondered why he had changed.

Will tried his best to look offended at Cassandra’s comment, but it was ruined when Maddie burst out laughing.

As she watched, Will moved down the beach to the water’s edge, where Svengal was rowing the wolfship’s skiff back to shore. The Skandian second in command was a keen fisherman. He took the skiff out most mornings, weather permitting, and the fresh cod and sea bass that he caught in Skorghijl Harbour's deep, cold waters made a welcome change to their diet of salted meat and fish and stringy vegetables.

“We also didn’t have enough supplies.” Will said, surprisingly. It seemed that he had calmed down after what happened in the last chapter.

She watched with a small pang of jealousy as Will spoke to the Skandian. She didn’t have Will’s easy manner with people, she knew. He had an open, friendly attitude that made it easy for him to strike up a conversation with anyone he met. People seemed instinctively to like him. She, on the other hand, often felt awkward and ill at ease with strangers and they seemed to sense it. It didn’t occur to her that this might be a result of her upbringing as a princess. And because she was in a mood to resent Will this morning, the sight of him helping Svengal haul the little skiff up past the high-tide mark simply increased her annoyance.

Horace nudged her and said in a not so quiet voice, “He’s just way too cheerful isn’t he?” Will snorted slightly at the comment and Horace grinned at him.

She kicked angrily at a rock on the beach, swore when it turned out to be bigger and more solidly anchored than she had expected and limped off to the lean-to, where she would be spared the sight of Will and his new friend.

“What can I say, I’m a people person.” He said innocently.

“Any luck?” Will asked, posing the question that every fisherman in history has been asked. Svengal jerked his head at the pile of fish in the bottom of the boat.

“Got one beauty there,” he said. There was a large cod among eight or nine smaller but still respectable fish. Will nodded, impressed.

“He’s a beauty, all right,” he said. “Need a hand cleaning them?”

The odds were that he would be told to clean the fish anyway. He and Evanlyn were tasked with all the housekeeping, cooking and serving duties. But he wanted to strike up a conversation with Svengal and this way, he thought, the Skandian might stay and chat while Will worked. Skandians were great chatters, he had noticed, particularly when someone else was busy.

“Help yourself,” the big Skandian said easily, tossing a small fish knife onto the pile of fish. He sat on the bulwark of the skiff as Will lifted the fish out and began the messy work of scaling, gutting and cleaning. Will had known Svengal would stay. He knew that the Skandian would want to carry the huge cod to the hut himself. Fishermen loved praise.

“Svengal,” Will said, concentrating on scaling a bass and making sure his voice sounded casual, “why don’t you go fishing at the same time each day?”

“The tide, boy,” Svengal replied. “I like to fish the tide when it’s rising. It brings the fish into the harbour, you see.”

“The tide? What’s that?” Will asked. Svengal shook his head at the Araluen boy’s ignorance of natural things.

“Haven’t you noticed how the water in the harbour gets higher and then lower during the day?” he asked. When Will nodded, he went on. “That’s the tide. It comes in and it goes out. But each day, it happens a little later than the day before.”

Will frowned. “But where does it go out to?” he asked. “And where does it come from in the first place?” Svengal scratched his beard thoughtfully. This wasn’t something he had ever bothered to pursue. The tide was simply a fact of his life as a sailor. The why and where he left to other people.

“They say it’s because of the Great Blue Whale,” he said, remembering the fable he had heard as a child. Seeing Will’s incomprehension, he continued. “I suppose you don’t know what a whale is either?” He sighed at the boy’s blank expression. “A whale is a giant fish.”

“As big as the cod?” Will said, indicating the pride of Svengal’s catch. The sea wolf laughed in genuine amusement.

“A good bit bigger than that, boy. Quite a bit.”

“As big as a walrus, then?” Will asked. There was a colony of the lumbering animals on the rocks at the southern end of the anchorage and he had learned the name from one of the crew. Svengal’s grin widened even further.

“Even bigger. Normal whales are as big as houses. Huge things, they are. But the Great Blue Whale is something else again. He’s as big as one of your castles. He breathes the water in and then spits it out through a hole in the top of his head.”

“I see,” Will said carefully. Some comment seemed to be necessary.

“So,” Svengal continued patiently, “when he breathes in, the tide goes out. Then he spits it out again—”

“Through a hole in the top of his head?” Will said. He began to clean the cod. This all seemed far too fantastic fishes with holes in their heads that breathed water in and out. Svengal frowned at the interruption, and the note of disbelief he detected in Will’s tone.

“Yes. Through a hole in the top of his head. When he does that, the tide comes back in again. He does it twice a day.”

“So why doesn’t he do it at the same time every day?” Will asked, and Svengal showed a further flash of annoyance. Truth be told, he had no idea. The legend hadn’t covered this point.

“Because he’s a whale, boy! And whales can’t tell what time it is, can they?” Irritably, he grabbed the string of cleaned fish, making sure that he had the knife as well, and stalked off up the beach, leaving Will to wash the fish blood and scales off his hands.

Halt looked over at Will and said slightly, “I’m not the only one annoyed by your questions then?” Will shook his head, smiling, “Of course not.”

 Erak was sitting on a bench outside the eating hall as Svengal came up the beach. “Nice cod,” he said, and Svengal nodded briefly. Erak jerked a thumb in Will’s direction and added, “What was all that about?”

“What? Oh, the boy? We were just talking about the Great Blue Whale,” Svengal replied. Erak rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Wait, is Erak cleanshaven?” Maddie asked. Will took a moment to think about it and nodded.

“Really? How did you get onto that subject?” Svengal paused, thinking back on the conversation. Finally, he said, “He just wanted to know about the tide, that was all.” He waited to see if Erak had anything further to say, then shrugged and went inside.

“Did he now?” Erak said to himself. The boy was going to need watching, he thought. For the next few hours, he remained outside the hut, to all appearances dozing in the sun. But his eyes followed the apprentice Ranger wherever he went. Several hours later, he saw the boy tossing pieces of driftwood into the water, then watching them as the receding tide took them out to sea.

“Wouldn’t you want to conserve wood since it’s your only fuel source?” Maddie asked. Will nodded, “However wood was being washed to shore by the tide, so it wasn’t too rare. And” He added as he saw another question forming on his apprentice’s lips, “I couldn’t use a stone because that would sink and defeat the entire purpose.”

“Interesting,” the wolfship skipper muttered to himself. Then he noticed that Will was standing and peering under his hand at the harbour entrance. Erak followed the direction of his gaze and stood up in surprise.

Listing heavily to one side, lying low in the water and crabbing with an uneven complement of oars, a wolfship was dragging itself into the bay.

“Can you people not use your eyes or something?” Halt demanded. He had also noticed the frequency at which things were escaping people’s notice when all they had to do was listen or use their eyes. No one bothered to answer.

Cassandra handed the book to Gilan who started reading.

Chapter 29: The Icebound Land - Chapter 8

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 8.

Notes:

Did anyone notice? Probably not...

The grey-clad rider hunched miserably inside his cloak as he rode slowly through the misting rain that swept across the fields. The hooves of his two horses—one a saddle horse and the other serving as a lightly laden packhorse—clopped wetly in the puddles that had gathered in the undulations of the road.

Behind him as he reached a crest, the towers and spires of Castle Araluen soared into the grey sky. But Halt didn’t look back at the magnificent sight. His gaze was set forward.

The atmosphere of the room become sombre at a record rate.

He heard the two riders following him long before they caught up. Abelard’s ears twitched at the sound of the drumming hoofbeats and Halt knew his small horse had recognized the other two as Ranger horses. Still he didn’t look back. He knew who the two riders would be. And he knew why they were coming. He felt a small shaft of disappointment. He had hoped that, in the confusion and sorrow over his banishment, Crowley had forgotten the one small item that Halt would now have to surrender.

Sighing and accepting the inevitable, he touched Abelard’s reins lightly. The highly trained Ranger horse responded instantly, coming to a halt. Behind them, the packhorse did the same. The hoof-beats grew closer and he sat, staring dully ahead, as Crowley and Gilan reined in beside him.

The four horses nickered gently in greeting to one another. The three men were a little more reserved. There was an unpleasant silence between them, finally broken by Crowley.

“Well, Halt, you got away early. We had to ride hard to catch up to you,” he said, striving for a false heartiness that concealed his misery at the way events had turned out. Halt glanced incuriously at the two other horses. Steam rose gently from them in the cold damp air.

“I can see that,” he replied calmly. He tried to ignore the anguish on Gilan’s young face. He knew that his former apprentice would be suffering deeply because of his inexplicable actions and he hardened his heart to shut out the young Ranger’s sorrow.

Now Crowley lost his heartiness as well. His face grew serious and troubled.

“Halt, there is one thing you may have forgotten. I’m sorry to have to insist, but…” He hesitated. Halt tried to play the scene out to the bitter end, assuming a puzzled expression.

“I have forty-eight hours to leave the kingdom,” he replied. “The time started from dawn this morning. I’ll make it clear of the border by then. There’s no need for you to escort me.”

Crowley shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw Gilan drop his gaze to the road. This was simply causing pain to all of them. He knew what Crowley had come for. He reached inside his cloak to the silver chain around his throat.

 “I had rather hoped you might forget,” he said, trying to make his voice light. But there was a catch in his throat that belied the effort. Sadly, Crowley shook his head.

Maddie gasped. She had forgotten about the oak leaf that hung at each Ranger’s neck. To think Halt, one of the greatest Rangers to ever live had to give up his brought tears to her eyes once more.

“You know you can’t keep the Oakleaf, Halt. As a person under banishment, you’re automatically expelled from the Corps as well.”

Halt nodded. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes as he unclasped the chain and passed the small silver amulet to the Ranger Commandant. The metal was still warm from contact with his body. His vision blurred as he saw it coiled in Crowley’s palm. Such a small piece of bright metal, he thought, and yet it meant so much to him. He had worn the Oakleaf, with the intense pride that all Rangers felt, for the greater part of his life. And now it was no longer his.

“I’m sorry, Halt,” Crowley said miserably. Halt lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“It’s a small matter,” he said.

Again, a silence fell between them. Crowley’s eyes looked into his, trying to penetrate the veil that Halt held in place there. A veil of uncaring, unfeeling acceptance of the situation. It was a sham, but it was a superbly maintained one. Finally the Commandant leaned toward him in the saddle, gripping Halt’s forearm tightly.

“Why, Halt? Why did you do it?” he asked fiercely. Again, that infuriating shrug of the shoulders.

“As I said,” Halt replied, “too much brandy-spirit. You know I could never hold my liquor, Crowley.”

He actually managed a smile at that. It felt ghastly on his face, like a death’s-head grin.

Crowley released his arm and sat back, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Godspeed, Halt,” he said finally, in a voice that broke with emotion. Then, with an uncharacteristically rough jerk of his reins, Crowley wheeled his horse’s head and galloped away, back along the road to Castle Araluen.

Halt watched him go, the mottled Ranger cloak soon almost lost in the misting rain. Then he turned to his former apprentice. He smiled sadly, and this time the smile and the sadness were genuine.

 “Good-bye, Gilan. I’m glad you came to farewell me.”

 But the younger Ranger shook his head defiantly.

“I’m not here to farewell you,” he said roughly. “I’m coming with you.” Halt raised one eyebrow. It was an expression so familiar to Gilan that it tore at his heart to see it.

“Into banishment?” Halt asked the younger man, and again Gilan shook his head.

“I know what you’re up to,” he replied. He jerked his head at the packhorse standing patiently behind Abelard. “You have Tug with you. You’re going after Will, aren’t you?”

Will in took sharply and everyone’s gaze turned to him. The Ranger was looking at Gilan with a piecing stare. The Ranger Commandant didn’t pause and instead kept reading, his voice breaking occasionally.

For a moment, Halt was tempted to deny it. But the days of pretence were getting too much for him. He knew it would be a relief, just this once, to admit his reasons. “I have to, Gilan,” he said quietly. “I promised him. And this was the only way I could be released from service.”

“By getting yourself banished?” Gilan’s voice rose in an incredulous note. “Did it occur to you that Duncan could have had you executed?” Halt shrugged. But this time, it wasn’t a mocking gesture. This time, it was simply a gesture of resignation.

“I didn’t think he would. I had to take the chance.”

Gilan shook his head sadly. “Well, banished or not,” he said, “I’m coming with you.”

Halt looked away then. He took a deep breath, let it out. He was tempted, he had to admit. He was heading for a long, hard, dangerous road where Gilan’s company would be welcome and his sword might well be useful. But there was another call upon Gilan’s service and Halt, already burdened by the knowledge that he had betrayed his own duty, couldn’t allow the younger man to do the same.

“Gilan, you can’t,” he said simply. Gilan drew breath to reply and he held up a hand to stop him. “Look, I asked for a release so that I could go after Will,” he said, “and they told me I was needed here.”

He paused and Gilan nodded his understanding.

“Well, I judge that need to be less. But it’s my judgment only and I could be wrong. This situation with Foldar is dangerous, very dangerous. And it needs to be nipped in the bud. He needs to be stalked and tracked down and ambushed. And frankly, I can’t think of a Ranger more suited to that job than you.”

“Other than yourself,” Gilan countered, and Halt acknowledged the fact with a slight inclination of his head. It wasn’t ego talking. It was an honest assessment of the truth.

“That may be true,” he said. “But it bears out my point. If we both go missing, Crowley will have to find someone else to do the job.”

“I don’t care,” Gilan replied stubbornly, twisting the reins in his hand into a tight little knot, then releasing them again. Halt smiled gently at him.

Maddie glanced over at her Commandant. He also looked close to tears, and she realised this was hard for him, it was hard on them all.

“I do, Gilan. I know how it feels to break the faith like this. It’s a deep, bitter hurt, believe me. And I won’t allow you to inflict it on yourself.”

“But, Halt,” Gilan said miserably, and the grizzled, smaller man could see that tears weren’t far from his eyes, “I was responsible for leaving Will. I deserted him in Celtica! If I had stayed with him, he would never have been captured by the Skandians!”

“Gian, it was never your fault.” Will said gently to his brother.

Halt shook his head. His voice was gentler now as he consoled the young man.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” he told him. “What you did at the time was right. Blame me, rather, for recruiting a boy with the honour and courage to act as he did. And for training him so that there would never be any doubt that he would act that way.”

“It wasn’t your fault either.” He said sharply to Halt.

He paused, to see if his words were having any effect. Gilan was wavering, he knew. Halt added the final touch.

“Don’t you see, Gilan, it’s because I know that you are here that I can desert my post like this. Because I know you can cover for me. But if you refuse to do so, I can’t go myself.”

And at that, Gilan’s shoulders slumped in submission. His eyes fell once more and he muttered throatily, “All right, Halt. But find him. Find him and bring him back, banished or not.”

Halt smiled at him and leaned across to grip hi...his shoulder.

Gilan’s voice broke, but he cleared it hurriedly and continued. Hoping that no one saw the moisture in his eyes.

“It’s only a year,” he said. “We’ll be back before you know it. Good-bye, Gilan.”

“Godspeed, Halt,” the Ranger said in a breaking voice. His vision was obscured by tears and he heard the dull clopping of hooves on the wet road as Abelard and Tug paced out toward the coast.

The wind was in Halt’s face as he rode on his way and it drove the light rain against him. It formed into small drops on his weather-beaten features, drops that rolled down his cheeks.

Strangely, some of them tasted of salt.

Chapter 30: The Icebound Land - Chapter 9

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 9.

Gilan glanced around, and the Baron offered his hand for the book. He immediately gave the novel over and the Baron began reading.

The wolfship was in bad shape. She crabbed awkwardly toward the shingle beach, where the crew of Erak’s ship was spilling out of their hut to watch. She was listing heavily, and she sat a good deal lower in the water than she should. The guardrail on the downward side of the list was barely ten centimetres from the water.

“It’s Slagor’s ship!” one of the Skandians on the beach called, recognizing the wolfs head crest on the upcurving bowsprit.

Cassandra hissed at the mention of Slagor, and Maddie looked to her mother questioningly.

“What’s he doing here?” another asked. “He was safe back in Skandia when we left for Araluen.”

Will had hurried around from the rocks where he had been tossing driftwood into the water. He saw Evanlyn making her way down from the lean-to and he joined her. Her former annoyance was forgotten at this new turn of events. “Where did the ship come from?” she asked, and Will shrugged.

“I have no idea. I was out on the rocks and I just looked up and there she was.”

The ship was close in now. The crewmen looked haggard and exhausted, Will noticed. Now he could see gaps between several of the planks forming the hull, and the ragged stump where the mast had shattered and gone overboard. The Skandians standing around them noted these facts, and commented on them.

“Slagor!” Erak called across the calm water. “Where the devil did you spring from?”

The burly man at the stern, controlling the ship’s steering oar, waved a hand in greeting. He was plainly exhausted, and glad to make harbour.

One of the crew now stood in the bow of the ship and tossed a heavy line to Erak’s men waiting on the beach. In a few seconds, a dozen of them had tailed onto the rope and begun to haul the wolfship in the last few meters. Gratefully, the rowers slumped back on their benches, without the energy to ship their oars. The heavy, carved-oak sweeps trailed in the water, bumping dully against the ship’s sides as they pivoted back in the oarlocks. The keel grated against the shingle and the ship came to a halt. Sitting lower in the water than Wolfwind, it wouldn’t ride as far up the slope of the beach. The bow struck and stuck fast.

The men on board began to disembark, hauling themselves over the bulwarks at the bow and dropping to the beach. The rowing crew staggered up onto dry land and stretched themselves out with groans of weariness, dropping onto the coarse stones and sand and lying as if dead. One of the last to come ashore was Slagor, the captain.

He dropped tiredly to the beach. His beard and hair were matted and rimed white with salt. His eyes were red and haunted-looking. He and Erak faced each other. Oddly, they didn’t greet each other with the normal grasped forearms. Will realized that there must be little love between the two men.

Cassandra gave an un-lady-like snort, “That’s an understatement.”

“What are you doing here at this time of year?” Erak asked the other skipper.

Slagor shook his head disgustedly. “We’re damned lucky to be here. We were two days out of Hallasholm when the storm hit us. Waves as big as castles there were, and the wind was straight from the pole. The mast went in the first hour and we couldn’t cut it loose. Lost two men trying to clear it. Then the butt end kept slamming into the ship’s waterline, and before we got rid of it, it had driven a hole in the planks. We had one compartment flooded before we knew what was happening, and leaks in the other three.”

The wolfships, in spite of the fact that they looked like open boats, were actually highly seaworthy vessels. This was in no small part due to the design that divided the hulls into four separate, watertight compartments beneath the main deck and between the two lower galleries where the rowers sat. It was the buoyancy of these compartments that kept the ships afloat even when they were swamped by the huge waves that coursed across the Stormwhite Sea.

Will glanced at Erak now. He saw the heavily built Jarl was frowning at Slagor’s words.

“What were you doing at sea in the first place?” Erak asked. “This is no time to try to cross the Stormwhite.”

Slagor took a wooden beaker of brandy-spirit offered by one of Erak’s men. Around the small harbour, the crew of Erak’s ship was bringing drinks to their exhausted countrymen and, in some cases, tending to injuries obviously sustained as their ship had tossed and heaved in the storm. Slagor made no gesture of thanks and Erak frowned slightly. Again, Will was conscious of a feeling of animosity between the two captains. Even Slagor’s manner was belligerent as he described their misfortune, as if he were somehow defensive about the whole matter. Now he drank half the brandy in one long gulp and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before answering.

“Weather had cleared back in Hallasholm,” he said shortly. “I thought we had a break long enough to get across the storm zone.”

Erak’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“At this time of year?” he asked. “Are you mad?”

“Thought we could make it,” Slagor repeated stubbornly, and Will saw Erak’s eyes narrow. The burly Jarl lowered his voice so that it didn’t carry to the other crewmen. Only Will and Evanlyn heard him.

“Damn you, Slagor,” he said bitterly. “You were trying to get a jump on the raiding season.”

“What’s the riding season?” Maddie asked. Will answered, “It’s the time of year that the Skandians use to go out and pillage cost line villages all around. They only do it in a ‘season’ because otherwise the weather gets too bad for them to get back to Skandia.”

Slagor faced the other captain angrily. “And if I was? It was my decision to make as captain. No one else’s, Erak.”

“And your decision cost two men their lives,” Erak pointed out. “Two men who were sworn to abide by your decisions, no matter how foolhardy those decisions might be. Any man with more than five minutes’ experience would know that this is too early to make the crossing!”

“There was a lull!” the other man shot back, and Erak snorted in disgust.

“A lull! There are always lulls! They last a day or two. But that’s not long enough to make the crossing and you know it. Damn you for your greed, Slagor!”

Slagor drew himself up. “You’ve no right to judge me, Erak. A captain is master of his own ship and you know it. Like you, I’m free to choose when and where I go,” he said. His voice was louder than Erak’s and Will sensed he was blustering.

“I’ll note you chose not to join us in the war we’ve just been fighting,” Erak replied, scorn in his voice. “You were content to sit at home for that, then try to sneak out and get the easy pickings before other captains were ready to leave.”

“My choice,” Slagor repeated, “and a wise one, as it’s turned out.” His voice became a sneer. “I notice you didn’t exactly have a great deal of success in your invasion, did you, Jarl Erak?”

Erak stepped closer. His eyes blazed a warning at the other man.

“Watch your tone, you sneak thief. I left good friends behind me there.”

“And more than friends, as I’ve heard,” replied Slagor, emboldened now. “You’ll get scant thanks from Ragnak for leaving his son behind as well.”

Erak stepped back, his jaw dropping. “Gronel was taken in the battle?”

Slagor shook his head now, smiling at the other man’s loss of poise. “Not taken. Killed, I heard, at the Thorntree battle. Some of the ships managed to make it back to Skandia before the storms set in.”

Will glanced up quickly at that. Wolfwind, Erak’s ship, had been the last to leave the Araluen coast. The crew were still waiting for Erak’s return when the survivors of Horth’s ill-fated expedition had straggled back to the ships, bringing news of the failure and then sailing away. Will had later heard Wolfwind ’s crew talking about the Thorntree battle. Two Rangers, one short and grizzled, the other young and tall, had led the King’s forces that decimated the Skandian army as they had marched to outflank Duncan’s main force. Somehow, Will knew in his heart that they had been Halt and Gilan.

“No offense to the Rangers, but there are very little of us that could be considered ‘young and tall’ and ‘short’ and ‘grizzled’.” Gilan said.

Erak shook his head sadly. “Gronel was a good man,” he said. “We’ll feel his loss sorely.”

“His father is feeling it. He’s sworn a Vallasvow against Duncan and his family.”

Once again, the table fell silent.

“That can’t be right,” Erak said, frowning in disbelief. “A Vallasvow is only to be taken against treachery or murder.”

Slagor shrugged. “He’s the Oberjarl. He can do as he likes, I’d say. Now for pity’s sake, do you have any food on this godforsaken island? Our stores are ruined by seawater.”

Erak, still distracted by the news he’d just heard, became aware of Will and Evanlyn’s presence. He jerked his head toward the huts.

“Get a fire going,” he told them. “These men need hot food.”

He was angry that Slagor had to remind him of his duty in this matter. He may not have liked the other captain, but his men deserved help and attention after all they had been through. He shoved Will roughly toward the hut. The boy staggered, then began to run, Evanlyn close behind him.

Will had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what a Vallasvow might be, but he knew one thing. Keeping Evanlyn’s identity a secret had suddenly become a matter of life and death.

Cassandra looked to him, “How the hell did you guess that?” Will shrugged, “Something sworn against the royal family usually doesn’t have benign outcomes.”

Chapter 31: The Icebound Land - Chapter 10

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 10

Baron Arald looked around and Halt motioned for Horace to take the book.

The knight did and began reading.

The road neared the ocean, and the woods on either side gradually moved closer and closer, as fertile, tilled fields gave way to denser forest country. It was the sort of country where peaceful travellers might well become fearful of bandits, as the thick trees close to the roadside gave ample cover for an ambush. Halt, however, had no such fears. In fact, his mood was so dark that he might well have welcomed an attempt by bandits to rob him of his few belongings.

Gilan winced at the thought. After his mentor had been banished, Gilan doubted had been in the mood to come across some very dead bandits.

His heavy saxe knife and throwing knife were easy to hand under his cloak, and he carried his longbow strung, resting across the pommel of his saddle, in Ranger fashion. One corner of his cloak, specially made for the purpose, folded back from his shoulder, leaving the feathered ends of the two dozen arrows in his quiver within quick, unimpeded reach. It was said that each Ranger carried the lives of twenty-four men in his quiver, such was their uncanny, deadly accuracy with the longbow.

Aside from these obvious weapons, and his own finely honed instinct for danger, Halt had two other, not so obvious, advantages over any potential attacker. The two Ranger horses, Tug and Abelard, were trained to give quiet warning of the presence of any strangers that they sensed. And now, as Halt rode, Abelard’s ears twitched several times and he and Tug both tossed their heads and snorted.

Halt reached forward and patted his horse’s neck gently.

“Good boys,” he said softly to the two stocky little horses, and their ears twitched in recognition of his words. To any observer, the cloaked rider was merely quietening his mount—a perfectly normal turn of events. In fact, his senses were heightened and his mind was racing. He spoke again, one word. “Where?”

Baron Arald had to resist the urge to snort. Sometimes, - often actually, it seemed the ranger horses were smarter than some battle school trainees he knew of. Sir Rodney grimaced, thinking along the same lines.

Abelard’s head angled slightly to the left, pointing toward a copse of trees closer to the road than the rest, some fifty meters further on. Halt glanced quickly over his shoulder and noted that Tug, trotting quietly behind him, was looking in the same direction. Both horses had sensed the presence of strangers, or perhaps a stranger, in the trees. Now Halt spoke again.

“Release.”

And the two horses, knowing that their warning had been taken and the direction noted, turned their heads back from the direction they had indicated. It was this sort of specialized skill that gave Rangers their uncanny capacity for survival and for anticipating trouble.

Still apparently totally unaware of the presence of anyone in the trees, Halt rode forward at the same relaxed pace. He smiled grimly to himself as he considered the fact that the horses could only tell him that someone was there. They could not foretell that person’s intentions, or whether or not he was an enemy.

That would be supernatural power indeed, he thought to himself.

He was forty meters from the trees now. There were half a dozen of them—bushy and surrounded by heavy undergrowth. They afforded perfect cover for an ambush. Or, he reasoned, for someone who simply wanted shelter from the soft rain that had fallen for the past ten hours or so. From beneath the cowl of his hood, shaded and invisible to any observer, Halt’s eyes darted and searched the thick cover. Abelard, closer now to the potential danger, let go a deep-throated grumbling sound. It was barely audible, and was felt by his rider more as a rumbling vibration in his horse’s barrel chest than anything else. Halt nudged him with one knee.

“I know,” he said softly, knowing the shadow of his cowl would hide any movement of his lips.

Everyone in the room was on edge, except Horace and Halt. They both knew how this went, though that wasn’t to say they weren’t playing attention.

This was close enough, he decided. His bow gave him the advantage as long as he stayed at a distance. He tweaked the reins gently and Abelard halted, Tug taking one more pace before he too came to a stop.

With an easy, fluid motion, Halt reached for an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string of his bow. He made no attempt to draw the bow. Years of constant practice made him capable of drawing, aiming, firing and hitting in the blink of an eye.

Horace tried to ignore that fact that he had been quite close to being shot by Halt, if the Ranger hadn't asked asked for his identity. 

“I’d like to see you in the open,” he called, in a carrying voice. There was a moment’s hesitation, then a heavyset mounted figure spurred forward from the trees, coming to a halt on clear ground at the verge of the road.

A warrior, Halt saw, noting the dull gleam of chain mail at his arms and around his neck. He wore a cloak as well, to keep the rain off. A simple, conical steel helmet was slung to his saddlebow and a round, unblazoned buckler was slung at his back. Halt could see no sign of a sword or other weapon, but he reasoned that any such would most likely be worn on the man’s left side, the side farthest away from him. It was safe to assume that the rider would be carrying a weapon of some kind. After all, there was no point in wearing half armour and going weapon less.

Sir Rodney, the Baron and Horace nodded along in agreement.

There was something familiar about the figure, however. A moment more and Halt recognized the rider. He relaxed, replacing the arrow in his quiver with the same smooth, practiced movement.

He urged Abelard forward and rode to greet the other rider.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, already having a pretty good idea what the answer was going to be. “I’m coming with you,” said Horace, confirming what Halt had suspected. “You’re going to find Will and I want to join you.”

Maddie’s eyes went straight to her father who gave her a small smile.

“I see,” Halt said, drawing rein as he came alongside the youth. Horace was a tall boy and his battle horse stood several hands higher than Abelard. The Ranger found himself having to look up at the young face. It was set in determined lines, he noted.

“And what do you think your apprentice master will have to say about that when he finds out?” he asked.

“Sir Rodney?” Horace shrugged. “He knows already. I told him I was leaving.”

Halt inclined his head in some surprise. He’d expected that Horace would have simply run away in his attempt to join him. But the apprentice warrior was a straightforward type, not given to guile or subterfuge. It was not in Horace’s character to simply run off, he realized. “And how did he greet this momentous news?”

Horace frowned, not understanding. “Pardon?” he asked uncertainly and Halt sighed quietly.

Horace winced at his past self. He was a bit stiff back then to say the least.

“What did he say when you told him? I assume he gave you a good clout over the ear?” Rodney wasn’t known for his tolerance of disobedient apprentices. He had a quick temper and the boys in Battleschool often felt the full force of it.

Sir Rodney tried to look offended, but it was ruined when the Baron tried to snuffle his laughter.

“No,” Horace answered stolidly. “He said to give you a message.”

Halt shook his head in wonder. “And the message was?” he prompted, and noted that Horace shifted uncomfortably in his saddle before answering.

“He said, ‘Good luck to you,’” the boy replied finally. “And he said to tell you that I came with his approval—unofficial, of course.”

“Of course,” Halt replied, successfully masking the surprise he felt at this unexpected gesture of support from the Battleschool commander. “He could hardly give you official approval to go running off with a banished criminal, could he?”

Horace thought about that and nodded. “I suppose not,” he replied. “So you’ll let me come with you?”

Halt shook his head. “Of course I won’t,” he said briskly. “I don’t have time to look after you where I’m going.”

Horace shot Halt an injured look that the Ranger pointedly ignored.
 
The boy’s face flushed with anger at Halt’s dismissive tone.

“Sir Rodney also said to tell you that you could possibly use a sword to guard your back on your travels,” he said. Halt regarded the tall boy carefully as he spoke.

“Those were his exact words?” he asked, and Horace shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Then tell me exactly what he said,” Halt demanded.

Horace took a deep breath. “His exact words were, ‘You could use a good sword to guard your back.’”

Halt hid a smile.

Horace once again tried his best for sympathy, however the only thing he got was some raised eyebrows and hidden smiles.

“Meaning who?” he challenged. Horace sat his horse, flushing furiously, and didn’t answer. It was the best reply he could have made. Halt was watching him closely. He didn’t take Rodney’s recommendation lightly and he knew the boy had courage to spare. He’d proven that when he’d challenged Morgarath to single combat at the Plains of Uthal.

But there was the chance that he might have become boastful and overconfident—that too much adulation and praise had turned his head. If that were the case, however, he would have answered Halt’s sarcastic challenge immediately. The fact that he hadn’t, but merely sat in front of him, face set in determined lines, said a lot about the boy’s character. Strange how they turn out, Halt thought. He remembered Horace as somewhat of a bully when he’d been younger. Obviously, Battleschool discipline and a few years’ maturity had wrought some interesting changes.

“You were testing me? Of course you were testing me.” Horace sighed as Halt forced himself to his smile.

He considered the boy again. Truth be told, it would be handy to have a companion along. He’d refused Gilan because he knew the other Ranger was needed here in Araluen. But Horace was a different matter. His Craftmaster had given permission—unofficially. He was a more than capable swordsman. He was loyal and he was dependable. And besides, Halt had to admit that, since Will had been taken prisoner, he’d missed having someone younger around him. He’d missed the excitement and the eagerness that came with young people. And, God help him, he’d even missed the endless questions that came with them as well.

Will raised an eyebrow at his mentor who once again ignored him.

He realized now that Horace was regarding him anxiously. The boy had been waiting for a decision and so far had received nothing more than Halt’s sardonic challenge as to the identity of the “good sword” suggested by Sir Rodney. He sighed heavily and let a savage frown crease his brow.

“I suppose you’ll bombard me with questions day and night?” he said. Horace’s shoulders slumped at the tone of voice, then, suddenly, he understood the meaning of the words. His face shone and his shoulders lifted again.

“You mean you’ll take me?” he said, excitement cracking his voice into a higher register than he intended. Halt looked down and adjusted a strap on his saddlebag that required no adjustment at all. It wouldn’t do to let the boy see the slight smile that was creasing his weathered face.

Horace gave a friendly scowl at the old Ranger.

“It seems I have to,” he said reluctantly. “You can hardly go back to Sir Rodney now that you’ve run away, can you?”

“No, I can’t! I mean…that’s wonderful! Thanks, Halt! You won’t regret it, I promise! It’s just that I sort of promised myself that I’d find Will and help rescue him.” The boy was fairly babbling in his pleasure at being accepted. Halt nudged Abelard with his knee and began to ride on, Tug following easily. Horace urged his battlehorse to fall into step with Halt, and continued his flow of gratitude.

Will looked over at his friend in surprise. Horace regarded him evenly, “Why do you think I challenged Morgarath in the first place?” Will was about to reply when he remembered what happened in the other book. He shut his mouth and gave his friend a grateful smile.

“I knew you’d go after him, Halt. I knew that’s why you pretended to be angry with King Duncan! Nobody at Redmont could believe it when we heard what had happened, but I knew it was so you could go and rescue Will from the Skandians—”

“Enough!” Halt finally said, holding up a hand to ward off the flow of words, and Horace stopped in midsentence, bowing his head apologetically.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Not another word,” he said.

Halt nodded thankfully. “I should think not.”

Chastened, Horace rode in silence beside his new master as they headed toward the east coast. They had gone another hundred meters when he finally could stand it no more.

“Where will we find a ship?” he asked. “Will we sail directly to Skandia after the raiders? Can we cross the sea at this time of year?”

Halt turned in the saddle and cast a baleful eye on the young man. “I see it’s started already,” he said heavily. But inside, his heart felt lighter than it had for weeks.

Horace looked around and finally gave the book to Will.

Chapter 32: The Icebound Land - Chapter 11

Summary:

Will reads chapter 11.

Will picked up the book and began to read.

The unexpected arrival of Slagor’s vessel, Wolf Fang, made life even more unpleasant on Skorghijl. The crowded living conditions were now worse than ever, with two crews crammed into the space designed for one. And with the crowding came fighting. Skandians weren’t used to long hours of inactivity, so they filled their time with drinking and gambling—an almost certain recipe for trouble.

Maddie highly doubted there were any situations worse.

When the members of one crew were involved, the disagreements that arose were usually settled quickly and forgotten. But the separate loyalties of the two crews inflamed the situation so that arguments flared, tempers were lost and, at times, weapons were drawn before Erak could intervene.

It was noticeable, Will thought, that Slagor never raised his voice to quell the fights. The more he saw of Wolf Fang’s captain, the more he realized that the man had little real authority and commanded minimal respect from the other Skandians. Even his own crew worked for pay, not out of any sense of loyalty.

Cassandra snorted.

The work for Will and Evanlyn had doubled, of course. There was twice as much cooking, serving and cleaning to be done now. And twice as many Skandians to demand that they take care of any other job that needed doing. But at least they had retained their living space. The lean-to was too cramped for any of the massive Skandians to even consider co-opting it for their own use. That was one compensation for having been captured by giants, Will thought.

But it was more than just the fighting and the extra work that had made life miserable for Will and Evanlyn. The news of the mysterious Vallasvow taken by Ragnak had been devastating for the princess. Her life was now at risk and the slightest mistake, the slightest incautious word, from either of them could mean her death. She pleaded with Will to be careful, to continue to treat her as an equal, as he always had before she told him her real identity. The least sign of deference on his part, the smallest gesture of respect, might well raise suspicions and spell the end for her.

Naturally, Will assured her that he would guard her secret. He schooled himself never to think of her as Cassandra, but always to use the name Evanlyn, even in his thoughts. But the more he tried to avoid the name, the more it seemed to want to spring unbidden to his tongue. He lived in constant fear that he would inadvertently betray her.

“Is that why you kept calling mum Evanlyn?” Maddie asked. Will nodded, “Also because whenever we were on missions together and she had to go incognito, Evanlyn was always the name she took so I just got use to it.”

The bad feeling between them, born out of boredom and frustration as much as anything, had melted away in the face of this new and very real danger. They were allies and friends again, and their resolve to help and support each other regained the strength and conviction that they had enjoyed in their brief time in Celtica.

Of course, Evanlyn’s plan for ransom was now totally destroyed. She could hardly reveal herself to a man who had sworn to kill every member of her family. That realization, coupled with her own natural resentment at being forced to do menial, unpleasant work, made her life on Skorghijl miserable. The one bright spot in her life was Will—always cheerful, always optimistic, always encouraging. She noticed how he unobtrusively took the worst, messiest jobs for himself whenever possible and she was grateful for it. Thinking back on the way she had treated him a few days earlier, she felt ashamed. But when she tried to apologize—and she was straightforward enough to admit that she had been in the wrong—he dismissed it with a laugh.

"He's very hard to stay mad at." Horace mused quickly to Cassandra, she nodded her head in agreement.

“We’re all a little cabin crazy,” he said. “The sooner we get away, the better.”

He still planned to escape, and she realized she must accompany him. She knew he had something in mind, but he was still working on his plan and so far he hadn’t told her the details.

For now, the evening meal was over and there was a massive sack full of wooden platters, spoons and mugs to clean in the seawater and fine gravel at the water’s edge. Sighing, she bent to pick them up. She was exhausted and the thought of crouching ankle-deep in the cold water while she scrubbed at the grease was almost too much to bear.

 “I’ll do those,” Will said quietly. He glanced around to make sure none of the Skandians were watching, then took the heavy sack from her.

Cassandra gave Will a small smile which he returned.

“No,” she protested. “It’s not fair…” But he held up a hand to stop her.

“There’s something I want to check anyway. This will be good cover,” he said. “Besides, you’ve had a bad couple of days. Go and get some rest.” He grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, there’ll be plenty of washing up to do tomorrow. And the next day. You can do it all while I skive off.”

She gave him a tired smile and touched his hand in gratitude. The thought of just stretching out on her hard bunk and doing nothing was almost too good to be true.

“Thanks,” she said simply. His grin widened and she knew he was genuinely glad that relations between them were back to normal.

“At least our hosts are enthusiastic eaters,” he said cheerfully. “They don’t leave too much on the plates.”

"Maybe Horace is half Skandian, that'll explain the constant thoughts of food." Gilan suggested and got a few laughs from around the table. 

He slung the sack and its clattering contents over his shoulder and headed for the beach. Smiling to herself, Evanlyn stooped and entered the lean-to.

Jarl Erak emerged from the noisy, smoke-filled mess hut and took a deep breath of the cold sea air. Life on the island was getting him down, particularly with Slagor not pulling his weight in maintaining discipline. The man was a useless drunk, Erak thought angrily. And he was no warrior—it was common knowledge that he selected only lightly defended targets for his raids and never took part in the fighting. Erak had just been forced to intervene between one of his own men and one of Wolf Fang’s crew of criminals. Slagor’s man had been using a set of loaded dice, and when challenged, he had drawn his saxe knife on the other Skandian.

Erak had stepped in and knocked the Wolf Fang crewman senseless with one massive fist. Then, in order to show an even handed approach, he was forced to knock his own man out as well.

Maddie felt a little sorry for Erak. It was clear Slagor's crew weren't known for their honour among the other Skandians, and the Jarl was probably frustrated at his need to not show bias towards his own crew.

Even handedness, Skandian style, he thought wearily. A left hook and a right cross. He heard the scrunch of feet in the gravel of the beach and looked up to see a dark figure heading toward the water’s edge. He frowned thoughtfully. It was the Araluen boy. Stealthily, he began to follow the boy. He heard the clatter of plates and mugs being spilled on the beach, then the sound of scrubbing. Maybe he was just doing the washing up, he thought. Maybe not. Stepping carefully, he worked his way a little closer.

Halt raised an eyebrow at the thought of Erak being stealthy. 

Erak’s concept of stealth didn’t quite match Ranger standards. Will was scrubbing the platters when he heard the massively built Skandian approaching. Either that, he thought, or a walrus was beaching itself on the shingle.

Maddie snorted as chokes of laughter were hastily covered up around the table.

Turning to look up, he recognized the bulky form of Erak, made even larger in the darkness by the bearskin cloak he wore against the biting cold of the wind. Uncertainly, Will began to rise from his crouched position, but the Jarl waved him back. “Keep on with your work,” he said gruffly. Will continued to scrub, watching the Skandian leader out of the corner of his eye as he gazed across the anchorage and sniffed at the storm-borne air.

“Stinks in there,” Erak muttered finally.

“Too many people in too small a space,” Will ventured, eyes down and scrubbing at the plate. Erak interested him. He was a hard man and a pitiless fighter. But he was not actually cruel. Sometimes, in a gruff way, he could seem almost friendly. Erak, in turn, studied Will. What was he up to? He was probably trying to figure out a way to escape, Erak thought. That’s what he’d be doing in the boy’s place. The apprentice Ranger was smart and resourceful. He was also determined. Erak had seen the way he stuck to his gruelling exercise program, out running on the beach in fair weather or foul.

Once again he felt that sense of regard for the apprentice Ranger—and the girl. She’d shown plenty of grit too.

Cassandra gave a small smile as Maddie turned to her.

The thought of the girl made him frown. Sooner or later, there’d be trouble in that quarter. Particularly with Slagor and his men. The crew of Wolf Fang was a sorry lot—jailbirds and minor criminals for the most part. Good crewmen wouldn’t sign with Slagor. Well, he thought philosophically, if it happened, he’d have to bang a few heads together. He wasn’t going to have his authority challenged by a rabble like Slagor’s men. The two slaves were Erak’s property. They’d be his only profit from this disastrous trip to Araluen, and if anyone tried to damage either one, they’d answer to him. As he had the thought, he tried to tell himself that he was only protecting his investment. But he wasn’t sure it was entirely true.

No one interrupted this part of the story, as everyone was curious about what had happened on the island.

“Jarl Erak?” the boy said in the darkness, uncertainty in his tone as he wondered whether he should ask questions of the Skandian leader. Erak grunted. The sound was noncommittal but Will took it as permission to continue.

“What was the Vallasvow Jarl Slagor spoke of?” he asked, trying to sound casual. Erak frowned at the title.

“Slagor’s no jarl,” he corrected the boy. “He’s merely a skirl, a captain of a wolfship.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said humbly. The last thing he wanted to do was make Erak angry. Obviously, by referring to Slagor as his equal, Will had risked that. He hesitated, but Erak’s annoyance seemed to have abated, so he asked again.

“And the Vallasvow?” he prompted.

Erak belched quietly and leaned to one side so he could scratch his backside. He was sure that Slagor’s crew had brought fleas with them into the hut. It was the one discomfort they had not had to bear so far. Cold, damp, smoke and smell. But now they could add fleas. He wished, not for the first time, that Slagor’s wolfship had gone down in the gales on the Stormwhite Sea.

“Me to.” Cassandra whispered.

“It’s a vow,” he said, unhelpfully, “that Ragnak took. Not that he had any cause to,” he added. “You don’t provoke the Vallas lightly. Not if you have any sense.”

“The Vallas?” Will asked. “Who are they?”

Erak looked at the dark form crouched beneath him. He shook his head in wonderment. How ignorant these Araluens were!

More raised eyebrows.

“Never heard of the Vallas? What do they teach you in that damp little island of yours?” he asked. Will, wisely, said nothing in reply. There were a few moments’ silence, then Erak continued.

“The Vallas, boy, are the three gods of vengeance. They take the form of a shark, a bear and a vulture.”

He paused, to see if that had sunk in. Will felt that this time, some comment was required.

“I see,” he said uncertainly. Erak snorted in derision.

“I’m sure you don’t. Nobody in their right mind ever wants to see the Vallas. Nobody in their right mind ever chooses to swear to them either.”

Will thought about what the Skandian had said. “So a Vallasvow is a vow of vengeance, then?” he asked, and Erak nodded grimly.

“Total vengeance,” he replied. “It’s when you hate so badly that you swear to be avenged, not just upon the person who has wronged you, but on every member of his family as well.”

Seems a bit over-kill, Maddie thought to herself. 

“Every member?” said Will. For a moment, Erak wondered if there was something behind this line of questioning. But he couldn’t see how information like this could help in an escape attempt, so he continued.

“Every last one,” he told him. “It’s a death vow, of course, and it’s unbreakable. Once it’s made, if the person making the vow should ever recant, the Vallas will take him and his own family instead of the original victims. They’re not the sort of gods you really want any business with, believe me.”

Again, a small silence. Will wondered if he had continued far enough with his questions, and decided he could try for a little more leeway.

“Then if they’re so terrible, why would Ragnak—” he began, but Erak cut him off.

“Because he’s mad!” he snapped. “I told you, only a madman would swear to the Vallas! Ragnak has never been too stable; now the loss of his son has obviously tipped him over the edge.” Erak made a gesture of disgust. He seemed to tire of the subject of Ragnak and the fearful Vallas.

“Just be thankful you’re not of Duncan’s family, boy. Or Ragnak’s, for that matter.” He turned back to where the firelight showed through a dozen cracks and chinks in the hut walls, casting strange, elongated patterns of light onto the wet shingle.

“Now get back to your work,” he said angrily, and strode back toward the heat and smell of the hut.

Will watched him, idly sluicing the last of the plates in the cold seawater.

“We really have to get out of here,” he said softly to himself.

Will kept the book and continued to read.

Chapter 33: The Icebound Land - Chapter 12

Summary:

Will reads chapter 12

Notes:

I am questioning my upload schedule, bare with me...

There was so much to see and hear, Horace didn’t know which way to turn his head first. All around him, the port city of La Rivage seethed with life. The docks were crowded with ships: simple fishing smacks and two-masted traders moored side by side and creating a forest of masts and halyards that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. His ears buzzed with the shriek of gulls as they fought one another for the scraps hurled into the harbour by fishermen cleaning their catch. The ships, large and small, rose and fell and rocked with the slight swell inside the harbour, never actually still for a moment. Underlying the gulls’ shrill voices was the constant creaking and groaning of hundreds of wickerwork fenders protecting the hulls from their neighbours.

His nostrils filled with the smell of smoke and the aroma of food cooking—but a different aroma to the plain, country fare prepared at Castle Redmont. Here, there was something extra to the smell: something exotic and exciting and foreign.

“Spices.” Halt said plainly, ignoring the way Horace gave him a disapproving look in a why didn't you just tell me that before sorta way.

Which was only to be expected, he thought, as he was setting foot in a truly foreign country for the first time in his young life. He’d travelled to Celtica, of course, but that didn’t count. It was really just an extension of Araluen. This was so different. Around him, voices were raised in anger or amusement, calling to one another, insulting one another, laughing with one another. And not a word of the outlandish tongue could he understand.

"Has that changed?" Lady Pauline inquired innocently and Horace nodded. It had been Lady Pauline who suggested to him to learn another language and it had been her apprentices he had practised with largely.

He stood by the quay where they had landed, holding the bridles of the three horses while Halt paid off the master of the tubby little freighter that had transported them across the Narrow Sea—along with a reeking cargo of hides bound for the tanneries here in Gallica. After four days in close proximity to the stiff piles of animal skin, Horace found himself wondering if he could ever wear anything made of leather again.

Horace winced. He didn't have to look down at himself to know at least some of his attire was leather. It was a fine material for high quality clothing, but the ethics of how it was acquired always bothered him. 

A hand tugged at his belt and he turned, startled. A bent and withered old crone was smiling at him, showing her toothless gums and holding her hand out.

Maddie immediately thought to when Halt had pretended to be a beggar to infiltrate Castle Falaise.

Her clothes were rags and her head was bound in a bandanna that might have once been colourful but was now so dirty that it was impossible to be sure. She said something in the local language and all he could do was shrug. He had no money anyway and obviously the woman was a beggar.

Her obsequious smile faded to a dark scowl and she spat a phrase at him. Even without any knowledge of the language, he knew it wasn’t a compliment. Then she turned and hobbled away, making a strange, crisscross gesture in the air between them. Horace shook his head helplessly.

“Did that lady just curse you?” Maddie asked her father. Horace shrugged, as he himself hadn’t been sure.

A peal of laughter distracted him and he turned to see a trio of young girls, perhaps a few years older than himself, who had witnessed the exchange between him and the old lady. He gaped. He couldn’t help himself. The girls, all of them extremely attractive, it seemed to him, were dressed in outfits that could only be described as excessively skimpy. One wore a skirt so short that it ended well above her knees.

Cassandra rolled her eyes while Horace went bright pink.

Now the girls gestured at him again, aping his open-mouthed stare. Hastily, he snapped his mouth shut and they laughed all the louder. One of them called something to him, beckoning him. He couldn’t understand a word she said, and feeling ignorant and foreign, he realized his cheeks were flushing deep red.

All of which set the girls to laughing even louder. They raised their hands to their own cheeks, mimicking his blushing, and chattering to one another in their own strange tongue.

Horace winced at his own naivety.

“You seem to be making friends already,” Halt said behind him, and he turned, guiltily. The Ranger—Horace could never think of Halt as anything else—was regarding him and the three girls with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“You speak this language, Halt?” he asked. Strangely, he realized, he wasn’t surprised by the fact. He had always assumed that Rangers had a wide variety of arcane skills at their disposal and, so far, events had proved him to be right. His companion nodded.

“Arcane? Do you really think learning another language is arcane?” Will asked his friend who just shrugged helplessly, unable to defend his past self.

“Enough to get by,” he replied evenly, and Horace gestured, as inconspicuously as he could manage, to the three girls.

“What are they saying?” he asked. The Ranger assumed the blank expression that Horace was beginning to know so well.

"You get use to it." Will said solemnly, Gilan nodding along behind him. Halt glared at his two former apprentices, however there was no real heat to it.

“Perhaps it’s better that you don’t know,” he replied eventually. Horace nodded, not really understanding, but not wishing to look sillier than he felt.

Cassandra gave a light snort, and when everyone looked at her she tried her best to play it down as some sort of coughing fit. 

“Perhaps so,” he agreed. Halt was swinging easily up into Abelard’s saddle and Horace followed suit, mounting Kicker, his battlehorse. The movement drew an admiring chorus of exclamations from the girls. He felt the flush mounting to his cheeks once again. Halt looked at him with something that might have been pity, mixed with a little amusement. Shaking his head, he led the way down the crowded, narrow waterfront street, away from the quay.

Horace onace again winced and he tried to hide under the table as both Cassandra and Maddie tried their best to hide their laughter.

Mounted, Horace felt the usual surge of confidence that came from being on horseback. And with it came a feeling of equality with these squabbling, hurrying foreigners. Now, it seemed to him, nobody was rushing to make fun of him, or beg from him or spit insults at him. There was a natural deference from people on foot for mounted and armed men. It had always been that way in Araluen, but here in Gallica there seemed to be an extra edge to it. People here moved with greater alacrity to clear a path for the two horsemen and the sturdy little packhorse that followed them.

It occurred to him that perhaps the rule of law in Gallica was not quite so even handed as in his home country. In Araluen, people on foot deferred to mounted men as a matter of common sense. Here they seemed apprehensive, even fearful. He was about to ask Halt about the difference, and had actually drawn breath to ask the question, when he stopped himself. Halt was constantly chiding him for his questions and he was determined to curb his curiosity. He decided he would ask Halt about his suspicions when they stopped for the noon meal.

Pleased with his resolution, he nodded to himself. Then another thought occurred, and before he could stop himself, he had begun the prelude to yet another question.

Will looked at his mentor with a wicked smile on his face.

“Halt?” he said diffidently. He heard a deep sigh from the short, slightly built man riding beside him. Mentally, he kicked himself.

“I thought you must be coming down with some illness for a moment there,” Halt said, straight-faced. “It must be two or three minutes since you’ve asked me a question.” Committed now, Horace continued.

"If I had an illness that made me ask questions, I have no doubt where it came from." Horace said, deadpan, as he looked scrutiny at Will. The Ranger tried to look innocent, however the effect was ruined by his failure to hide his smile.

“One of those girls,” he began, and immediately felt the Ranger’s eyes on him. “She was wearing a very short skirt.” There was the slightest pause.

Even the Baron and Sir Rodney were trying to hide their laughter and Horace was turning a darker shade of red.

“Yes?” Halt prompted, not sure where this conversation was leading. Horace shrugged uncomfortably. The memory of the girl, and her shapely legs, was causing his cheeks to burn with embarrassment again.

“Well,” he said uncertainly, “I just wondered if that was normal over here, that’s all.” Halt considered the serious young face beside him. He cleared his throat several times.

“I believe that sometimes Gallican girls take jobs as couriers,” he said.

Horace frowned slightly. “Couriers?”

Maddie slapped a hand over her face to stop herself from bursting out in laughter.

“Couriers. They carry messages from one person to another. Or from one business to another, in the towns and cities.” Halt checked to see if Horace seemed to be believing him so far. There seemed no reason to think otherwise, so he added: “Urgent messages.”

“Urgent messages,” Horace repeated, still not seeing the connection. But he seemed inclined to believe what Halt was saying, so the older man continued.

“And I suppose for a really urgent message, one would have to run.”

Everyone at the table were trying their best keep themselves in check, however their efforts would be in vain. 

Now he saw a glimmer of understanding in the boy’s eyes. Horace nodded several times as he made the connection.

“So, the short skirts…they’d be to help them run more easily?” he suggested. Halt nodded in his turn.

“It would certainly be a more sensible form of dress than long skirts, if you wanted to do a lot of running.” He shot a quick look at Horace to see if his gentle teasing was not being turned back on himself—to see if, in fact, the boy realized Halt was talking nonsense and was simply leading him on. Horace’s face, however, was open and believing.

“I suppose so,” Horace replied finally, then added, in a softer voice, “They certainly look a lot better that way too.”

Again, Halt shot him a look. But Horace seemed to be content with the answer. For a moment, Halt regretted his deception, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Horace was, after all, totally trusting and it was so easy to tease him like this. Then the Ranger looked at those clear blue eyes and the contented, honest face of the warrior apprentice and any sense of regret was stifled. Horace had plenty of time to learn about the seamier side of life, he thought. He could retain his innocence for a little while longer.

Everyone finally burst out laughing. It took a few minutes before Will managed to calm himself down and continue reading.

They left La Rivage by its northern gate and headed into the farm country surrounding it. Horace’s curiosity remained as strong as ever, and he peered from side to side as the road took them past fields and crops and farmhouses. The countryside was different from Araluen. There were more varieties of trees and, as a result, there were more shades of green. Some of the crops were unfamiliar too: large, broad leaves on stalks that stood as high as a man’s head were left to dry and seemingly to wither on the stalk before they were gathered. In several places, Horace saw those same leaves hanging in large, open-ended sheds, drying out even more. He wondered what sort of crop it might be. But, as before, he decided to ration his questions.

There was another difference, more subtle. For some time, Horace wasn’t even aware that it was there at all. Then he realized what it was. There was a general air of unkemptness about the fields and the crops. They were tended, obviously, and some of the fields were ploughed. But they seemed to lack the loving, fastidious care that one saw in fields and crops at home. One could sense a lack of attention from the farmers, and in some crops weeds were clearly visible.

Halt sighed. “It’s the land that suffers when men fight,” he said softly. Horace glanced at him. It was unusual for the grizzled Ranger to break the silence himself.

“Who’s fighting?” he asked, his interest piqued.

Halt scratched at his beard. “The Gallicans. There’s no strong central law here. There are dozens of minor nobles and barons—warlords if you like. They’re constantly raiding each other and fighting among themselves. That’s why the fields are so sloppily tended. Half the farmers have been conscripted to one army or another.”

Horace looked around the fields that bounded the road on either side. There was no sign of battle here. Only neglect. A thought struck him. “Is that why people seemed a little…nervous of us?” he asked, and Halt nodded approvingly at him.

“You picked up on that, did you? Good boy. There may be hope for you yet. Yes,” he continued, answering Horace’s question, “armed and mounted men in this country are seen as a potential threat—not as peacekeepers.”

Maddie frowned at the description. She knew not all countries were like Araluen, but the people did deserve to be able to farm and live in peace.

In Araluen, the farmworkers looked to the soldiers to protect them and their fields from the threat of potential invaders. Here, Horace realized, the soldiers themselves were the threat.

“The country is in absolute turmoil,” Halt continued. “King Henri is weak and has no real power. So the barons fight and squabble and kill each other. Mind you, that’s no great loss. But it gets damned unfair when they kill the poor innocent farm folk as well—simply because they get in the way. It could be something of a problem for us, but we’ll just have to…oh, damn.”

The last two words were said quietly, but were no less heart-felt for that fact. Horace, following Halt’s gaze, looked ahead along the road.

They were coming down a small hill, with the road bounded on either side by close-growing trees. At the foot of the hill, a small stream ran through the fields and between the trees, crossed by a stone bridge. It was a peaceful scene, normal enough, and quite pretty in its own way.

But it wasn’t the trees, or the bridge, or the stream that had drawn the quiet expletive from Halt’s lips. It was the armoured, mounted warrior who sat his horse in the middle of the road, barring their way.

“Here we go.” Will said cheerfully.

Notes:

Would anyone strongly object to me moving it to every 3 days? I'm getting closer and closer to the amount of chapter's I've already done so I'm getting a bit worried. Motivations also been sorta lacking lately. (But I promise I won't stop until at least the end of book 3. Then I might need a short break of like...3 weeks or something.) What do you think?

Chapter 34: The Icebound Land - Chapter 13

Summary:

Will reads chapter 13.

Notes:

I'm going with every three days since no one complained in the comments. Please, if anyone has any sort of opinion, feel free to comment.

Evanlyn felt Will’s light touch on her shoulder. She gave a small start of surprise. Even though she had been lying awake, she hadn’t heard him approaching.

“At least some of the training stuck.” Halt muttered to himself.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I’m awake.”

“The moon’s down,” Will replied, equally softly. “It’s time to go.”

Maddie leaned forward on her chair.

She tossed back the blankets and sat up. She was fully dressed, apart from her boots. She reached for them and began to pull them on. Will handed her a bundle of rags he had cut from his blanket.

“Tie these around your feet,” he told her. “They’ll muffle the sound on the shingle.” She saw that he had swathed his own feet in large bundles of cloth and she hurried to do the same.

Through the thin wall between the lean-to and the dormitory, they could hear the sound of men snoring and muttering in their sleep. One of the Skandians broke out in a fit of coughing and Will and Evanlyn froze, waiting to see if he had woken anyone. After a few minutes, the dormitory settled down again. Evanlyn finished tying the cloth bundles around her feet and stood, following Will to the door.

He had greased the hinges on the lean-to door with fat from the cooking pot. Holding his breath, he eased the door open, letting go a sigh of relief when it swung silently. With no moon, the beach was a dark expanse and the water a black sheet, dimly reflecting the starlight. The weather had been moderating over the past few days. The night was clear and the wind had dropped considerably. But they could still hear the dull thunder of waves crashing against the outer face of the island.

Evanlyn could just make out the dark bulk of the two wolfships drawn up on the beach. To one side was a smaller shape: the skiff, left there by Svengal after his latest fishing trip. That was where they were heading.

Patiently, Will pointed out the route he had selected. They had gone over it all earlier in the night, but he wanted to make sure she remembered. Unseen movement was almost second nature to him, but he knew that Evanlyn would be nervous once she was in the open. She would want to reach the ships quickly.

And speed meant noise and a greater chance of being heard or seen. He put his mouth very close to her ear and spoke in the lightest of whispers.

“Take it easy. The benches first. Then the rocks. Then the ships. Wait for me there.”

Maddie rubbed her heads together nervously in anticipation. She had a bad feeling about this.

She nodded. He could see her swallowing nervously and he sensed that her breathing was speeding up. He squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Calm down. And remember, if anyone does come out, freeze. Wherever you are.”

That was the key to it all in uncertain light like this. A watcher might miss seeing a person standing perfectly still. But the slightest movement would draw the eye instantly.

“Even with no cloak?” Maddie asked. Will nodded, “The cloak helps break up the outline, however the actual skill of staying still and the way you move is the same.”

Again, she nodded. He patted her shoulder gently.

“Off you go,” he said. She took another deep breath, then stepped out into the open. She felt horribly exposed as she moved toward the shelter of the benches and the table, ten meters away from the huts. The dim starlight now seemed as bright as day and she forced herself to move slowly, placing her feet deliberately, fighting the temptation to rush for cover.

The cloth padding on her feet did a good job muffling the sound of her footsteps. But even so, the crunching of the shingle seemed deafening to her. Four more paces…three…two…one.

Heart pounding, pulse racing, she sank gratefully into the shadow of the rough table and benches. There was a small cluster of rocks halfway down the beach. That was her next goal. She hesitated, wanting to stay in the comforting shadow provided by the table. But she knew if she didn’t go soon, she might never have the courage to move. She stepped out resolutely, one foot after the other, wincing at the muted scrunching of the stones underfoot. This part of the journey took her directly in front of the door to the dormitory. If any of the Skandians came out, she must be seen.

She reached the shelter of the rocks and felt the welcome protection of the shadows wrap around her once again. The hardest part of the trip was over now. She took a few seconds to let her pulse settle, then moved off toward the ships. Now that she was nearly there, she wanted desperately to run. But she fought the temptation and moved slowly and smoothly into the darkness beside Wolf Fang.

Utterly exhausted, she sank to the damp stones, leaning against the ship’s planking. Now she watched as Will followed in her footsteps.

Halt snorted, “If Will does this probably, you shouldn’t be able to watch him at all.” Lady Pauline gave him a look and he shut up.

There were scattered clouds scudding across the sky, sending a series of darker shadows rippling over the beach. Will matched his movement to the rhythm of the wind and clouds and moved, surefooted, along the track Evanlyn had just followed. She caught her breath in surprise as he seemed to disappear after the first few meters, melding into the pattern of moving light and shade and becoming part of the overall picture. She saw him again, briefly, at the benches and then at the rocks. Then he seemed to rise out of the ground a few meters from her. She shook her head in amazement. No wonder people thought Rangers were magicians, she reflected. Unaware of her reaction, Will grinned quickly at her and moved close so they could talk.

“All right?” he asked in a lowered tone, and when she nodded, “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

This time, there was no hesitation. “I’m sure,” she said firmly. He gripped her shoulder again in a gesture of encouragement.

“Good for you.” Will glanced around. They were far enough from the huts now that there was little chance of their voices being overheard and the wind, although not as boisterous as it had been, provided plenty of cover as well.

He felt Evanlyn could use some encouragement, so he pointed to the skiff.

“Remember, this thing is small. It’s not like the wolfships. It’ll ride over the big waves, not crash through them. So we’re safe as houses.”

He wasn’t sure about the last two statements, but they seemed logical to him. He’d watched the gulls and penguins around the island riding the massive waves and it seemed that the smaller you were, the safer you were.

“Except if you encounter another one of those storms.” Horace pointed out.

He was carrying a large wineskin, stolen from the provisions cabinet. He’d emptied the wine out and refilled the skin with water. It didn’t taste too good, but it would keep them alive. Besides, he thought philosophically, the worse it tasted, the longer it would last them. He placed it carefully in the bottom of the skiff and took a few minutes to check that oars, rudder and the small mast and sail were all safely stowed. The incoming tide was lapping about a third of the way up the skiff now and he knew that was as high as it was going to come. In a few minutes, it would start to go out. And he and Evanlyn would go with it. Vaguely, he knew that the coast of Teutlandt was somewhere to the south of them. Or perhaps they might sight a ship now that the Summer Gales seemed to be moderating. He didn’t dwell on the future too much. He simply knew that he could not remain a prisoner. If it came to it, he would rather die trying to be free.

“Can’t sit here all night,” he said. “Take the other side and let’s get this boat in the water. Lift first, then push.”

Maddie listened on, knowing that the attempt was going to fail but curious nonetheless. Of course, this is what she would do in their situation, but it was still not an easy feat.

Taking hold of the gunwales on either side, they heaved and strained together. At first, it stuck fast in the shingle. But once they lifted and broke the hold, it began to slide more easily. Then it was afloat, and the two of them clambered aboard. Will gave one last shove with his foot and the skiff drifted out from the beach. Will felt a moment of triumph, then he realized he didn’t have time to congratulate himself. Evanlyn, white-faced and tense, was clinging to the gunwales on either side of her as the boat rocked in the small waves.

“So far so good,” she said. But her voice betrayed the nervousness she was feeling.

Maddie had to refrain herself from snorting. She had no doubt that she would be quaking in her boots, especially without the experience of a 4th year Ranger's Apprentice.

Clumsily, he settled the oars in the oarlocks. He’d watched Svengal do it a dozen times. But now he found that watching and doing were two different matters, and for the first time, he had a twinge of doubt. Maybe he’d taken on more than he could handle. He tried a clumsy stroke with the oars, stabbing at the water and heaving. He missed on the left-hand side, crabbing the boat around and nearly falling onto the floorboards.

“Slowly,” Evanlyn advised him, and he tried again, with greater care. This time, he felt a welcome surge of movement through the boat. He recalled that he’d seen Svengal twisting the oars at the end of each stroke to prevent the blades grabbing in the water. When he did the same, the action was easier. With more confidence, he took a few more strokes and the boat moved more smoothly. The tide was taking effect now, and when Evanlyn looked back at the beach, she felt a lurch of fear to see how far they had come. Will noticed her reaction.

“It’ll move faster as we get out into the middle,” he told her, between strokes. “We’re just on the edge of the tide run.”

“Will!” she cried out in an alarmed voice. “There’s water in the boat!”

“That usually not a good thing.” Gilan noted.

The wrappings around her feet had prevented her feeling the water so far. But now it had soaked through, and when she looked down, she could see water surging back and forth over the floorboards.

“It’s just spray,” he said carelessly. “We’ll bail her out once we’re clear of the harbor.”

“It’s not spray!” she replied, her voice cracking. “The boat is leaking! Look!”

He looked down and his heart leaped into his mouth. She was right. There were several centimetres of water above the floorboards of the skiff, and the level seemed to be rising.

“Oh my God!” he said. “Start baling, quickly!”

“I don’t think bailing out water is going to save you.” Baron Arald added helpfully.

There was a small bucket in the stern and she seized it and began frantically scooping water over the side. But the level was slowly gaining on her and Will could feel the boat responding more sluggishly as more and more water rushed in.

“Go back! Go back!” Evanlyn yelled at him. All thought of secrecy was abandoned now.

Will nodded, too busy to talk, and heaved desperately on one oar, swinging the boat around to head for the beach. Now he had to fight against the tide run and panic made him clumsy. He missed a stroke and overbalanced again, nearly losing an oar over the side. His mouth was dry with fear as he grabbed at the oar, catching it at the last minute.

Evanlyn, scooping frantically at the water in the boat, realized that she was spilling as much water back in as she was throwing overboard. She fought down the sick feeling of panic and forced herself to bale more calmly. That was better, she thought. But the water was still gaining on her.

Luckily, Will had the good sense to move the boat sideways, back to the edge of the tide run, where the outflow was not as fierce. Free of the grip of the main current, the boat began to make better headway. But it was still settling deeper into the water, and the deeper it settled, the faster the inflow of water became. And the more difficult the boat became to row.

Maddie winced as the disastrous escape plan started to go south.

“Keep rowing! Row like hell!” Evanlyn encouraged him. He grunted, heaving desperately on the oars, dragging the sluggish boat slowly back to shore. They nearly made it. They were three meters from the beach when the little boat finally went under. The sea poured over the gunwales and it sank beneath them. As they floundered in the waist-deep water, staggering with exhaustion, Will realized that, free of their weight, the skiff was floating again, just below the surface. He took hold and guided it back into the shallows, Evanlyn following him.

“Trying to kill yourselves?” said a grim voice. They looked up to see Erak standing by the water’s edge. Several of his crew stood behind him, broad grins on their faces.

“Jarl Erak—” Will began, then stopped. There was nothing to say. Erak was turning a small object over in his hands. He tossed it to Will.

“Maybe you forgot this?” he said, his voice ominous. Will studied the object. It was a small cylinder of wood, perhaps six centimetres long and two across. He stared at it, uncomprehending.

Maddie sighed, "Don't tell me it's a - " Will cut her off as he continued to read over his apprentice. 

“It’s what we simple sailors call a bung,” Erak explained sarcastically. “It stops water from coming into the boat. Usually it’s a good idea to make sure it’s in place.”

Will’s shoulders slumped. He was soaked, exhausted and shaking from the gut-gripping fear of the past ten minutes. Most of all, he felt a massive sense of despondency at their failure. A cork! Their plan was in ruins because of a damned cork! Then a massive hand grabbed the front of his shirt and he was hauled off his feet, his face centimetres from Erak’s angry features.

“Don’t ever take me for a fool, boy!” the Skandian snarled at him. “You try anything like this again and I’ll flog the skin off you!” He turned to include Evanlyn in the threat.

“Both of you!” He waited until he was sure his warning had hit home, then hurled Will away from him. The apprentice Ranger sprawled on the hard stones of the beach, utterly defeated.

“Now get back to the hut!” Erak told them.

Will quickly handed the book to Sir Rodney.

Chapter 35: The Icebound Land - Chapter 14

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 14.

“Wouldn’t you know it?” Halt said softly, in a disgusted tone. Ahead of them, a humpbacked stone bridge reared over a small stream. Sitting his horse between the two travellers and the bridge was a knight in full armour.

“Why would a knight be standing on a bridge?” Maddie asked.

Halt reached back over his shoulder and took an arrow from the quiver there, laying it on the bowstring without even looking to see what he was doing.

“What is it, Halt?” Horace asked.

“It’s the sort of tomfoolery these Gallicans go on with when I’m in a hurry to be on my way,” he muttered, shaking his head in annoyance. “This idiot is going to demand tribute from us to allow us to cross his precious bridge.”

“Tribute!” Maddie yelled, outranged, “It’s just a bridge!”

Even as he spoke, the armoured man pushed up his visor with the back of his right hand. It was a clumsy movement, made even more so by the fact that he was holding a heavy, three-meter lance in that hand. He nearly lost his grip on the lance, managing to bang it against the side of his helmet in the process, an action that caused a dull clanging sound to carry to the two travellers.

“Arrêtez là, mes seigneurs, avant de passer ce pont-ci!” he called, in a rather high-pitched voice. Horace didn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakably supercilious.

“What did he say?” She asked this question to Halt, but was surprised when Will answered, “It means stop there, my lords, before crossing this bridge.” (Google translate is great guys)

“What did he say?” Horace wanted to know, but Halt merely shook his head at the knight.

“Let him speak our tongue if he wants to talk to us,” he said angrily, then, in a louder voice, he called: “Araluens!”

Even at the distance they stood from the other man, Horace made out the shrug of disdain at the mention of their nationality. Then the knight spoke again, his thick accent making the words barely more recognizable than when he had been speaking Gallican.

“You, ma sewers, mah not croess ma brudge wuthut you pah meh a trebute,” he called. Horace frowned now.

“It sounds like he’s trying to speak with his tongue tied to the top of his mouth.” Gilan mused to himself.

“What?” he asked Halt, and the Ranger turned to him.

“Barbaric, isn’t it? He said, ‘You, my sirs’—that’s us, of course—‘may not cross my bridge without you pay me a tribute.’”

“A tribute?” Horace asked.

“It’s a form of highway robbery,” Halt explained. “If there were any real law in this idiotic country, people like our friend there would never get away with this. As it is, they can do as they like. Knights set themselves up at bridges or crossroads and demand that people pay tribute to pass. If they can’t pay tribute, they can choose to fight them. Since most travellers aren’t equipped to fight a fully armoured knight, they pay the tribute.”

Maddie wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Horace sat back on his horse, studying the mounted man. He was trotting his horse back and forth across the road now, in a display that was doubtless intended to discourage them from resistance. His kite-shaped shield was emblazoned with a crude rendition of a stag’s head. He wore full mail armour, covered by a blue surcoat that also bore the stag’s-head symbol. He had metal gauntlets, greaves on his shins and a pot-shaped helmet with a sliding visor, currently open. The face under the visor was thin, with a prominent, pointed nose. A wide moustache extended past the sides of the visor opening. Horace could only assume that the knight crammed its ends inside when he lowered the visor.

“So what will we do?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to shoot the silly idiot,” Halt replied in a resigned sort of voice. “I’ll be damned if I’ll pay tribute to every jumped-up bandit who thinks the world owes him a free living. It could be a damn nuisance, though.”

“Why’s that?” Horace asked. “If he goes around asking for a fight, who’s going to care if he gets killed? He deserves it.”

Halt laid the bow, arrow nocked and ready, down across his saddle.

“It’s to do with what these idiots call chivalry,” he explained. “If he were to be killed or wounded by another knight in knightly combat, that would be quite excusable. Regrettable perhaps, but excusable. On the other hand, if I put an arrow through his empty head, that would be considered cheating. He’s sure to have friends or relatives in the area. These morons usually travel in packs. And if I kill him, they’ll want to come after us. It’s a damned nuisance, as I said.”

Sighing, he began to raise the bow.

“Is the idiot blind?” Maddie asked, as there was no mention of the knight moving, even when Halt was very clearly going to put an arrow through his head.

Horace glanced once more at the imperious figure ahead of them. The man seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he was a few seconds away from a very messy end. Obviously, he’d had little to do with Rangers and was given confidence by the fact that he wore full armour. He seemed to have no idea that Halt could put an arrow through the closed visor of his helmet if he chose. The open visor was almost too easy a mark for someone of Halt’s skill.

“Would you like me to take care of it?” Horace finally offered, a little hesitantly. Halt, his bow halfway up to the ready position, reacted with surprise.

“You?” he said.

“The one and only.” Horace said cheerfully.

Horace nodded. “I’m not a full knight yet, I know, but I think I could handle him all right. And as long as his friends think he was knocked over by another knight, nobody will come after us, will they?”

“Sirrahs!” the man shouted now, impatiently, “yer murst enswer mah demond!” Horace cocked an eyebrow at Halt.

“We must answer his demand. Are you sure you’re not taking on too much?” the Ranger said. “After all, he is a fully qualified knight.”

“No chance in Hell I’d call him a qualified knight.” Sir Rodney spat.

“Well…yes,” said Horace awkwardly. He didn’t want Halt to think he was boasting. “But he’s not actually very good, is he?”

“Isn’t he?” Halt asked sarcastically, and to his surprise the boy shook his head.

“Oh come on Halt, you could have had a little faith in me.” Horace looked to the Ranger who just raised an eyebrow.

“No. Not really. Look at how he sits his horse. He’s got dreadful balance. And he’s already holding his lance too tightly, see? And then there’s his shield. He’s got it slung way too low to cover a sudden Juliette, hasn’t he?”

Halt’s eyebrows raised. “And what might a Juliette be?”

Horace didn’t seem to notice the note of sarcasm in the Ranger’s voice. He explained stolidly: “It’s a sudden change of target with the lance. You begin by aiming for the shield at chest height, then at the last moment you raise the tip to the helmet.” He paused, then added, with a slight tone of apology, “I don’t know why it’s called a Juliette. It just is.”

There was a long silence between them. The boy wasn’t boasting, Halt could see. He really seemed to know what he was talking about. The Ranger scratched his cheek thoughtfully. It might be useful to see how good Horace really was, he thought. If things got awkward for him, Halt could always revert to Plan A and simply shoot the loudmouthed guardian of the bridge. There was one more small problem, however.

“You would have shot him if I lost?” Horace asked. Halt shrugged, “I doubt Sir Rodney would appreciate it if I got his apprentice beat up too badly.”

“Not that you’ll be able to carry out any ‘Juliettes,’ of course. You don’t appear to have a lance.”

Horace nodded agreement. “Yes. I’ll have to use the first pass to get rid of his. Shouldn’t be too big a problem.”

“Sirrahs!” called the knight. “Yer merst enswer!”

The table consecutively groaned at how bad the ‘so called’ knight was at speaking.

“Oh, shut up,” Halt muttered in his general direction. “So it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

Horace pursed his lips and shook his head decisively. “Well, look at him, Halt. He’s nearly dropped it three times while we’ve been sitting here. A child could take it from him.”

At that, Halt had to grin. Here was Horace, barely more than a boy, declaring that a child could take the lance away from the knight who blocked their way. Then Halt remembered what he’d been doing when he was Horace’s age and recalled how Horace had battled with Morgarath, a far more dangerous opponent than the ludicrous figure by the bridge. He appraised the boy once more and saw nothing but determination and quiet confidence there.

“You actually do know what you’re talking about, don’t you?” he said. And even though it was phrased as a question, it was more a statement of fact. Again, Horace nodded.

“Come on Halt, you saw me take down Morgarath, I’m sure this bandit-knight is no more than child’s play.” Horace said desperately.

“I don’t know how, Halt. I just have a feeling for things like this. Sir Rodney told me I was a natural.”

Gilan had told Halt much the same thing after the combat at the Plains of Uthal.

Horace raised an eyebrow at the Ranger Commandant who just smiled at him.

Abruptly, Halt came to a decision.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s try it your way.”

He turned to the impatient knight and called to him in a loud voice.

“Sirrah, my companion chooses to engage you in knightly combat!” he said. The horseman stiffened, sitting upright in his saddle. Halt noticed that he nearly lost his balance at this unexpected piece of news.

Maddie and Cassandra snorted.

“Knightly cermbat?” he replied. “Yewer cermpenion ers no knight!”

Halt nodded hugely, making sure the man could see the gesture.

“Oh yes he is!” he called back. “He is Sir Horace of the Order of the Feuille du Chêne.” He paused and muttered to himself, “Or should that have been Crêpe du Chêne? Never mind.”

“You were right the first time.” Will pointed out. Halt once again ignored him.

“What did you tell him?” Horace asked, slinging his buckler around from where it hung at his back and settling it on his left arm.

“I said you were Sir Horace of the Order of the Oakleaf,” Halt told him, then added uncertainly, “At least, I think that’s what I told him. I may have said you were of the Order of the Oak Pancake.”

Now everyone bust out laughing and Halt tried to retain any form of dignity he had left. “Imagine if Horace was known as Sir Horace of the Order of the…the O…oak…Pancake!” Gilan struggled to get the words out as he was laughing too hard.

Horace looked at him, a slight hint of disappointment in his eyes. He took the rules of chivalry very seriously and he knew he was not yet entitled to use the title “Sir Horace.”

“Was that totally necessary?” he asked, and the Ranger nodded.

“Oh yes. He won’t fight just anybody, you know. Has to be a knight. I don’t think he noticed you had any armour,” he added as Horace settled his conical helmet firmly on his head. He had already pulled up the cowl of chain mail that had been folded back on his shoulders, under the cloak. Now he unfastened the cloak and looked to find somewhere to leave it. Halt held out a hand for it.

“Allow me,” he said, taking the garment and draping it across his own saddle. Horace noticed that, as he did so, Halt took care to keep his longbow clear of the cloak. The apprentice nodded at the weapon.

“You won’t need that,” he said.

“I’ve heard that before,” Halt replied, then he looked up as the guardian of the bridge called again.

“Yewer freund hes no lence,” he said, gesturing with his own three-meter length of ash, surmounted by an iron point.

“Sorry, didn’t quiet catch that.” Gilan said with a large grin on his face.

“Sir Horace proposes that you do combat with the sword,” Halt replied, and the knight shook his head violently.

“No! No! Ah wull use my lence!”

Halt raised one eyebrow in Horace’s direction. “It seems chivalry is all very well,” he said quietly, “but if it involves giving up a three-meter advantage, forget it.”

Horace merely shrugged. “It’s not a problem,” he said calmly. Then, as a thought struck him, he asked: “Halt, do I have to actually kill him? I mean, I can handle him without going that far.”

“He deserves it.” Maddie muttered and Cassandra nodded in agreement.

Halt considered the question.

“Well, it’s not obligatory,” he told the apprentice. “But don’t take any chances with him. After all, it’d serve him right if someone did kill him. He might not be so keen to extort tribute from passersby after that.”

It was Horace’s turn to raise a pained eyebrow at the Ranger this time. Halt shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean,” he said. “Just make sure you’re okay before you let him off too lightly.”

“Seigneur!” the knight cried, setting his lance under his arm and clapping his spurs into his horse’s flanks. “En garde! Ah am cerming to slay yew!”

“He’s coming to do what with stew?!” Gilan once again asked, exaggerating the words of the bandit so that they made less sense. Though, only a touch.

There was a quick hiss of steel on leather as Horace drew his long sword from its scabbard and wheeled Kicker to face his charging opponent.

“I won’t be a minute,” he told Halt, then Kicker bounded away, reaching full stride in the space of a few meters.

“It really wasn’t.” Halt recalled.

Chapter 36: The Icebound Land - Chapter 15

Summary:

Will reads chapter 15.

Sir Rodney passed the book back to Will.

Following the failed escape attempt, Will and Evanlyn were forbidden to move more than fifty meters from the huts. There was no more running, no more exercising. Erak managed to find a new range of tasks for the two captives to undertake, from reweaving the rope mattresses in the dormitory to resealing the lower planks along Wolfwind ’s hull with tar and pieces of frayed rope. It was hot, unpleasant work, but Evanlyn and Will accepted it philosophically.

Confined in this fashion, they couldn’t help noticing the growing tension between the two groups of Skandians. Slagor and his men, bored and seeking distraction, had called loudly for the two Araluens to be flogged. Slagor, licking his wet lips, had even offered to carry out the task himself.

The atmosphere in the room once again, became bleak. Halt in particular seemed to radiate the energy a storm does, just before it strikes.

Erak, very bluntly, told Slagor to mind his own business. He was becoming increasingly weary of the sneering, bragging manner in which Slagor conducted himself, and of the sly way his men cheated and taunted the crew of Wolfwind at every opportunity. Slagor was a coward and a bully, and when Erak compared him to the two captives, he was surprised to find that he had more in common with Will and Evanlyn than with his countryman. He held no grudge against them for their attempted escape. He would have tried the same thing in their place. Now to have Slagor baying after their hides for his own warped amusement somehow brought Erak closer to them.

As for Slagor’s men, it was Erak’s firm opinion that they were a collective waste of Skorghijl’s fresh air.

“I second that.” Will said and Cassandra also contributed saying, “Me to.”

The situation exploded one night during the evening meal. Will was placing platters and several carving knives on one table. Evanlyn was ladling soup from a large pot at the other, where Erak and Slagor sat with their senior crewmen. As she leaned between Slagor and his first mate, the skirl suddenly lurched back in his chair, throwing his arms wide as he laughed at a comment from one of his men. His hand jolted against the full ladle, spilling hot soup onto his bare forearm.

Everyone winced. Not because of the damage that came to Slagor, but because they knew there would be severe repercussions on Evanlyn.

Slagor bellowed in pain and grabbed Evanlyn by the wrist, dragging her forward, twisting her arm cruelly so that she was bent awkwardly over the table. The soup pot and ladle clattered to the floor.

“Damn you, girl! You’ve scalded me! Look at this, you lazy Araluen swine!” He shook his dripping arm close to her face, holding her with his other hand. Evanlyn could hear his breath rasping in his nostrils and she was uncomfortably aware of the unwashed smell of him.

Horace’s fists clenched angrily at the thought of such an animal laying a head on his wife.

“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, wincing against the pain as he twisted her arm farther. “But you knocked against the ladle.”

“My fault, was it? I’ll teach you to speak back to a skirl!”

His face was dark with rage as he reached for the short three-thronged whip that he carried at his belt. He called it his Encourager and claimed that he used it on lazy rowers—a claim disbelieved by those who knew him. It was common knowledge that he wouldn’t have the nerve to strike a burly oarsman. A young girl, however, was a different matter. Especially now that he was drunk and angry.

The room was dead silent. Maddie looked around and saw some dangerous gleams in a few eyes that made her glance away quickly. Though everyone in that room were good people, they were also trained killers.

The room went silent. Outside, the ever-present wind moaned against the timbers of the hut. Inside, the scene seemed to be frozen for a moment, in the smoky, uncertain light of the fire and the oil lamps around the room.

Erak, sitting opposite Slagor, cursed to himself. On the far side of the room, Will quietly set down the pile of platters. His gaze, like everyone else’s, was riveted on Slagor, on the unhealthy flush of alcohol on his face and in his eyes, and the way his tongue kept darting out between his crooked, stained teeth to moisten his thick lips. Unnoticed, the apprentice Ranger retained one of the knives—a heavy, double-edged knife that was used to carve portions of salt pork for the table. Around twenty centimetres in length, it was not unlike a small saxe knife, a knife he was more than familiar with, after his hours of training with Halt.

Everyone was frozen, waiting in anticipation to what was to come. Maddie tried not to fidget nervously in her seat, for this behaviour from her friends and family was unnerving her.

Now, finally, Erak spoke. His voice was pitched low and his tone was reasonable. That alone made his own crew sit up and take notice. When Erak blustered and yelled, he was usually joking. When he was quiet and intense, they knew, he was at his most dangerous.

“Let her go, Slagor,” he said.

Slagor scowled at him, furious at his order, and the confident tone of command behind it.

“She scalded me!” he shouted. “She did it on purpose and she’s going to be punished!”

Erak reached for his drinking cup and took a deep draft of ale. When he spoke again, he affected a sense of weariness and boredom with the skirl.

“I’ll tell you once more. Let her go. She’s my slave.”

Maddie wasn’t sure who to look at. Her mother whose face was impassive, however her white knuckles that clutched the arms of the chair told a different story. Her father, who had a thunderous expression on his face and looked ready to run someone through right there and then. Or one of the Rangers, who were all completely still and controlled, however she knew that they were by far the most dangerous.

“Slaves need discipline,” said Slagor, darting a quick glance around the room. “We’ve all seen that you’re not willing to do it, so it’s time someone did it for you!”

Sensing his distraction, Evanlyn tried to twist out of his grip. But he felt her move and held her easily. Several of Wolf Fang ’s crew, those who were most drunk, chorused agreement with his words.

Maddie decided to keep an eye on her mother, as she was the one who was in the situation and knew how it would play through. She was also one of the unlikeliest to snap at destroy something in the room if anything (like someone knocking on the door) unlikely happened to disturb the group.

Erak hesitated. He could simply lean over and knock Slagor senseless. He could do it without even leaving his seat. But that wouldn’t be enough. Everyone in the room knew he could best Slagor in a fight and doing so would prove nothing. He was sick and tired of the man and he wanted him humiliated and shamed. Slagor deserved no less and Erak knew how to accomplish it.

He sighed now, as if tired of the whole business, and leaned forward across the table, speaking slowly, as he might to a less-than-intelligent being. Which, he reflected, was a pretty good summation of Slagor’s mental capacities.

“Slagor, I’ve had a hard campaign and these two are my only profit. I won’t have you responsible for the death of one of them.”

Slagor smiled cruelly. “You’ve gone soft on these two, Erak. I’m doing you a favour. And besides, a good whipping won’t kill her. It’ll just make her more obedient in the future.”

Maddie watched as the grip her mother had on the chair tightened once more. She laid her hand over her mother’s, hoping to provide some comfort. She felt her mother’s grip on the chair loosen slightly at her daughter’s touch.

“I wasn’t talking about the girl,” Erak said evenly. “I meant the boy there.” He nodded across the room to where Will stood in the flickering shadows. Slagor followed his gaze, as did the others.

“The boy?” He frowned, uncomprehending. “I have no intention of harming him.”

Erak nodded several times. “I know that,” he replied. “But if you touch the girl with that whip of yours, odds are he’ll kill you. And then I’m going to have to kill him to punish him. And I’m afraid I’m not prepared to lose so much profit. So let her go.”

Some of the other Skandians were already laughing at Erak’s speech, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone. Even Slagor’s men joined in.

Slagor’s brows darkened and drew together with rage. He hated being the butt of Erak’s jokes and he, and most of the others, thought Erak was merely belittling him by pretending that the undersized Araluen boy could possibly best him in a fight.

“You’ve lost your wits, Erak.” He sneered now. “The boy is about as dangerous as a field mouse. I could break him in half with one hand.”

The room was starting to feel a little too small for the amount of pressure building up in it, Maddie decided. Both Gilan and Halt were looking at Will, who kept glancing at Cassandra, who seemed to be focusing on some point on the table. If this isn’t resolved a faster, things might start getting out of hand.

He gestured with his free hand, the one that wasn’t locked around Evanlyn’s upper arm. Erak smiled at him. There was no trace of humour in the smile.

“He could kill you before you took a pace toward him,” he said.

Everyone knew he wasn’t joking.

There was a calm certainty to his voice that said he wasn’t joking. The room sensed it and went very quiet. Slagor sensed it too. He frowned, trying to work his way through this. The alcohol had confused his thinking. There was an element here he was missing. He started to speak, but Erak held up a hand to stop him.

“I suppose we can’t actually have him kill you to prove it,” he said, sounding reluctant about the fact.

What a pity, Maddie thought to herself.

He glanced around the room and his eyes lit on a small brandy cask, half-empty, at the far end of the table. He gestured toward it.

“Shove that cask over here, Svengal,” he asked. His second in command put one hand against the small cask and sent it sliding along the rough table to his captain. Erak examined it critically.

“That’s about the size of your thick head, Slagor,” he said, with a thin smile. Then he picked up his own belt knife from the table and quickly gouged two white patches out of the dark wood of the keg.

“And let’s say they’re your eyes.”

He pushed the keg across the table, setting it beside Slagor, almost touching his elbow. A murmur of anticipation went through the men in the room as they watched, wondering where this was leading. Only Svengal and Horak, who had served with Erak at the bridge, had some slight inkling of what their jarl was on about. They knew the boy was an apprentice Ranger. They had seen, at first hand, that he was an adversary to be respected. But he had no bow here and they hadn’t seen what Erak had: the knife that Will was holding concealed against his right arm.

“So, boy,” Erak continued, “those eyes are a little close together, but then so are Slagor’s.” There was a ripple of amusement from the Skandians and Erak now addressed them directly. “Let’s all watch them carefully and see if anything appears between them, shall we?”

The room was silent as the anticipation replaced the tension in the air.

And as he said that, he pretended to peer closely at the keg on the table. It was almost inevitable that everyone else in the room should follow his example. Will hesitated a second, but he sensed that he could trust Erak. The message the Skandian leader was sending him was absolutely clear. Quickly, he drew back his arm in an overhand throw and sent the knife spinning across the room.

There was a brief flash as the spinning blade caught the red glare of the oil lamps and the fire. Then, with a loud thwock! the razor-sharp blade slammed into the wood—not quite in the centre of the gap between the two gouged-out patches. The keg actually slid backward a good ten centimetres under the impact.

Will gave a small smirk that no one seemed to notice however Cassandra did look his way and dipped her head slightly in thank you across the table.

Slagor let out a startled cry and jerked away. Inadvertently, he released Evanlyn’s arm from his grasp. The girl stepped quickly away from him, then, as Erak jerked his head urgently in the direction of the door, she ran from the room, unnoticed in the confusion.

There was a moment of startled outcry, then Erak’s men began to laugh, and to applaud the excellent marksmanship. Even Slagor’s men joined in eventually, as the skirl sat glowering at those around him. He wasn’t popular. His men followed him only because he was wealthy enough to provide a ship for raiding parties. Now, several of them mimicked the raucous yelp he had let out when the knife thudded into the keg.

Everyone in the room let out a much-needed breath. The tension slowly dissipated and everyone stopped looking like they were about to murder someone.

Erak rose from the bench and moved around the table, speaking as he went.

“So you see, Slagor, if the boy here had aimed for the wrong wooden head, you would surely be dead right now and I would have to kill him in punishment.”

He stopped, close to Will, smiling at Slagor as the skirl half crouched on the bench, waiting for what was to come next.

“As it is,” Erak continued, “I simply have to reprimand him for frightening someone as important as you.”

And before Will saw the blow coming, Erak sent a backhanded fist crashing against the side of the boy’s head, knocking him senseless to the floor. Erak glanced at Svengal and gestured to the unconscious figure on the rough wooden floor of the hut.

“Throw this disrespectful whelp into his hutch,” he ordered. Then, turning his back on the room, he stalked out into the night.

Halt glared daggers at the book for a second and wondered if he could convince Erak to allow him to borrow his helmet next time they were at sea. Gilan saw the way his mentor was looking and had a pretty good idea for what Halt had in mind. When the older Ranger turned to look at him, Gilan gave him the slight smile, giving him permission to do whatever…unruly thing he had in mind.

Outside, in the clean cold air, he looked up. The sky was clear. The wind was still blowing, but now it had moderated and shifted to the east. The Summer Gales were finished.

“It’s time we got out of here,” he said to the stars.

“Did he think the stars would answer?” Sir Rodney asked. The Baron next to him shrugged. “No idea. Perhaps?”

Will passed the book to Maddie and she grabbed it eagerly.

Chapter 37: The Icebound Land - Chapter 16

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 16.

The battle, if you could call it that, l lasted no more than a few seconds. The two mounted warriors spurred toward each other, the hooves of their battlehorses thundering on the unsealed surface of the road, clods of dirt spinning in the air behind them and dust rising in a plume to mark their passage.

The Gallic knight had his lance extended. Halt could now see the fault that Horace had noticed in the other man’s technique. Held too tightly at this early stage, the lance point swayed and wavered with the horse’s movement. A lighter, more flexible hold on the weapon might have kept its point cantered on its target. As it was, the lance dipped and rose and wobbled with every stride of the horse.

“I take it that’s not a good thing?” Lady Pauline asked. Horace nodded, “If the lance is moving too much, there’s a higher chance you’ll miss the target.”

Horace, on the other hand, rode easily, his sword resting on his shoulder, content to conserve his strength until the time for action came.

They approached each other shield to shield, as was normal. Halt half expected to see Horace repeat the manoeuvre he’d used against Morgarath, and spin his horse to the other side at the last moment.

“Why bother.” Someone muttered. Maddie looked up but no one owned up for the comment.

However, the apprentice kept on, maintaining the line of attack. When he was barely ten meters away, the sword arced down from its rest position, the point describing a circle in the air, then, as the lance tip came toward Horace’s shield, the sword, still circling, caught the lance neatly and flicked it up and over the boy’s head.

Sir Rodney nodded to himself, “Nicely done.” He said to his ex-apprentice who turned slightly red at the praise.

It looked deceptively easy, but Halt realized as he watched that the boy was truly a natural weapons master. The Gallic knight, braced for the expected impact of his lance on Horace’s shield, suddenly found himself heaving his body forward against no resistance at all. He swayed, feeling himself toppling from the saddle. In a desperate attempt at self-preservation, he grabbed at his saddle pommel.

“Bad move.” Baron Arald said, and the knights nodded in agreement.

It was bad luck that he chose to do so with his right hand, which was also trying to maintain control of the unwieldy lance. Twisted upward by Horace’s circling sword point, it was now describing a giant arc of its own. He couldn’t manage his balance and the lance at the same time and a muffled curse came from inside the helmet as he was forced to let the lance drop.

Enraged, he groped blindly for the hilt of his own sword, trying to drag it clear of its scabbard for the second pass.

Unfortunately for him, there was to be only one pass.

Cassandra snorted, “More like half a pass. It sounded like Horace could have taken out that guy in his sleep.”

Halt shook his head in silent admiration as Horace, the lance taken out of play, instantly hauled Kicker to a rearing, spinning stop, using his knees and his shield hand on the reins to wheel the horse on its hind legs before the Gallic knight had gone past him.

The sword, still describing those easy circles that kept his wrist fluid and light, now arced around once more and slammed into the back of the other man’s helmet with a loud, ringing clang.

Maddie winced, for she knew a blow like that would certainly cause some sort of brain damage.

Halt winced, imagining what it must sound like from inside the steel pot. It was too much to expect that a single blow might shear through the tough metal. It would take a series of heavy strokes to accomplish that. But it put a severe dent in the helmet, and the concussion of the blow went straight through the steel to the skull of the knight wearing it.

Unseen by the two Araluens, his eyes glazed out of focus, went slightly crossed, then snapped back again.

Maddie tried not to giggle at the description given of the bandit.

Then, very slowly, he toppled sideways out of the saddle, crashed onto the dust of the road and lay there, unmoving. His horse continued galloping for a few more meters. Then, realizing that nobody was urging it on any longer, it slowed to a walk, lowered its head and began cropping the long grass by the roadside.

Horace trotted his horse back slowly, stopping level with the point where the Gallic knight lay sprawled on the road.

“I told you he wasn’t very good,” he said, quite seriously, to Halt.

The Ranger, who prided himself on his normal taciturn manner, couldn’t prevent a wide grin breaking out across his face.

Gilan made the effort of looking shocked, however Halt did his very best not to look in his former apprentice's direction. Maddie smothered her giggles and she caught Will and her father doing the same.

“Well, perhaps he’s not,” he told the earnest young man before him. “But you certainly looked reasonably efficient there.”

Horace shrugged. “It’s what I’m trained for,” he replied simply.

Halt realized that the boy just didn’t have a boastful bone in his body. Battleschool had certainly had a good effect on him. He gestured to the knight, now beginning to regain consciousness. The man’s arms and legs made weak, uncoordinated little movements, giving him the appearance of a half-dead crab.

“It’s what he’s supposed to be trained for too,” he replied, then added, “Well done, young Horace.”

Horace raised his eyebrow at the ‘young’ part. He’d been around 17 at that stage and was almost considered a full adult. No one took notice of him though.

The boy flushed with pleasure at Halt’s praise. He knew the Ranger wasn’t one to hand out idle compliments.

“So what do we do with him now?” he asked, indicating his fallen foe with the tip of his sword. Halt slipped quickly down from the saddle and moved toward the man.

“Let me take care of that,” he said. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Everyone leaned forward, curious on what was going to happen.

He grabbed hold of the fallen man by one arm and dragged him into a sitting position. The dazed knight mumbled inside the helmet, and now that he had time to notice such details, Horace could see that the ends of the moustache protruded from either side of the closed visor.

“Thank yew, sirrah,” the knight mumbled incoherently as Halt dragged him to a more or less upright sitting position. His feet scrabbled on the road as he tried to stand, but Halt shoved him back down, none too gently.

“None of that, thank you,” the Ranger said. He reached under the man’s chin and Horace realized that he had the smaller of his two knives in his hand. For a moment, the horrified boy was convinced that Halt meant to cut the man’s throat. Then, with a deft stroke, Halt severed the leather chin strap holding the helmet on the other man’s head. Once the strap was cut, Halt dragged the helmet off and tossed it into the bushes at the roadside. The knight let out a small mew of pain as his moustache ends tugged free of the still-closed visor.

“Did you really think I’d slit his throat just after you gave him a concussion?” Halt asked the knight. Horace shrugged, “I really didn’t know you at the time. You seemed so comfortable killing him before, and I don’t know.”

Horace sheathed his sword, finally sure that there was no further threat from the knight. For his part, the vanquished warrior peered owlishly at Halt and at the figure towering over them both on horseback. His eyes still wouldn’t focus.

“We shell continue the cermbet ern foot,” he declared shakily. Halt slapped him heartily on the back, setting his eyes spinning once more.

“The hell you will. You’re beaten, my friend. Toppled fair and square. Sir Horace, knight of the Order de la Feuille du Chêne, has agreed to spare your life.”

“Oh…thenk you,” said the unsteady one, making a vague, saluting gesture in Horace’s direction.

“I still can’t believe that Horace was almost order of the pancake.” Will shook his head with laughter while Horace grinned at him, “Pancakes are pretty good.”

“However,” Halt went on, allowing a grim tone of amusement to creep into his voice, “under the rules of chivalry, your arms, armour, horse and other belongings are forfeit to Sir Horace.”

“They are?” Horace asked, a little incredulously. Halt nodded.

Everyone looked to Baron Arald who shrugged. “It’s true. However that idiot knight was a fool to challenge young Horace he probably deserved what he got.”

“They are.” The knight tried once more to stand but, as before, Halt held him down.

“But, sirrah…,” he protested weakly. “My erms and ermor? Surely not?”

“Surely so,” Halt replied. The other man’s face, already shaken and pale, now looked even paler as he realized the full import of what the grey-cloaked stranger was saying.

“Halt,” Horace interrupted, “won’t he be a little helpless without his weapons—and his horse?”

“And the problem with that is…?” Cassandra trailed off, a large smirk on her face.

“Yes, he certainly will,” was the satisfied reply. “Which will make it a great deal harder for him to prey on innocent travellers who want to cross this bridge.”

Realization dawned on Horace. “Oh,” he said thoughtfully. “I see.”

Maddie looked up at her father, “So your saying,” She started, “That you went around the Gallican countryside as a knight and defeated all the so-called knights in the area, and in the process got a whole bunch of their gear?” Horace nodded, and Maddie rolled her eyes dramatically, “Halt getting people into trouble, why aren’t I surprised.” Halt raised an eyebrow at her.

“Exactly,” Halt said, looking meaningfully at him. “You’ve done a good day’s work here, Horace. Mind you,” he added, “it took you barely two minutes to do it. But you’ll keep this predator out of business and make the road a little bit safer for the locals. And of course, we will now have a quite expensive suit of chain mail, a sword, a shield and a pretty good-looking horse to sell in the next village we come to.”

“You’re sure that’s in the rules?” Horace asked, and Halt smiled broadly at him.

“Oh yes. It’s all fair and aboveboard. He knew it. He simply should have looked more carefully when he challenged us. Now, my beauty,” he said to the crestfallen knight sitting at his feet, “let’s have that mail shirt off you.”

Grudgingly, the dazed knight began to comply. Halt beamed at his young companion.

“I’m starting to enjoy Gallica a lot more than I expected,” he said.

“Halt, beaming? It must be the end of the world.” Gilan mocked and Halt turned to look at him and said drily, “You’ve already made that joke twice you know, making it a third time doesn’t make it any funnier.” Gilan just shrugged innocently.

Chapter 38: The Icebound Land - Chapter 17

Maddie continued reading.

Two days later, Wolfwind left Skorghijl harbour and turned northeast for Skandia. Slagor and his men remained behind, facing the task of making temporary repairs to their ship, before limping back to their home port. The ship was too badly damaged to continue west for the raiding season. Slagor’s decision to leave port early was proving to be a costly one.

“Well, that’s karma for ya.” Sir Rodney said, smirking at the unfortunate circumstances placed upon Slagor.

The wind, which for weeks had blown out of the north, now shifted to the west, allowing the Skandians to set the big mainsail. Wolfwind surged easily over the grey sea, her wake stretching behind her. The motion was exhilarating and liberating as the kilometres reeled off under her keel and the spirits of the crew lifted as they came closer to their homeland.

Only Will and Evanlyn failed to share in the general lightening of mood. Skorghijl had been a miserable place, barren and unfriendly. But at least the months there had postponed the time when they might be separated. They knew they were to be sold as slaves in Hallasholm and there was every chance they would go to different masters.

Will had tried once to cheer Evanlyn about their possible separation. “They say Hallasholm isn’t a big place,” he said, “so even if we are split up, we may still be able to see each other. After all, they can’t expect us to work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Will winced at his past self’s ignorance.

Evanlyn hadn’t replied. Her experience of Skandians so far told her that was exactly what they would expect.

Erak noticed their silence and the melancholy mood that had settled upon them and felt a twinge of sympathy. He wondered if there was some way he could make sure they stayed together.

“That news to me.” Cassandra said and Will nodded in agreement. Neither of them had any idea that Erak apparently felt sorry for them enough to try and keep them together. They hadn’t even realised that he had cared that much. At least, in the beginning. 

Of course, he could always keep them as slaves himself, he reasoned. But he had no real need for personal slaves. As a war leader of the Skandians, he lived in the officers’ barracks, where his needs were tended by orderlies. If he kept the two Araluens as his own, he’d have to pay to feed and clothe them. And he’d have to be responsible for them as well. He discarded the idea with an irritated shake of his head.

“Never mind…” Casandra muttered, and Will just grinned at her. Erak may have been their captor once, but now he was definitely a person they considered a friend.

“To hell with them,” he muttered fiercely, driving them from his mind and concentrating on keeping the ship perfectly on course, frowning fiercely as he watched the pole stone needle floating in its gimballed bowl by the steering blade.

“He’ll learn to like us eventually.” Will proposed thoughtfully, as if the event hadn’t already happened and they weren’t ready close friends with the Skandia Oberjarl.

On the twelfth day of the crossing, they made a landfall with the Skandian coast—exactly where Erak had predicted they would fetch up. From the admiring glances the men cast at the Jarl, Will could tell that this was a considerable feat.

Throughout the following days, they edged closer to the shore, until Will and Evanlyn could make out more detail. High cliffs and snow-covered mountains seemed to be the dominant features of Skandia.

“He’s caught Loka’s current perfectly,” Svengal told them as he prepared to climb to the lookout position on the mast’s crosstrees. The cheerful second in command had developed a certain fondness for Will and Evanlyn. He knew their lives would be hard and pitiless as slaves, and he tried to compensate with a few friendly words whenever possible. Unfortunately, his next comment, meant in a kindly fashion, was little comfort to either Will or Evanlyn.

Maddie rolled her eyes fondly. Though it had always been a thing in her life, she was still surprised about just how many friends her mentor had been able to make. Will was good with people, and everyone liked him, which was starting to look even more apparent when he was younger.

“Ah well,” he said, seizing hold of a halyard to haul himself to the top of the mast, “we should reach home in two or three hours.”

As it turned out, he was mistaken. The wolfship, finally under oars again, ghosted through the thick fog that shrouded the Hallasholm harbour mouth barely an hour and a quarter later. Will and Evanlyn stood silently in the waist of the ship as the town of Hallasholm loomed out of the fog.

The cheerful atmosphere of the room quickly dropped.

It was not a large place. Nestled at the foot of towering pine-clad mountains, Hallasholm consisted of perhaps fifty buildings—all of them single story and all, apparently, built from pine logs and roofed with a mixture of thatch and turf.

The buildings huddled around the edge of the harbour, where a dozen or more wolfships were moored at jetties or drawn up on the land, canted on their sides as men worked on the hulls, fighting a never-ending battle against the attacks of the marine parasites that constantly ate away at the wooden planks. Smoke curled up from most of the chimneys and the cold air was redolent of the heady smell of burning pine logs.

“Perhaps that’s where they got the wood from.” Maddie suggested in reference to the bridge. However Will shook his head, “There would be no way that they would have been able to get that much wood down the cliffs and begin construction. But good thinking.”

The principal building, Ragnak’s Great Hall, was built from the same logs as the rest of the houses in the town. But it was larger, longer and wider, and with a pitched roof that let it tower above its neighbours. It stood in the centre of the town, dominating the scene, surrounded by a dry ditch and a stockade—more pine logs, Will noticed. Pine was obviously the most common building material available in Skandia. A long, wide road led up to the gateway in the stockade from the main quay.

Gazing at the town across the glass-smooth water of the harbour, Will thought that, in another time and under other conditions, he would probably find the neatly ordered houses, with the massive, snow-covered mountains towering behind them, to be quite beautiful.

Right now, however, he could see nothing to recommend their new home to him. As the two young people watched, light snow began to drift down around them.

“I should think it’s going to be cold here,” Will said quietly.

Will once again snorted at his past naivety.

He felt Evanlyn’s chilled hand creep into his. He squeezed it gently, hoping to give her a sense of encouragement. A sense that was totally foreign to the way he himself was feeling at the moment.

Maddie finally passed the book onto Gilan who then began the next chapter.

Chapter 39: The Icebound Land - Chapter 18

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 18.

“I told you that symbol on your shield would make traveling easier,” Halt remarked to Horace. They sat at ease in their saddles, Halt with one leg cocked up over the pommel, as they watched the Gallic knight who had been barring passage to a crossroads ahead of them set his spurs to his horse and gallop away toward the safety of a nearby town. Horace glanced down at the green oakleaf device that Halt had painted on his formerly plain shield.

“Don’t you still have that design?” Maddie asked her father who nodded.

“You know,” he said, with a hint of disapproval in his tone, “I’m not actually entitled to any coat of arms until I have been formally knighted.” Horace’s training under Sir Rodney had been quite strict and he felt sometimes that Halt didn’t pay enough notice to the etiquette of chivalrous behaviour. The bearded Ranger glanced sidelong at him and shrugged.

“That sounds about right.” Gilan noted cheerfully. Halt side eyed his ex-apprentice who just grinned in return.

“For that matter,” he remarked, “you’re not entitled to contest any of these knights until you’ve been properly knighted either. But I haven’t noticed that stopping you.”

Since their first encounter at the bridge, the two travellers had been stopped on half a dozen occasions by freebooting knights guarding crossroads, bridges and narrow valleys. All of them had been dispatched with almost contemptuous ease by the muscular young apprentice. Halt was highly impressed by the young man’s skill and natural ability.

Horace raised an eyebrow in Halt’s direction. The older Ranger pretended to ignore the knight.

One after another, Horace had sent the roadside guardians toppling from their saddles, at first with a few deftly placed strokes from his sword and, more recently, as he had captured a good, stout lance with a balance and a feel that he liked, in a thundering charge that unseated his opponent and sent him flying meters behind his galloping horse. By now, the two travellers had amassed a considerable store of armour and weapons, which they carried strapped to the saddles of the horses they had captured. At the next sizable town they came to, Halt planned to sell horses, arms and armour.

For all his admiration of Horace’s skill, and despite the fact that he felt a grim satisfaction at seeing the bullying vultures put out of business, Halt resented the continual delays they caused in his and Horace’s journey. Even without them, he and Horace would be hard put to reach the distant border with Skandia before the first winter blizzards made it impassable.

“Now that’s something that’s actually impassable.” Will noted, “As long as you don’t want to get frozen solid.”

Accordingly, five nights previously, as they camped in the half-ruined barn of a deserted farm property, he had rummaged through the piles of old rusting tools and rotting sacks until he unearthed a small pot of green paint and an old, dried-out brush. Using these, he had sketched a green oakleaf design onto Horace’s shield. The result had been as he expected. The reputation of Sir Horace of the Order of the Oakleaf had gone before them. Now, more often than not, as the brigand knights had seen them approaching, they had turned and fled at the sight of the device on Horace’s shield.

“Probably the first smart decision they’ve made in their lives.” Baron Arald commented, and Sir Rodney nodded in agreement.

“I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go,” Horace remarked, gently nudging Kicker forward toward the now-deserted crossroads. “My shoulder’s not totally healed yet.”

His previous opponent had been considerably more skilful than the general run of highway warriors. Undaunted by the oakleaf device on the shield, and obviously not bothered by Horace’s reputation, he had joined combat eagerly. The fight had lasted several minutes, and during the course of their combat, a blow from his mace had glanced off the top rim of Horace’s shield and deflected onto his upper arm.

Fortunately, the shield had taken a good deal of the force of the blow, or Horace’s arm would, in all likelihood, have been broken. As it was, there was severe bruising and his arm and shoulder were still not as free moving as he would have liked.

Barely half a second after the mace had done its damage, Horace’s backhanded sword stroke had clanged sickeningly into the front of the other man’s helmet, leaving a severe dent and sending the knight sprawling unconscious and heavily concussed on the forest floor.

Now he was relieved that he hadn’t had to fight since.

“We’ll spend a night in town,” Halt said. “We may be able to get some herbs and I’ll make a poultice for that arm of yours.” He’d noticed the boy was favouring the arm. Even though Horace hadn’t complained, it was obviously causing him considerable pain.

“I’d like that,” Horace said. “A night in a real bed would be a pleasant change after sleeping on the ground for so long.”

Halt snorted derisively. “Battleschool evidently isn’t what it used to be,” he replied. “It’s a fine thing when an old man like me can sleep comfortably in the open while a young boy gets all stiff and rheumatic over it.”

“What about now Halt, do you still believe in your old ways?” Will innocently asked his mentor. Halt wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to deserve being ganged up on like this, but he made a note to get them back later.

Horace shrugged. “Be that as it may,” he replied, “I’ll still be glad to sleep in a bed tonight.”

Actually, Halt felt the same way. But he wasn’t going to let Horace know that.

Horace pretended to be offended which Halt easily ignored.

“Perhaps we should hurry,” he said, “and get you into a nice comfortable bed before your joints seize up altogether.”

And he urged Abelard into a slow canter. Behind him, Tug instantly increased his own pace to match. Horace, caught by surprise, and hampered by the captured horses he was leading, was a little slower to keep up.

Horace glared at the Ranger’s at the table, daring them to make any comments about his horse. Somehow, they all kept their expressions suspiciously neutral, something that the knight didn’t miss.

The string of battlehorses, laden with armour and weapons, raised quite a bit of interest in the town as they rode through the streets. Horace noticed again how people scurried to clear the way in front of his battlehorse as he rode. He noticed the furtive glances cast his way and more than once he heard the phrase Chevalier du Chêne whispered as he passed people by. He glanced curiously at Halt.

“What’s that they’re saying about chains?” he asked. Halt gestured toward the oakleaf symbol on the shield hanging at Horace’s saddlebow.

“Not chain,” he told the young warrior, “They’re saying chêne. That’s their word for ‘oak.’ They’re talking about you: the knight of the oak. Apparently your fame has spread.”

Horace frowned. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased about that or not.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t cause any trouble,” he said uncertainly. Halt merely shrugged.

Will rolled his eyes dramatically, “Jinxing it Horace, seriously!” Horace went slightly pink in response while Cassandra and Maddie tried to snuff their giggles.

“In a small town like this? It’s hardly likely. More the opposite, I’d expect.”

For it was a small town, barely more than a village, in fact. The single main street was narrow, with hardly room for their two horses to move abreast. People on foot had to press back out of the way, stepping into the side streets to let the horsemen pass—then remaining in that position as the small string of battlehorses clopped quietly along behind them.

The street itself was unpaved, a mere dusty track that would quickly turn to thick gluey mud in the event of any rain. The houses were small, mostly single-story affairs, which seemed to have been built on something less than the normal scale.

“Keep your eyes open for an inn,” Halt said quietly.

Traveling with a notorious companion was a novel experience for Halt. In Araluen, he was accustomed to the suspicion and sometimes fear that greeted the appearance of a member of the Ranger Corps. The mottled cloaks with their deep cowls were a familiar sight to people in the kingdom. Here in Gallica, he was quite pleased to notice, the Ranger uniform, along with the distinctive weaponry of longbow and double knives, seemed to evoke little or no interest.

“All the better for remaining unnoticed?” Maddie guessed. She received a quick nod in response.

Horace was a different matter entirely. His reputation had obviously gone before them and people eyed him with the same edge of suspicion and uncertainty that Halt had become used to over the years. The situation pleased Halt quite well. In the event of any trouble, it would give him and Horace a decided edge if people had already decided that the main danger came from the strapping young man in armour.

The fact of the matter was that the grizzled older man in the nondescript cloak was a far more dangerous potential enemy.

Horace sighed, “The books right.” He said regretfully but Will smiled over at him, “Don’t sell yourself short. I hear you aren’t too bad with that sword of yours?” Horace grinned in response.

“Up ahead there,” Horace said, rousing Halt from his musing. He followed the direction of the boy’s pointing finger and there was a building, larger than the others, with a second story leaning precariously out over the street, rather uncertainly supported by uneven oak beams that jutted out at first-floor level. A weathered signboard swung gently in the breeze, with a crude depiction of a wineglass and a platter of food marked on it in peeling paint.

“Don’t get your hopes too high about a nice soft bed for the night,” Halt warned the apprentice. “We may well have slept softer in the forest.” He didn’t add that they would almost certainly have slept cleaner.

As it turned out, he had done the inn an injustice. It was small and the walls weren’t quite true to the perpendicular. The ceiling was low and uneven and the stairs seemed to lean to one side as they made their way up to inspect the room they had been offered.

But at least the place was clean and the bedroom had a large, glazed window, which had been flung wide open to let in the fresh afternoon breeze. The smell of freshly ploughed fields carried to them as they looked out over the higgledy-piggledy mass of steeply pitched roofs in the town.

The innkeeper and his wife were both elderly people, but at least they seemed welcoming and friendly to their two guests—particularly after they had seen the store of arms and armour piled on the riderless horses lined up outside the inn. The young knight was obviously a man of property, they decided. And a person of considerable importance as well, judging by the way he left all dealings to his manservant, the rather surly fellow in a grey-and-green cloak. It suited the innkeeper’s sense of snobbery to assume that people of noble birth didn’t deign to interest themselves in such commercial matters as the price of a room for the night.

Halt raised his eyebrows at the mention of a manservant while everyone else at the table tried to hide their smiles.

Having ascertained that there was no market within the town where they might be able to convert their captured booty into money, Halt allowed the inn’s stable boy to bed their horses down for the night. All except Abelard and Tug, of course. He saw to them personally, and he was pleased to note that Horace did the same for Kicker.

Once the horses were settled, the two companions returned to their room. Supper wouldn’t be ready for an hour or two, the innkeeper’s wife had told them.

“We’ll use the time to take a look at that arm of yours,” Halt told Horace. The younger man sank gratefully onto the bed and sighed contentedly. Contrary to Halt’s expectations, the beds were soft and comfortable, with thick, clean blankets and crisp white sheets. At a gesture from Halt, the apprentice stood up and pulled his mail shirt and tunic over his head, grunting slightly with pain as he had to raise his arm above shoulder height to do it. The bruising had spread across the entire upper arm, creating a patchwork of discoloured flesh that ran from dark blue-black to an ugly yellow around the edges. Halt probed the bruised area critically, feeling to make sure there were no broken bones.

“Ow!” said Horace as the Ranger’s fingers probed and poked around the bruise.

“Did that hurt?” Halt asked, and Horace looked at him with exasperation.

“Of course it did,” he said sharply. “That’s why I said ‘ow!’”

“Hmm,” Halt muttered thoughtfully, and seizing the arm, he turned it this way and that while Horace gritted his teeth against the pain. Finally able to contain his annoyance no longer, he stepped back away from Halt’s grasp.

“Are you actually hoping to accomplish anything there?” he asked in a peevish tone of voice. “Or are you just having fun causing me pain?”

“Sometimes I had to wonder that myself.” Will muttered, remembering the many times that he had been forced to endure Halt looking at his injuries. Though he meant well, the old grizzly Ranger wasn’t exactly gently or sympathetic.

“I’m trying to help,” Halt said mildly. He reached for the arm once more, but Horace backed away.

“Keep your hands off,” he said. “You’re just poking and prodding. I can’t see how that’s supposed to help.”

“I’m just trying to make sure there’s nothing broken,” Halt explained. But Horace shook his head at the Ranger.

“Nothing’s broken. I’ve got some bruising, that’s all.”

Halt made a helpless gesture of resignation. He opened his mouth to speak, planning to reassure Horace that he was really trying to help, when matters were taken out of his hands—literally.

“Thank goodness.” Horace muttered and his wife elbowed him to shush.

There was a brief knock at the door; then, before the sound had died, the door was flung open and the innkeeper’s wife bustled in with an armful of fresh pillows for the beds. She smiled at the two of them, then her gaze lit upon Horace’s arm and the smile died, replaced instantly by a look of motherly concern.

She let go a torrent of Gallican that neither of them understood, and moved quickly to Horace’s side, dumping the pillows on his bed. He watched her suspiciously as she reached out to touch the injured arm. She stopped, pursed her lips and met his gaze with a reassuring look. Satisfied, he allowed her to examine the injury.

She did so gently, with a light, almost imperceptible touch. Horace, submitting to her ministrations, looked meaningfully at Halt. The Ranger scowled and sat on the bed to watch. Finally, the woman stepped back and, taking Horace’s arm, led him to sit on the edge of the bed. She turned to address the two of them, pointing to the discoloured arm.

“No breaking bones,” she said uncertainly. Halt nodded.

“I thought as much,” he replied, and Horace sniffed disdainfully. The woman nodded once or twice, then continued, choosing her words carefully. Her command of the Araluen tongue was inexact, to say the least.

Halt snorted, “Better than those knights.” And everyone nodded in agreement.

“Bruisings,” she said, “bad bruisings. Need…” She hesitated, seeking the word, then found it. “Herbs…” She made a rubbing gesture with her two hands, miming the act of rubbing herbs together to form a poultice. “Break herbs…put here.” She touched the injured arm once more. Halt nodded agreement.

“Good,” he told her. “Please go right ahead.” He looked up at Horace. “We’re in luck here,” he said. “She seems to know her business.”

“You mean I’m in luck,” Horace said stiffly. “If I’d been left to your tender mercies, I probably wouldn’t have an arm by now.”

Will snorted with laugher with Gilan not far behind. Both of them had to up with Halt’s way of checking injuries that they both remembered quietly easily.

The woman, hearing the tone of the voice but not understanding the words, hurried to reassure him, making crooning sounds and touching the bruise with a feather-soft hand.

“Two days…three…no more bruisings. No more pain,” she reassured him, and he smiled at her.

“Thank you, madam,” he said, in the sort of courtly tone he imagined a gallant young knight should use. “I shall be forever in your debt.”

She smiled at him and, in mime again, indicated that she was going to fetch her stock of herbs and medicines. Horace rose and executed a clumsy bow as she left the room, giggling to herself.

“Oh, pul-ease,” said Halt, rolling his eyes to heaven.

Gilan passed the book to Lady Pauline who excepted it immediately.

Chapter 40: The Icebound Land - Chapter 19

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 19.

Notes:

Sorry I haven't been updating, lifes a bit hectic right now. You probably shouldn't expect another update until Friday or Saturday.

Lady Pauline began reading.

The heat in Ragnak’s dining hall was intense. The large number of people present, and the huge, open fire that stretched almost the full width of one end of the room, combined to keep the temperature uncomfortably warm, in spite of the deep snow that lay on the ground outside.

The atmosphere in the room once again became solemn and tense.

It was an enormous room, long and low-ceilinged, with two tables stretching the length of it, and a third, Ragnak’s head table, placed across the others at the end opposite the fire. The walls were bare pine logs, roughly trimmed and caulked, where their uneven shape left a gap, with a mixture of mud and clay that set hard as rock.

More pine logs slanted up at angles to support the roof, a tightly woven layer of rushes and thatch that was almost a meter thick in places. There was no interior lining. Lighter slats of rough timber were fastened across the roof beams to support the thatch. The noise, with nearly one hundred and fifty drunken Skandians eating, laughing and shouting at one another, was deafening. Erak looked around him and smiled.

It was good to be home again.

He accepted another tankard of ale from Borsa, Ragnak’s hilfmann. While Ragnak was the Oberjarl, or senior Jarl of all Skandians, the hilfmann was an administrator who took care of the day-to-day running of the nation. He made sure that crops were planted, taxes paid, raids sent out on time and that Ragnak’s share of all raiding booty—a quarter of everything won—was paid promptly and reckoned fairly by the wolfship commanders.

“A quarter!” Maddie cried in disbelief, “That seems incredibly steep.”

“Bad business all around, Erak,” he said. They were discussing the ill-fated expedition to Araluen. “We should never get involved in a long-running war. It’s not our game at all. We’re cut out for quick raids. Get in, grab the booty and get out again with the tide. That’s our way. Always has been.”

Erak nodded. He’d thought the same thing when Ragnak had assigned him to the expedition. But the Oberjarl hadn’t been in any mood to listen to his advice. “Still, Morgarath paid us up front,” the hilfmann continued. Erak’s eyebrows raised at that.

“He did?” It was the first he’d heard of it. He’d assumed that he and his men were fighting simply for whatever booty they could find, and the expedition had been a definite failure in that regard. But his companion nodded emphatically.

“What does emphatically mean?” Maddie asked. Lady Pauline immediately put down the book and answered, “It’s similar to forcefully or insistently.”

“Oh yes indeed. Ragnak’s no fool when it comes to money. He charged Morgarath for your services, and those of all your men. You’ll all be paid your share.”

At least, thought Erak, he and his men would have something to show for the past few months. But Borsa was still shaking his head over the Araluen campaign.

“You know our biggest problem?” he said, and before Erak could respond, he continued. “We don’t have our own generals or tacticians. Skandians fight as individuals. And in that sense, we’re the best in the world. But when we hire out as mercenaries, we don’t have our own planners to lead us. So we’re forced to rely on fools like Morgarath.”

Erak nodded agreement. “When we were in Araluen, I said that his plans were too involved, too clever by half.”

Borsa jabbed a thick forefinger at him. Erak was surprised by the man’s vehemence. “And you’re right! We could use a few people like those Araluen Rangers,” he added.

Maddie looked pointedly at her mentor.

“Are you serious?” Erak said. “Why do we need them?”

“Not them literally. I mean people like them. People who are trained in planning and tactics—with the ability to see the big picture and use our troops to best effect.”

Erak had to agree the other man had a point. But the mention of Rangers had led his mind to the matter of Will and Evanlyn. Now he saw a way to solve the problem of dealing with them.

“Could you use a couple of new slaves around the Great Hall?” he asked casually. Borsa nodded immediately.

“We can always use extras,” he said. “Got someone in mind, have you?”

Maddie winced at the thought. If the Skandians always needed extra slaves, it meant that the conditions they were forced to work in must be pretty harsh.

“A boy and a girl,” Erak told him. He thought it best not to mention that Will was an apprentice Ranger. “Both strong. Healthy and intelligent. We captured them on the Celtic border. I was going to sell them so I could pay my crew something for the whole mess. But now, if you say we’ll be paid anyway, I’d be happy to give them to you.”

Borsa nodded gratefully. “I can certainly use them,” he replied. “Send them over tomorrow.”

“Done!” said Erak cheerfully. He felt a nagging weight had been removed from his mind. “Now where’s that ale jug got to?”

A few people rolled their eyes automatically.

While Erak was deciding their fate, Will and Evanlyn had been kept locked in a hut by the quayside, close to the point where Wolfwind was moored. The following morning, they were roused by a Skandian from Borsa’s staff, who led them to the Great Hall. There, the hilfmann looked them over, studying them critically. The girl was attractive, he thought, but she didn’t look as if she’d done a lot of heavy work in her life. The boy, on the other hand, was well muscled and fit, if a little on the small side.

“The girl can go to the dining hall and kitchen,” he told his assistant. “Put the boy in the yard.”

Lady Pauline finished off the chapter and handed it over to Halt.

Chapter 41: The Icebound Land - Chapter 20

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 20.

After skimming the first page, Halt began reading.

An hour after sunset, Halt and Horace left their room and went downstairs to the taproom of the inn for supper. The innkeeper’s wife had prepared a huge pot of savoury stew. It hung, simmering, in the enormous fireplace that dominated one side of the room. A serving girl brought them large wooden bowls of the steaming food, along with curious, long loaves of bread, shaped in a style Horace had never seen before. They were very long, and narrow, so they looked like thick sticks rather than loaves. But they were crusty on the outside and delightfully light and airy on the inside. And, the apprentice soon discovered, they were an ideal tool for mopping up the delicious gravy of the stew.

"They sound like baguettes." Lady Pauline commented idly. Halt turned to her, surprised while she just smiled and explained. "They are a very well-known Gallican food that is commonly served in meals."

Halt had accepted a large beaker of red wine with his meal. Horace had settled for water. Now, having enjoyed a large serving of a delicious berry pie, they sat over mugs of an excellent coffee.

All the Rangers in the group immediately took a sip of their coffee which they had brewed in the previous break. The cups had remained largely untouched, however that didn’t spoil the flavour. And anyways, it’s not like they weren’t used to cold coffee.

Horace spooned a large helping of honey into his cup, watched with a frown by the Ranger.

“Killing the taste of good coffee,” Halt muttered at him. Horace merely grinned. He was getting used to his companion’s mock severity by now.

Will snorted, as he had heard from Crowley that Halt also used to put honey in his coffee. Though he had outgrown the habit, it had somehow still spread to all his apprentice’s and friends.

“It’s a habit I learned from your apprentice,” he told him, and for a moment they were both silent, thinking of Will, wondering what had become of him and Evanlyn, hoping they were both safe and well.

Halt finally roused them from their thoughtful mood by nodding toward the small group of townspeople seated by the fire. He and Horace had taken a table at the back of the room. It was always Halt’s way to do this, keeping his back to a solid wall and sitting where he could observe the rest of the room and, at the same time, remain relatively inconspicuous himself.

Most heads nodded around the room, however a few more wryly than others, as being a baron or a queen usually involved drawing attention to oneself.

While they were eating, the room had gradually filled with townspeople, either coming to eat or to enjoy a few jugs of wine or beer before heading to their own homes. Now, the Ranger had noticed, one of the room’s inhabitants had produced a set of pipes from inside his pack, and another was fiddling with the tuning pegs of a gourd-shaped, eight-stringed instrument.

“Looks like the entertainment’s about to start,” he told Horace.

Maddie perked up greatly, as after being uncover as a knife thrower, she was curious what other types of entertainment were out there, especially in other countries. 

And as they spoke, the other people in the room began pulling their chairs closer to the fire and calling for refills from the innkeeper and his serving assistants.

The piper began playing a lament, and the string instrument quickly took up a counterpoint, playing rapid, vibrating strokes to form a continuous, high treble background to the soaring, swooping melody. The pipes themselves filled the room with a wild and plaintive sound, a voice that reached deep into the soul and brought thoughts of friends long gone and times past to the forefront of the listeners’ minds.

As the notes echoed around the warm room, Halt found himself remembering the long summer days in the forest surrounding Castle Redmont, and a small, busy figure who asked endless questions and brought a new feeling of energy and interest to life. In his mind’s eye, he could see Will’s face—hair tousled by the cowl of his cloak, brown eyes alight and filled with an irrepressible sense of fun. He remembered him as he cared for Tug, remembered the pride the boy had shown at the prospect of having a horse of his own and the special bond that had formed between the two of them.

Halt glanced over at Will once or twice while he was reading, however Will was staring at the table in front of him. Maddie looked worriedly at her mentor who seemed to be in a different time and place again.

Perhaps it was because Halt could feel the years encroaching on him as the grey hairs in his beard became more the norm than the exception. But Will had brought a sense of youth and fun and vitality to his life, a sense that was a welcome contrast to the dark and dangerous paths that a Ranger was often required to tread.

He remembered too the pride he had felt when Horace had told him of the way Will took it upon himself to follow the Wargal forces in Celtica, and how the boy had stood alone against the Wargals and Skandians as Evanlyn had worked to make sure the fire took hold of the bridge. There was more to Will than just an irrepressible spirit. There was courage and ingenuity and loyalty. The boy would have made a truly great Ranger, Halt thought, then abruptly realized that he had thought of Will as if such an eventuality were no longer possible.

Once again no one spoke. Gilan chanced at look over to his mentor who was trying his best to read as steadily as possible. The book was probably both bringing to light and resurfacing past emotions that many didn’t want to deal with again.

His eyes moistened with tears and he shifted uncomfortably. It was a long time since Halt had shown any outward sign of emotion. Then he shrugged. Will was worth at least a few tears from a grizzled old wreck like himself, he thought, and made no move to wipe them away. He glanced sideways at Horace to see if the boy had noticed, but Horace was entranced by the music, leaning forward on the bench they shared, his lips slightly parted, one finger beating time unconsciously on the rough table top. It was as well, Halt thought, smiling ruefully to himself. It wouldn’t do for the boy to see him dissolving into tears at the first sound of sad music. Rangers, particularly treasonous ex-Rangers who had insulted the King, were supposed to be made of sterner stuff.

Lady Pauline laid a hand on her husband’s arm in comfort.

The music finally ended, to a roar of applause from the people in the room. Halt and Horace joined in enthusiastically and Halt used the moment to covertly dash a hand across his eyes and wipe away the traces of moisture there.

He noticed that the performers were being rewarded by the audience with coins tossed into the hat that had been artfully left, upturned, on the floor beside them. He shoved a couple of coins toward Horace and nodded toward the players.

“Give them these,” he said. “They’ve earned it.”

Will gave a small smile as he glanced around the room, knowing that his mentor really was a big softie. If Maddie looked closely, she had no doubt there would be the traces of moisture in Will's brown eyes.

Horace nodded wholehearted agreement and rose to cross the room, ducking his head under the heavy beams that supported the ceiling. He tossed the coins into the cap, the last in the room to do so. The piper looked up, saw an unfamiliar face and nodded his thanks. Then he began to pump the bellows on his pipes with his elbow again, and once more, the haunting voice of the pipes swelled up and began to fill the room.

Horace hesitated, loath to move now that another song had begun. He glanced back to where Halt sat in the shadows, shrugged and settled onto a table top at the edge of the small crowd surrounding the performers.

There was a different tone to this piece. There was a subtle note of triumph in the melody, augmented by the bold major chords struck by the stringed instrument, which came more to the fore for this piece. Indeed, before too long, the brittle, rippling notes of the gourd-shaped instrument had wrested the lead from the pipes and set toes tapping and hands beating time throughout the room. A delighted smile broke out on Horace’s face, and as the door to the street opened and a gust of wind swept around the room, he barely took notice of the newcomer who entered.

Horace’s face clouded over quickly. He had briefly forgotten this part but now the memories were starting to flood in.

Others did, however, and Halt, senses finely honed by years of living through dangerous situations, felt a change in the atmosphere in the room. A sense of apprehension and almost suspicion seemed to grip the people grouped around the musicians.

There was even a slight hesitation in the tune as the piper glanced up and saw the man who had entered. Just the slightest break in rhythm, almost imperceptible, but enough for Halt to notice.

He looked at the newcomer. A tall, well-built man, perhaps ten years younger than himself. Black beard and hair, and heavy, black brows that gave him an ominous appearance. He was obviously not one of the simple townsfolk. As he threw back his cloak, he revealed a chain mail shirt covered with a black surcoat that bore a white raven insignia.

The hilt of a sword was obvious at his waist, worked with gold wire and with a dully gleaming pommel in the same metal. High, soft leather riding boots marked him as a mounted warrior—a knight, judging by the insignia on his surcoat. Halt had no doubt that, tethered outside the tavern, he would find a battlehorse—most probably a jet-black one, judging by the stranger’s favoured colour scheme.

Maddie looked to her father in question at the new appearance. As far as she knew, there hadn’t been any mention of this in the recounts that she had listened to.

The newcomer was obviously looking for someone. His eyes swept the room quickly, passing over Halt without noticing the shadowy figure at the rear of the room, then finally lighting on Horace. The brows tightened fractionally and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, to himself. The boy, enthralled by the music, had barely taken note of the knight’s arrival and now paid no attention to the intense study to which he was subjected.

Horace winced slightly at the thought of his younger self not paying enough attention to the in-coming threat. Of course, he wouldn't have known that at the time, however it was better he be cautious than dead.

There were others in the room who did. Halt saw the heightened awareness of the innkeeper and his wife as they watched and waited for events to unfold. And several of the townspeople were showing signs of anxiety, signs that they might prefer to be somewhere else.

Halt’s hand reached under the table for his quiver. As ever, his weapons were within easy reach, even when he was dining, and the longbow leaning against the wall behind him was already strung. Now he eased an arrow from the quiver and laid it on the table before him as the tune came to an end.

This time, there was no chorus of applause from the people in the room. Only Horace clapped enthusiastically, then, realizing he was the only one doing so, he stopped, confused, a flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. Now he too became aware of the armed man in the room, standing half a dozen paces away from him, staring at him with an intensity that bordered on aggression.

The boy recovered his composure and nodded a greeting to the newcomer. Halt was pleased to notice that Horace had the presence of mind not to look in his direction. He had sensed that something unpleasant might be about to happen and understood the advantage that would come from Halt’s not being noticed.

“Oh, I just more focused on this guy crashing the party.” Horace said to which Halt just shrugged, “Worked out either way.”

Finally, the newcomer spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. He was a tall man, as tall as Horace, and heavily built. This was no roadside warrior, Halt decided. This man was dangerous.

“You are the oakleaf chevalier?” he asked, with a hint of derision. He spoke the Araluen language well, but with a distinct Gallic accent.

“I believe I have been called that,” Horace replied, after a moment’s pause. The knight seemed to consider the answer, nodding to himself, his lip curled in a half sneer.

“You believe so?” he said. “But can you, yourself, be believed? Or are you a lying Araluen dog who barks in the gutters?”

“Why would anyone bark at a gutter?” Maddie asked and Gilan replied with a straight face, “Perhaps they left their friend down there.”

Horace frowned, puzzled. It was a clumsy attempt to insult him. The other man was trying to provoke a fight for some reason. And that, to Horace, was sufficient reason not to be provoked.

“If you like,” he replied calmly, his face a mask of indifference. But Halt had noticed how his left hand had touched lightly, and almost instinctively, to his left hip, where his sword normally hung ready. Now, of course, it hung behind the door of their room upstairs. Horace was armed with only a dagger.

Will raised his eyebrow at his friend. Once again, one of the two of them had been caught without a weapon in a serious situation after they had supposed learnt their lesson.

The knight had noticed the involuntary movement as well. He smiled now, his lips curling in a cruel arc. And he moved a pace closer to the muscular young apprentice. He took stock of the young man now. Wide shoulders, slim at the waist and obviously well muscled. And he moved well, with a natural grace and balance that was the mark of an expert warrior.

But the face was young and absolutely without guile. This was not an opponent who had fought men to the death repeatedly. This was not a warrior who had learned the darker skills in the unforgiving school of mortal combat. The boy had barely begun to shave. He was undoubtedly a trained fighter, and one to be respected.

But not feared.

Maddie snorted.

Having made his assessment, the older man moved a pace closer, yet again. “I am Deparnieux,” he said. Obviously, he expected the name to mean something. Horace merely shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.

“Good for you,” he replied. And those black brows contracted once more.

Maddie had to physically stop herself from laughing. A few other people in the room had a humouress glint in their eye.

“I am no roadside yokel for you to defeat by trickery and knavish behaviour. You will not catch me unprepared with your cowardly tactics, as you have so many of my compatriots.”

He paused to see if the insulting words were having the desired effect. Horace, however, was canny enough not to take exception. He shrugged once more.

“I’ll definitely bear that in mind,” he replied mildly.

Cassandra muttered something along the lines of “This is just sad to watch.” But the grin on her face said otherwise.

One more pace and the heavily built knight was within arm’s reach. His face suffused with rage at Horace’s answer, and the boy’s refusal to be insulted.

“I am warlord of this province!” he shouted. “A warrior who has despatched more foreign interlopers, more Araluen cowards, than any other knight in this land. Ask them if this is not so!” And he swept an arm around at the people sitting tensely at tables around the fire. For a moment, there was no reply, then he turned his fierce gaze on them, daring them to disagree with him.

As one, their eyes dropped and they mumbled a grudging acknowledgment of his claim. Then his gaze came back to challenge Horace once more. The boy returned it impassively, but a shade of red was beginning to colour his cheeks.

“As I said,” he replied carefully, “I will bear it in mind.”

“Does this guy have ale in his ears or something?” Will asked with a large grin on his face. Horace nodded in agreement, “Certainly felt like it.”

Deparnieux’s eyes glittered at the boy. “And I call you a coward and a thief who has killed Gallic warriors by subterfuge and deceit and stolen their armour and horses and belongings!” he concluded, his voice rising to a crescendo.

There was a long silence in the room. Finally, Horace replied. “I think you are mistaken,” he said, in the same mild tone he had maintained throughout the confrontation. There was a collective intake of breath throughout the room. And now Deparnieux reared back in fury.

“You say I am a liar?” he demanded.

“No, we’re saying you’re an idiot.” Baron Arald said mildly which cracked multiple people up without warning.

Horace shook his head. “Not at all. I say you are mistaken. Somebody has apparently misinformed you.”

Deparnieux spread his hands and addressed the room at large.

“You have heard this! He calls me a liar to my face! This is insupportable!”

Maddie just rolled his eyes. “Ale in the ears.” She said in conformation.

And, just as he had planned, in the same movement with which he had spread his hands, he had plucked one of his leather gauntlets from where it had been secured under his belt, and now, before anyone in the room could react, had drawn it back to slap it across Horace’s face in a challenge that could not be ignored.

Feeling a sense of exultation, he began the forward sweep of his hand to bring the glove swiping across the boy’s face.

Only to have it plucked from his grip by an invisible hand, and hurled across the room, where it came to a quivering halt, skewered to one of the upright oak beams that supported the ceiling.

“I think we should go and have some food.” Maddie suggested before Halt could pass the book on to the next person. A few people nodded their heads in agreement and the group got up to have some lunch.

Chapter 42: The Icebound Land - Chapter 21

Summary:

Will reads chapter 21.

Trigger/Content Warning: Drug Use

This is a continual waring for the rest of the book. Let me know if there are any other warnings I should include in any chapters.

When everyone returned, Halt passed the book to Will who took it with some hesitation. He looked down at it, like it was some wild animal that might unexpectedly bite him, but nevertheless he opened it up and began reading.

So they were to be separated after all, Will thought. Evanlyn was led away, stumbling as she turned to look back over her shoulder at him, a stricken expression on her face. He forced a grin of encouragement and waved to her, making the gesture casual and light-hearted, as if they would be seeing each other shortly.

“I don’t think light heartedness is what the situation called for.” Baron Arald pointed out and Will shrugged. He had been trying to comfort Evanlyn. Whether it worked or not was a completely different story.

His attempt at raising her spirits was cut short by a solid backhander to his head. He staggered a few feet, his ears ringing.

A few people tensed at the mention of the violence. Will tried to ignore the atmosphere and continued on without a pause. However, only a fool wouldn't recognise the deadly glint in a few of the older Ranger's eyes.

“Get moving, slave!” snarled Tirak, the Skandian supervisor of the yard. “We’ll see how much you have to smile about.”

The answer to that was precious little, Will soon discovered.

“This Tirak, is he still around?” Gilan asked casually, however when Will looked up to answer there was a dangerous look in his eye.

“I don’t think so. He’s been dead a few years at least as far as I’m aware. Erak kept a close eye on anyone who previously supervised the slaves as he knew they might cause trouble at some point.” He answered evenly. As far as he knew, Erak had innocently assigned many of the former slave masters to the front row of the battle against the Temujai at some point. Will doubted there were any left for Gilan to have a go at next time they visited Skandia.

Of all the Skandians’ captives, yard slaves had the hardest, most unpleasant assignment. House slaves—those who worked in the kitchens and dining rooms—at least had the comfort of working, and sleeping, in a warm area. They might fall into their blankets exhausted at the end of a day, but the blankets were warm.

Maddie once again noticed the tense atmosphere. The tension in the room was slowly being increase and she wasn’t sure what would happen once it broke.

Yard slaves, on the other hand, were required to look after all the arduous, unpleasant outdoor tasks that needed doing—cutting firewood, clearing snow from the paths, emptying the privies and disposing of the result, feeding and watering the animals, cleaning stables. They were all jobs that had to be done in the bitter cold. And when their exertions finally raised a sweat, the slaves were left in damp clothing that froze on them once their tasks were completed, leaching the heat from their bodies.

Maddie winced at the thought of the harsh conditions. Whenever she had to do the outdoor chores in Winter, she usually got a nice cup of hot coffee afterwards before training began.

They slept in a drafty, dilapidated old barn that did little to keep out the cold. Each slave was given one thin blanket—a totally inadequate covering when the night temperatures fell below the freezing point. They supplemented the covering with any old rags or sacks they could lay hands on. They stole them, begged them. And often, they fought over them. In his first three days, Will saw two slaves battered to the point of death in fights over ragged pieces of sacking.

Maddie looked to Will and felt a stab of sympathy for her mentor. These were conditions that shouldn’t have to be survived by anyone, let alone a Ranger’s Apprentice that had saved the entire country.

Being a yard slave was more than uncomfortable, he realized. It was downright dangerous.

Someone cursed quietly under their breath and Maddie noticed more than a few fists tightening at the descriptions. 

The system they worked under added to the danger. Tirak was nominally in charge of the yard, but he delegated that authority to a small, corrupt gang known as the Committee. These were half a dozen long-term slaves who hunted as a pack and held the power of life or death over their companions. In return for their authority and some extra comforts such as food and blankets, they maintained the brutal discipline of the yard and organized the work roster, assigning tasks to the other slaves.

Those who pandered to them and obeyed them were given the easiest tasks. Those who resisted them found themselves carrying out the wettest, coldest, most dangerous jobs. Tirak ignored their excesses. He simply didn’t care about the slaves in his charge. They were expendable as far as he was concerned and his life was much simpler if he used the Committee to maintain order. If they killed or crippled the occasional rebel, it was a small price to pay.

Maddie wasn’t sure where her anger was directed at. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from stabbing someone, what the Skandians were doing sounded worse than being cruel, they sounded inhumane.

It was inevitable that Will, being the person he was, would clash with the Committee. It happened on his third day in the yard. He was returning from a firewood detail, dragging a heavily laden sled through the thin snow. His clothes were damp with sweat and from the melting snow and he knew that as soon as the exertion stopped, he would be shivering with cold. The marginal rations that they were fed would do little to restore his body heat and, with each day, he could feel his strength and resilience fading a little further.

Bent almost double, he dragged the sled into the yard, heaving it to a stop beside the kitchen, where house slaves would unload it, carrying the split logs in to the warmth of the massive cooking ranges. His head spun a little as he straightened up, then, from behind one of the kitchen outhouses, he heard a voice cursing, while another whimpered in pain.

Halt silently cursed Will's inquisitive nature and morals, as those qualities didn't let someone last long as a slave. 

Curious, he left the sled and went to see the cause of the commotion. A thin, ragged boy was huddled on the ground while an older, larger youth flayed at him with a length of knotted rope.

“I’m sorry, Egon!” the victim wept. “I didn’t know it was yours!”

Will’s voice rang throughout the room unchallenged. He spoke clearly, however that didn’t stop the occasional stutter, no doubt due to the memories these chapters were retelling.

They were both slaves, Will realized. But the big youth looked well fed and he was warmly dressed, in spite of the fact that his clothes were ragged and stained. Will estimated his age at about twenty. He’d noticed there were no older slaves in the yard. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that this was because yard slaves didn’t live very long.

Maddie shifted uncomfortably on her seat. She was almost twenty years old and she couldn't imagine someone's life being cut short in such a way. Especially when it sounded like these slaves never had much of a life to begin with.

“You’re a thief, Ulrich!” said the larger youth. “I’ll teach you to touch my belongings!”

He was aiming the knotted rope for his victim’s head now, lashing furiously. The boy’s face was heavily bruised, Will saw, and as he watched, a cut opened just under the smaller boy’s eye and blood covered his face. Ulrich cried and tried to cover his face with his bare arms. His tormentor flailed all the more wildly. Will could stand by no longer. He stepped forward and caught the end of the knotted rope as Egon began another stroke, jerking it backward.

Will winced at the actions from his younger self, however he didn’t regret them.

Egon was thrown off balance. He staggered and let go of the rope, turning to look in surprise to see who had dared interrupt him. He half expected to see Tirak or another Skandian standing there. Nobody else would dare interfere with a Committeeman. To his astonishment, he found himself facing a short, slight youth who looked to be about sixteen years old.

“He’s had enough,” Will said, tossing the rope into the slushy snow of the kitchen yard.

Furious, Egon started forward. He was bigger and heavier than Will and he was ready to punish this foolhardy stranger. Then something in the stranger’s eyes, and in his ready stance, stopped him. He could see no fear there. And he looked fit and ready to fight. He was new to the yard, Egon realized, and still in relatively good condition. This was no easy target, like the unfortunate Ulrich.

Maddie looked over and saw both Gilan and Halt with unreadable expressions on their faces.

“I’m sorry, Egon,” the ragged boy now snuffled. He crawled toward the Committeeman and placed his head against his worn boots. “I won’t do it again.” Egon by now had lost interest in his initial victim. He shoved him away with his foot. Ulrich looked up, saw that Egon’s attention was diverted and made his escape.

Egon barely noticed him go. He was glaring at Will, assessing him. This one would be no easy victim. But there were other ways to deal with troublemakers.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes slitted and his voice low with fury.

“I’m called Will,” the apprentice Ranger said, and Egon nodded slowly, several times.

“I’ll remember that,” he promised.

The following day, Will was assigned to the paddles.

“Should have lied.” Will muttered to himself. Of course, it might not have made that much of a difference, but there was the chance that things would have turned out better.

The paddles were the most feared work assignment among the yard slaves.

Hallasholm’s freshwater supply came from a large well in the center of the square facing Ragnak’s lodge. As the colder weather set in, the water in the well, if left untended, would freeze over. So the Skandians had installed large wooden paddles to constantly agitate the water and break up the ice before it froze solid. It was a constant, grinding job, heaving on the crank handles that turned the clumsy wooden blades in the water. Like snow clearing, it was wet and cold work, thoroughly debilitating. Nobody lasted long on the paddles.

“Why don’t they automate it?” Maddie asked and Will replied sourly, “They have now, however back then I don’t think any of them had the smarts to build a machine that could.”

Will had been working for half the morning, but already he was exhausted. Every muscle in his arms, back and legs ached with the strain.

He heaved on the handle, worn smooth over the years by a succession of long-dead hands. It was barely minutes since he’d last agitated the surface of the well water but already a thin skin of ice had formed. It cracked now as the wooden blade stabbed into it and moved rapidly from side to side. On the far side of the well, his co-worker jerked and twisted at his own paddle, keeping the water moving, stopping it from freezing. When he had first arrived, Will had nodded to the other slave. The greeting was ignored. Since then, they had worked in silence, apart from their constant groans of exertion.

A heavy leather strap, wielded by the overseer, snapped across his shoulders. He heard the noise, felt the impact. But there was no stinging sensation from the blow. That was numbed by the cold.

“How did you avoid getting frostbite?” Sir Rodney asked curiously. Will honestly had no idea and just shrugged in response.

“Dig them in deeper!” the overseer snarled. “The water will freeze underneath if you simply skim the surface like that.”

Groaning softly, Will obeyed, rising on tiptoe to drive the wooden paddle down into the frigid water, throwing up a wash of spray as he did so. He felt the icy touch of the water on his body. He was already wet through. It was almost impossible to remain dry. He knew that when he stopped for one of the brief rest periods they were allowed, the wet, freezing clothes would leach the body heat from him and the trembling would start again. It was the unstoppable shivering that frightened him most. As he cooled down, his body would begin to shake. He tried to force it to stop, and found he couldn’t. He had lost control over his own body, he realized dully. His teeth chattered and his hands shook and he was helpless to do anything about it. The only way to regain warmth was to start work again.

There was silence as the agonizing task was explained to the Araluens.

Eventually, it was over. Even the Skandians recognized that no one could work more than a four-hour shift on the paddles. Trembling and exhausted, utterly spent, Will staggered back to the barracks shed. He stumbled and fell as he approached his assigned sleeping space and lacked the energy to rise again. He crawled on hands and knees, longing for the meager warmth of the thin blanket.

Then a hoarse cry of despair was torn from him. The blanket was gone!

Maddie in took sharply. Without any kind of material to keep his body heat in, Will would surely freeze to death.

He huddled on the cold floor, weeping. His knees were drawn up and he wrapped his arms around them in an attempt to contain his failing body heat. He thought of his warm Ranger cloak, lost when he was captured by Erak and his men. The shivering began and he felt his whole body give way to it. The cold burrowed deep into his flesh, reaching right into his bones, right into the very soul of him.

There was nothing but the cold. His world was circumscribed by cold. He was the cold. It was inescapable, unbearable. There was no slight flicker of warmth in his world.

Nothing but the cold.

Will said the last sentence through gritted teeth. Maddie had a feeling that something had to change, however she doubted it was anything good going by the look that her mother had on her face. 

He felt something rough against his cheek and opened his eyes to see someone leaning over him, spreading a piece of coarse sacking over his trembling body. Then a quiet voice was in his ear. “Take it easy, friend. Be strong now.” The speaker was a tall slave, bearded and unkempt. But it was the eyes that Will noticed. They were full of sympathy and understanding. Pathetically, Will drew the scratchy cloth closer around his chin.

“Heard what you tried to do for Ulrich,” said his saviour. “We’ve got to stick together if we’re going to make it in here. I’m Handel, by the way.”

Will tried to answer but his teeth were chattering uncontrollably and his voice shook as he tried to form words. It was useless.

“Here, try this,” said Handel, glancing around to make sure they were not observed. “Open your mouth.”

Will had to slow down reading at this point, focusing on each letter far more than he had been. His other hand was clenching and unclenching in response to the content of the chapter, as he was struggling to continue.

Will forced his chattering teeth apart and Handel slipped something into his mouth. It felt like a bundle of dried herbs, Will thought dully.

Maddie watched her mentor as his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. She offered to read the rest of the chapter he had declined.

“Put it under your tongue,” Handel whispered. “Let it dissolve. You’ll be fine.”

And then, after a few moments, as his saliva moistened the substance under his tongue, Will felt the most glorious, liberating sense of warmth radiating through his body. Beautiful warmth that forced the cold out, that spread to the very tips of his fingers and toes in a series of pulsing waves. He had never felt anything so wonderful in his life. The trembling eased as successive waves of warmth swept gently over him. His tight muscles relaxed into a delightful sense of rest and well-being. He looked up to see Handel smiling and nodding at him. Those wonderful, warm eyes smiled reassuringly and he knew everything was going to be all right.

Will clenched his jaw at the depiction of his fall to warmweed. That cursed drug almost killed him and he had no intention of living through that again.

“What is it?” he said, speaking awkwardly around the sodden little wad in his mouth.

“It’s warmweed,” Handel told him gently. “It keeps us alive.”

And from the shadows of a far corner, Egon watched the two figures and smiled. Handel had done his work well.

Will threw the book down and laid his head face down on the table. For a moment, no one said anything. He gently shoved the book into the middle of the table without looking and Cassandra picked it up wordlessly.

Chapter 43: The Icebound Land - Chapter 22

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 22.

Notes:

I have an announcement.

The Black-clad knight cursed violently as the arrow ripped his gauntlet from his grasp and thudded, carrying the glove with it, into a heavy oak beam. The solid impact of the arrow with the beam drew his eyes for a second, then he whirled suspiciously, to see where the missile had come from.

For the first time, he registered the presence of a dark, indistinct shape in the shadows at the rear of the room. Then, as Halt moved from behind the table and out into the light, he also registered the longbow, with a second arrow nocked ready to the string.

The archer hadn’t bothered to draw the bow, but Deparnieux had just seen an example of his skill. He knew he was facing a master archer, capable of drawing and firing in a heartbeat. He stood very still now, controlling his rage with difficulty. He knew his life might well depend on his ability to do so.

“It did.” Halt enlightened them, and no one at the table had any doubts.

“Unfortunately for the dictates of chivalry,” Halt said, “Sir Horace, knight of the Order of the Oakleaf, is indisposed, with an injury to his left hand. He will therefore be unable to reply to the kind invitation you were about to issue.”

He had moved farther into the light now and Deparnieux could make out his face more clearly. Bearded and grim, this was the face of an experienced campaigner. The eyes were cold and bore no hint of indecision. This, the knight knew instantly, was a man to be wary of.

“So he did have some brains!” Gilan remarked thoughtfully, as if he couldn’t think of anything more peculiar.

There was a subdued chuckle from one of the townspeople in the room and, inwardly, the Gallic knight seethed with fury. His eyes flicked to the source of the sound and he saw a carpenter, lowering his face to hide his smile. Deparnieux noted the man mentally. His day of reckoning would come. Outwardly, however, he forced a smile.

Glad we got rid of him as that carpenter really didn’t deserve what happened, Halt thought grimly.

“A pity,” he told the archer. “I had hoped for a friendly trial of arms with the young chevalier—all in the spirit of good fellowship, of course.”

“Of course,” Halt replied levelly, and Deparnieux knew that he wasn’t for a moment deceived. “But, as I say, we shall have to disappoint you, as we are traveling on a rather urgent quest.”

Deparnieux’s eyebrows lifted in polite enquiry. “Is that so? And where might you and your young master be bound?”

He added the “young master” to see what effect it would have on the bearded man before him. It was obvious who was the master here, and it wasn’t the young knight. He’d hoped that he might sting the other man’s pride, and possibly goad him to a mistake.

Halt scoffed and Will had to agree.

The hope, however, was short-lived. He noticed a faint glint of amusement in the man’s eyes as he recognized the gambit for what it was.

“Oh, here and there,” Halt replied vaguely. “It’s not a task of sufficient importance to interest a warlord such as yourself.” The tone of his voice left the knight in no doubt that he would not be answering casual questions about their end destination, or even their intended direction of travel.

“Sir Horace,” he added, aware that the boy was still within arm’s reach of the black knight, “why don’t you sit yourself down over there and rest your injured arm?”

“Why thank you for those kind words Halt. I never knew you care about my safely so much.” Horace idly said, grinning at the old Ranger.

Horace glanced at him, then understanding dawned and he moved away from the knight, taking a seat by the edge of the fire. There was absolute silence in the room now. The townspeople gazed at the two men confronting each other, wondering where this impasse was going to end. Only two people in the room, Halt and Deparnieux, knew that the knight was trying to gauge his chances of drawing his sword and cutting down the archer before he could fire. As Deparnieux hesitated, he met the unwavering gaze of the Ranger.

“I really wouldn’t,” said Halt mildly. The black knight read the message in his eyes and knew that, fast as he might be, the other man’s reply would be faster. He inclined his head slightly in recognition of the fact. This was not the time.

He forced a smile onto his face and made a mocking bow in Horace’s direction.

“Too bad he was smart enough to back down, could have ended it then and there.” Sir Rodney added, slightly disappointed at the anticlimactic scene. However he understood that they didn’t want to attract any more attention then they already had.

“Perhaps another day, Sir Horace,” he said lightly. “I would look forward to a friendly trial of arms with you when you are recovered.”

This time, he noticed, the boy glanced quickly at his older companion before replying. “Perhaps another day,” he agreed.

Embracing the room with a thin smile, Deparnieux turned on his heel and walked to the door. He paused there a moment, his eyes seeking Halt’s once more. The smile faded and the message he sent was clear. Next time, my friend. Next time.

The door closed behind him and a collective sigh of relief went around the room. Instantly, a babble of conversation broke out among those present. The musicians, sensing that their moment was over for the night, packed away their instruments and gratefully accepted drinks from the serving girl.

Horace moved to the beam where Halt’s arrow had pinned the knight’s gauntlet. He wrestled the shaft free, dropped the glove onto a table and returned the arrow to Halt.

“You stole his gauntlet Halt, how could you?” Gilan asked innocently, as he had no doubt his mentor had done far worse things in the past. Halt just raised an eyebrow at his first apprentice.

“What was that all about?” he asked, a little breathlessly. Halt moved back to their table in the shadows, and leaned his longbow against the wall once more.

“That,” he told the boy, “is what happens when you begin to acquire a reputation. Our friend Deparnieux is obviously the person who controls this area and he saw you as a potential challenge to that control. So, he came here to kill you.”

Horace shook his head in bewilderment. “But…why? I don’t have any quarrel with the man. Did I offend him somehow? I certainly didn’t mean to,” he said. Halt nodded gravely.

“That’s not the point,” he told the young apprentice. “He doesn’t give a toss about you. You were simply an opportunity for him.”

“An opportunity?” Horace asked. “For what?”

An opportunity, a potential challenger, Maddie didn’t know how her father managed to be so many things at once without even realising it.

“To reaffirm his hold over the people in the area,” Halt explained. “People like him rule by fear, for the most part. So, when a young knight comes into the area with a reputation as a champion, somebody like Deparnieux sees it as an opportunity. He provokes a fight with you, kills you, and his own reputation is enlarged. People fear him more and are less likely to challenge his control over them. Understand?”

The boy nodded slowly. “It’s not the way it should be,” he said, a disappointed tone in his voice. “It’s not the way chivalry was intended to be.”

“In this part of the world,” Halt told him, “it’s the way it is.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Maddie made the comment under her breath, but she didn’t miss the way her mother glanced at her with a small smile.

Cassandra handed the book over to her husband who began reading.

Notes:

Okay, so I'm not going to be posting for a few weeks since I'm going to holiday. Hopefully that's understandable. Once I get back, I'll go back to posting every 4-5 days ish.

Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy the chapter. See you guys in a few weeks.

Chapter 44: The Icebound Land - Chapter 23

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 23.

Notes:

I'm back! Hello!

Thank you to all those who left comments and kudos while I was away, I could only take a glance at them but it was enough to see they were wonderful and defiantly a great motivator. Thank you.

Sadly, I got sick on the fight back so that sucked. A lot. But now I'm mostly better and I've been catching up on life for the past week, so I'm grateful for all you guy's patience. Still will upload about 2 ish times a week as I get back into the swing of things.

Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Jarl Erak, Wolfship captain and member of Ragnak’s inner council of senior Jarls, had been absent from Hallasholm for several weeks. He was whistling as he strode back through the open gates to the Lodge, with a sense of satisfaction over a job well done.

Borsa had sent him to sail down the coast to one of the southernmost settlements, to inquire over an apparent shortfall in taxes paid by the local Jarl. Borsa had noticed a decline over the past four or five years. Nothing too sudden to be suspicious, but a little less every year.

Tax evasion. Not a strategy Maddie would have thought Skandians would like to try. However they did love their money, so it made sense…sort of.

It had taken a calculating mind like Borsa’s to notice the creeping discrepancy. And to note that the gradual reduction in reported income had coincided with the election of a new jarl in the village. Smelling a rat, the hilfmann had assigned Erak to investigate—and to persuade the local Jarl that honesty, in the case of taxes owed to Ragnak, was definitely the best policy.

“I’m sure that persuasion involved a few death threats knowing Erak.” Horace noted.

It has to be admitted that Erak’s version of investigating consisted of seizing the unfortunate Jarl by his beard as he lay sleeping in the predawn darkness. Erak then threatened to brain him with a battle-ax if he didn’t make a rapid and upward adjustment to the amount of tax he was paying to Hallasholm. They were rough-and-ready tactics, but highly effective. The Jarl was only too eager to hand over the delinquent tax.

Horace made a see motion, and everyone nodded. Erak was a typical Skandian so none of them would have expected anything less.

It was sheer chance that Erak came striding back through the gates at the very moment that Will was stumbling, shovel in hand, to clear the walkways of the deep snow that had fallen overnight.

For a moment, Erak didn’t recognize the emaciated, shambling figure. But there was something familiar about the shock of brown hair, matted and dirty as it was. Erak stopped for a closer look.

“Gods of darkness, boy!” he muttered. “Is that you?”

Now everyone was silent again, tension returning to the room like an old friend.

The boy turned to look at him, the expression blank and incurious. He was reacting only to the sound of a voice. There was no sign that he recognized the speaker. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull as he regarded the burly Skandian. Erak felt a deep sadness come over him.

Will grave a slight frown, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he probably should have seen this coming. While Skandians had been considered as pirates, they also had an incredibly strict honour system rivalling even the Code of Knighthood of Araluen.

He knew the signs of warmweed addiction, of course, knew that it was used to control the yard slaves. And he’d seen many of them die from the combined effects of cold, malnutrition and the general lack of will to live that resulted from addiction to the drug. Warmweed addicts looked forward to nothing, planned for nothing. Consequently, they had no hope to bolster their spirits. It was that, as much as anything, that killed them in the long run.

It hurt him to see this boy brought so low. To see those eyes, once so full of courage and determination, reflecting nothing but the dull emptiness of an addict’s lack of hope or expectation.

Will looked down at the table to hide his face. Maddie wasn’t sure what to think about such a horrible drug that was used on people. In all Ranger medical packs they had warmweed to numb pain. How did Will survive being remained of that time every instance he was badly injured?

Will waited a few seconds, expecting to be given an order. Deep inside him, a faint memory stirred for a second or two. A memory of the face before him and the voice he had heard. Then, the effort of remembering became too great, the fog of addiction too thick, and with the slightest of shrugs, he turned away and shambled to the gateway to begin shovelling the snow.

Within a few minutes, he would be soaked with sweat from the heavy work. Then the moisture would freeze on his body and the cold would eat deep into him again. He knew the cold now. It was his constant companion. And with the thought of the cold, there came the longing for his next supply of the weed. His next few moments of comfort.

Will grittered his teeth and turned away, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. He knew it probably wouldn’t get any better for a while, but thankfully at some point he knows he regains his senses. However that doesn’t make listening to it any easier.

Erak watched Will as he bent slowly and clumsily to his task. He swore softly to himself and turned away. Other yard slaves were already at work on the paddles at the freshwater well, smashing the thick ice that had formed during the freezing night.

He passed them by quickly, with barely a glance. He was no longer whistling.

Everyone looked between Cassandra and Will, each wondering how this played out. Obviously they had both mentioned a few details to each of them, but not enough to create a full picture of what happened.

Two days later, late in the evening, Evanlyn was summoned to Jarl Erak’s quarters.

She had managed to claim a sleeping space for herself that was close enough to the great ovens to be warm through the night, but not so close that she roasted.

Now, at the end of a long day, she spread her blanket out on the hard rushes and sank gratefully onto it, rolling it around herself. Her pillow was a small log from the firewood pile, padded with an old shirt. She lay back on it now, listening to the noises of those around her—the occasional thick, chesty coughs that were the inevitable result of living in the snow and ice of Skandia at this time of year, and the low muttering of conversation. This was one of the few times that the slaves were free to talk among themselves. Usually, Evanlyn was too tired to take advantage of it.

She became conscious of the fact that someone was calling her name and she sat up with a small groan. A chamber slave was moving through the rows of prone forms, occasionally stooping to shake a shoulder and ask if anyone knew where she would find the Araluen slave called Evanlyn. For the most part, she received blank stares and disinterested shrugs. Life among the slaves was not conducive to forming new friendships.

“Over here!” Evanlyn called, and the chamber slave looked to see where the voice had come from, then picked her way carefully across the bodies to her.

“Are all the indoor slave’s female?” Maddie asked her mother and she nodded. “Most of the males are sent out into the yard or are sold to other masters.”

“You’re to come with me,” she said, a pompous tone in her voice. Chamber slaves, who looked after the living quarters in the Lodge, saw themselves as beings superior to mere kitchen slaves—a breed of people who lived in a world of grease and spilled wine and food.

“Where?” Evanlyn asked, and the girl sniffed disdainfully at her.

“Where you’re told,” she replied. Then, as Evanlyn made no move to rise, she was forced to add: “Jarl Erak says.” After all, she had no personal authority over kitchen slaves, even though she might think herself above them. The Skandians recognized no such differentiation. A slave was a slave, and apart from the gang bosses in the yard, they were all the same as one another.

There was a small stir of interest from the others sitting and lying nearby. It was not unknown for the senior Skandian officers to recruit their personal slaves from the ranks of the more attractive young girls.

A few people around the table winced.

Wondering what this was all about, Evanlyn rose and carefully folded her blanket, leaving it to mark her space. Then, gesturing for the other girl to lead the way, she followed her out of the kitchen.

Ragnak’s lodge was, in effect, a veritable rabbit warren of passageways and rooms leading from the central, high-ceilinged Great Hall where meals were served and official business conducted. The girl led Evanlyn now through a series of low, dimly lit passageways, until they reached what appeared to be a dead end. There was a door set into the end of the wall and the chamber slave indicated it to her.

“In there,” she said briefly, then added, “You’d better knock first.” And she turned away, hurrying back down the dim corridor. Evanlyn hesitated a moment, not sure what this was all about, then rapped with her knuckles on the hard oak of the door.

“Come in.” She recognized the voice that answered her knock. Erak’s vocal cords were trained to carry to his men over the gales of the Stormwhite Sea. He never seemed to lessen the volume. There was a latch on the outside of the door. She raised it and went inside.

“Ever try to get a Skandian to whisper? I swear you can still hear in twenty meters away.” Gilan complained, and Halt nodded along in sympathy. They had both delt with this specific problem before, though it was true that Skandians weren’t exactly built for stealth.

Erak’s chambers were simple. Inevitably constructed from pine logs, there was a sitting room and, screened by a woven wool curtain, a bedchamber to one side. The sitting room had a small log fire burning at one end, giving the room a comfortable warmth, and several carved oak chairs. A very expensive and, she recognized, foreign tapestry covered the rush floor. She guessed it was the result of one of Erak’s raids to Gallica.

“Do they still own that stolen stuff?” Maddie asked.

Will nodded, adding, “Mostly, however I have heard that many nobles and monarchs have offered the return of their stuff for a large sum of money. Sometimes the Skandians agree, sometimes they don’t. I think it usually depends on how much work they get for that season and whether they have enough money to pay their crew.”

In her years at Castle Araluen, she had seen many similar pieces. Woven by the artists of the Tierre Valley over a period of years that often spanned one or two decades, the rugs usually changed hands for a small fortune. Somehow, she didn’t think Erak had paid cash for his. The Jarl was sitting by the fire, leaning back in one of the comfortable-looking carved chairs. He motioned her in and indicated a bottle and glasses on a low table in the centre of the room.

“Come in, girl. Pour us some wine and sit down. We have some talking to do.”

Maddie leaned in curiously.

Uncertainly, she crossed the room and poured the red wine into two glasses. Then, handing one to the Skandian, she sat on the other armchair. Unlike Erak, however, she didn’t sprawl comfortably back. She perched nervously on the edge, as if poised for flight. The Jarl studied her with what appeared to be a hint of sadness in his look, then he waved a hand at her.

“Relax, girl. Nobody’s going to harm you—least of all me. Drink your wine.”

Tentatively, she took a sip and found it good. Erak was watching her and he saw the involuntary expression of surprise on her face.

“You know good wine, then?” he asked her. “I took a hogshead of this out of a Florentine ship in the last raiding season. Not bad, is it?”

She nodded her agreement. She was beginning to relax a little and the wine sent a soft glow through her. She hadn’t touched alcohol in any form for months, she realized. The thought occurred to her that she had better watch her step. And her tongue.

Drinking at 16 while captured in a foreign country doesn’t sound like the best idea, Maddie thought ideally. Sure, she had drunk a little bit during her apprenticeship and boy had Will made her pay for it.

She waited now for the Skandian captain to speak. He seemed to be hesitating, as if not sure how he should proceed. The silence grew between them until, eventually, she could bear it no longer. She took another quick sip of her wine, then asked: “Why did you send for me?”

Cassandra sighed. Once again patience wasn’t one of her most developed skills. She had gotten better at it, but it had taken a while. Quite a while.

Jarl Erak had been staring into the flames of the small fire. He looked up in surprise now as she spoke. He must be unused to having slaves begin conversations with him, she thought. Then she shrugged. They could sit here in silence all night if someone didn’t get the ball rolling. She was intrigued to see a slow smile break out on the bearded face. It occurred to her that in another place, under different conditions, she could grow to quite like the Skandian pirate.

Maddie gave a small smile, “What circumstances might that be, mother?” She asked innocently. Cassandra just fondly rolled her eyes at her daughter while Will and Horace hid their grins.

“Probably not for the reason you’re thinking,” he said, then, before she could reply, he continued, almost to himself, “But somebody has to do something and I think you’re the one for the job.”

“Do something?” Evanlyn repeated. “Do something about what?”

Erak seemed to come to a decision then. He heaved a deep sigh, drained the last of the wine in his glass and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his craggy, bearded face thrust toward her.

“Have you seen your friend lately?” he asked. “Young Will?”

Her eyes dropped from his gaze. She had seen him all right—or rather, she had seen the shambling, mindless figure that he had become. Some days ago, he had been working outside the kitchen and she had taken him some food. He snatched the bread from her hands and devoured it like an animal. But when she spoke to him, he had merely stared at her.

Will looked down again, not wanting to think about life while he was drugged under the warmweed. Thankfully he didn’t recall most of it, but he’d rather leave those events of his life forgotten.

In two short weeks, he had already forgotten Evanlyn, forgotten Halt and the little cottage by the edge of the woods outside Castle Redmont. He had forgotten even the major events that had happened at the Plains of Uthal, when King Duncan’s army had faced and defeated Morgarath’s implacable Wargal regiments.

Those events, and all the others of his young life, might as well have taken place on the far side of the moon for all he was concerned. Today, his life and his total being centred on one thought and one thought only.

His next supply of warmweed.

Maddie frowned, anger stirring in her, but she quickly let it dissipate and took a few deep breaths. The events of this book occurred over 15 years ago, and most people involved had either nothing to do with it or had prevented the situation from getting worse (After a bit of nudging in Erak’s case).

And she also doubted any of the people who did do this would be left alive after Halt had found out their involvement anyway.

One of the other slaves, an older woman, had witnessed the encounter. As Evanlyn returned to the kitchen, she had spoken softly to her.

“Forget your friend. The drug’s got him. He’s already dead.”

Many of the expressions in the room turned stony, and Maddie couldn’t blame them.

“I’ve seen him,” she told Erak now in a low voice.

“I had nothing to do with that,” he said angrily, surprising Evanlyn with the intensity of his reply. “Nothing. Believe me, girl, I hate that damn drug. I’ve seen what it does to people. No one deserves that sort of shadow life.”

She looked up to meet his gaze again. He was obviously sincere and, equally obviously, wanted her to acknowledge what he had said. She nodded.

“I believe you,” she said.

Erak rose from his chair. He strode restlessly about the small, warm room as if action, any form of physical action, would relieve the fury that had been building within him since he’d encountered Will.

“A boy like that, he’s a real warrior. He may only be knee-high to a gnat, but he’s got the heart of a true Skandian.”

Will looked up in surprise at the statement. A small smile formed on his face without him realising it at his friend’s past words.

“He’s a Ranger,” she told him quietly, and he nodded.

“That he is. And he deserves better than this. That damned drug! I don’t know why Ragnak allows it!”

He paused for a long moment, gaining control of his temper. Then he turned to her and continued.

“I want you to know that I tried to keep you two together. I had no idea Borsa would send him to the yard. The man has no concept of how to treat an honourable enemy. But what can you expect? Borsa’s no warrior. He counts sacks of grain for a living.”

“I see,” Evanlyn said carefully. She wasn’t sure that she did, but she felt some response was expected of her. Erak looked at her keenly, assessing her, she thought. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.

“Nobody survives the yard,” he added softly, almost to himself. As he said it, Evanlyn felt a cold hand wrap around her heart.

“So,” he said, “it’s up to us to do something about it.”

Maddie had to stop herself from cheering out loud, as she was glad that someone was doing something to help her mentor.

Evanlyn looked at him, hope rising inside her as he spoke those last words.

“Exactly what sort of thing do you have in mind?” she asked slowly, hoping against hope that she was judging this conversation correctly. Erak paused for a second or two, then decided, irrevocably, to commit himself.

“You’re going to escape,” he said finally. “You’re taking him with you and I’m helping you do it.”

Horace passed the book to Lady Pauline who took it and flipped the page.

Chapter 45: The Icebound Land - Chapter 24

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 24.

Notes:

Hehehehe

The two travellers spent a restless night, taking it in turns to keep watch. Neither of them trusted the local warlord not to come sneaking back in the darkness. As it turned out, however, their fears were unfounded. There was no further sign of Deparnieux that night.

The next morning, as they were saddling their horses in the barn at the rear of the building, the innkeeper approached Halt nervously.

Approaching Halt nervously was something that Maddie felt majority of the people Halt encountered did. She wondered if it became tiresome after so long.

“I can’t say, sir, that I am sorry to see you leave my inn,” he said apologetically. Halt patted him on the shoulder to show that he took no offense.

“I can understand your position, my friend. I’m afraid we haven’t endeared ourselves to your local thug.”

“Thug is too kind of a word for Deparnieux.” Baron Arald muttered under his breath.

The innkeeper glanced around anxiously before agreeing with Halt, as if frightened that someone might be observing them and might report his disloyalty to Deparnieux. Halt guessed that such a thing had probably happened many times before in this town. He felt sorry for the man in the bar the previous night who had laughed—and been seen to do so by the black knight.

“He’ll be fine.” Horace announced cheerfully, “Especially if some tragic accident were to occur to Deparnieux. Oh what a shame that would be…” Gilan and Will hid their smiles as Maddie turned to her father with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s a bad, bad man, right enough, sir,” the innkeeper admitted in a lowered voice. “But what can the likes of us do about him? He has a small army at his back and we’re just tradesmen, not warriors.”

“I wish we could help you,” Halt told him, “but we do have to be on our way.” He hesitated just a second, then asked innocently, “Does the ferry at Les Sourges operate every day?”

Les Sourges was a river town that lay to the west, some twenty kilometres away. Halt and Horace were traveling north. But the Ranger was sure that Deparnieux would return, asking for any clues as to the direction they had taken. He didn’t expect the innkeeper would keep his question a secret. Nor would he blame him if he didn’t. The man was nodding now in confirmation of the question.

“Yes, sir, the ferry will still be running at this time of year. Next month, when the water freezes, it will close down and travellers will have to use the bridge at Colpennières.”

Halt swung up into the saddle. Horace was already mounted, and held the lead rein for their string of captured horses. After the previous night’s events, they had decided it would be wiser to leave the town as quickly as possible.

“We’ll make for the ferry, then,” he said in a carrying voice. “The road forks a few miles to the north, I take it?”

Again, the innkeeper nodded. “That’s right, sir. It’s the first major crossroads you come to. Take the road to the left and you’re headed for the ferry.”

Halt raised a hand in thanks and farewell, and nudging Abelard with his knee, he led the way out of the stable yard.

“I swear you guys get into trouble wherever you go.” Gilan commented ideally. Halt, and Horace raised an eyebrow in the Ranger Commandant’s direction.

They travelled hard that day. Reaching the crossroads, they ignored the left turn and continued straight ahead, heading north. There was no sign on the road behind them that there was any pursuit. But the hills and the woods that surrounded them could have concealed an army if need be. Halt wasn’t entirely convinced that Deparnieux, who knew the countryside, wasn’t traveling parallel to them somewhere, perhaps outflanking them to set up an ambush at some point farther along the road.

It came as something of an anticlimax when, in mid-afternoon, they arrived at yet another small bridge, with yet another knight in attendance, barring their passage across and offering them the choice of paying tribute or contesting with him.

Maddie rolled her eyes at the display. She had honestly started to become fed up with these ‘knights’ and their tendency to block the roads. It must have been tedious to fight them each time and extremely frustrating.

The knight, astride a bony chestnut horse that should have been retired two or three years ago, was a far cry from the warlord they had confronted the night before. His surcoat was muddy and tattered. It may have been yellow once, but now it had faded to a dirty off-white. His armour had been patched in several places and his lance was obviously a roughly trimmed sapling, with a decided kink about a third of the way along its length. His shield was inscribed with a boar’s head. It seemed appropriate for a man as rusty, tattered and generally grubby as he was.

They came to a halt, surveying the scene. Halt sighed wearily.

“I am getting so very tired of this,” he muttered to Horace, and began unslinging his longbow from where he wore it across his shoulders.

A few people around the table nodded in agreement.

“Just a moment, Halt,” said Horace, shrugging his round buckler from its position on his back and onto his left arm. “Why don’t we let him see the oakleaf insignia and see if that changes his mind about things?”

Halt scowled at the tatterdemalion figure in the road ahead of them, hesitating as his hand reached for an arrow.

“Well, all right,” he said reluctantly. “But we’ll give him one chance only. Then I’m putting an arrow through him. I’m heartily sick of these people.”

Should have just put an arrow through him, Halt thought to himself, knowing that it could have prevented the events to come. A single arrow cold have saved them a few months…and would have probably led to the downfall of the entirety of Skandia and the Western world.

He slouched back in his saddle as Horace rode to meet the scruffy knight. So far, there had been no sound from the figure in the middle of the road and that, thought Halt, was unusual. As a general rule, the road warriors couldn’t wait to issue challenges, usually peppering their speech with generous helpings of “Ho, varlet!” and “Have at thee then, sir knight” and other antiquated claptrap of the sort.

And even as the thought occurred to him, warning bells went off in his mind and he called to the young apprentice who was now some twenty meters away, trotting Kicker to meet his challenger.

“Horace! Come back! It’s a…”

But before he could say the last word, an amorphous shape dropped from the branches of an oak tree that overhung the road, draping itself around the head and shoulders of the boy. For a moment, Horace struggled uselessly in the folds of the net that enveloped him. Then an unseen hand tugged on a rope and the net tightened around him and he was jerked out of the saddle, to crash heavily onto the road.

Maddie winced internally, as she had a sneaky suspicion on how set this trap for them.

Startled, Kicker reared away from his fallen rider, trotted a few paces, then, sensing he was in no danger himself, stopped and watched, ears pricked warily.

Horace made a face, “Your support is overwhelming Kicker.” He spoke the lines out loud as if his horse could somehow hear him.

A few people gave him a sideways glance but all the Ranger’s paid it no mind, as it wasn’t uncommon for them to speak to their horses as well.

“…trap,” finished Halt quietly, cursing his lack of awareness. Distracted by the ridiculous appearance of the shabby knight, he had allowed his senses to relax, leading them into this current predicament.

“Bit late on the warning Halt!” Gilan noted cheerfully. Halt just rolled his eyes in response while Horace made another there you go gesture in Gilan’s direction.

He had an arrow on the bowstring now, but there was no visible target, save the knight on the ancient battle horse, who still sat silently in the middle of the road. He was part of the entire elaborate setup, without a doubt. He had shown no sign of surprise when the net had fallen onto Horace.

“Well, my friend, you can pay for your part in this deception,” Halt muttered, and brought the bow up smoothly, bringing it back in a full draw until the feathered end touched his cheek, just above the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t think I’d do that,” said a familiar gravelly voice. The ragged, rusty knight pushed back his visor, revealing the dark features of Deparnieux.

The group collectively sighed and muttered a few curses at the appearance of the warlord. It was safe to say that Deparnieux wasn’t a highly regarded figure in the group.

Halt swore to himself. He hesitated, the arrow still at full draw, and heard a series of small noises from the underbrush on either side of the road. Slowly, he released the tension on the string as he became aware that at least a dozen shapes had risen from the bushes, all of them holding deadly little crossbows.

All of them pointing toward him.

Maddie in took sharply. They obviously knew who the biggest threat in this situation was, and it wasn’t her father who was currently tied up in a net.

He replaced the arrow in the quiver at his back and lowered the bow until it rested across his thighs. He glanced hopelessly to where Horace still struggled against the fine woven mesh that had wrapped itself around him. Now more men were emerging from the bushes and trees that flanked the road. They approached the helpless apprentice, and as four of them covered him with crossbows, the others worked to loosen the folds of the net and bring him, red-faced, to his feet.

Deparnieux, grinning widely with satisfaction, urged his bony horse down the road toward them. Stopping within easy speaking distance, he performed a cursory bow from the waist.

“Dramatics.” Halt scoffed under his breath.

“Now, gentlemen,” he said mockingly, “I will be privileged to have you as my guests at Château Montsombre.”

Halt raised one eyebrow. “How could we possibly refuse?” he asked, of no one in particular.

Lady Pauline passed the book to Sir Rodney.

Chapter 46: The Icebound Land - Chapter 25

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 25.

Notes:

Good things come in threes :)

Hope you enjoy

(Also, there is a tiny mention of suicide by Evanlyn, nothing serious)

Sir Rodney began reading.

It had been five days since Evanlyn had been summoned to Erak’s quarters. While she waited for further contact from him, she went ahead with the other part of the plan he had outlined to her, complaining loudly at the prospect of being assigned to be one of his personal slaves.

According to the story they had concocted, she would finish the week in the kitchen, then take up her new assignment. She professed her disgust with him in general, with his standard of cleanliness in particular, and spoke as often as she could of the cruelty he had shown her on the voyage to Hallasholm.

To hear Erak described by Evanlyn in those few days, he was the worst of the devils of hell, and with bad breath to boot.

Will smiled at the prospect. “He’s actually a great guy once you get to know him.” Cassandra explained. Everyone at the table who had met Erak agreed wholeheartedly.

After several days of this, Jana, one of the senior kitchen slaves, said to her wearily, “There could be worse things for you, my girl. Get used to it.”

She turned away, tired of Evanlyn’s constant complaints. For in truth, the life of a personal slave had some advantages: better food and clothing and more comfortable quarters among them.

“I’ll kill myself first,” Evanlyn called after her, glad of the chance to make her abhorrence of the Jarl more public. A passing kitchen-hand, a freeman, not a slave, cuffed her heavily around the back of the head, setting her ears ringing.

Cassandra winced as she saw her husband tense at mention of violence towards his future wife. Horace only hoped that this ‘freeman’ met death in the up-coming battle as hunting him down over twenty years later would be far too much of a hassle.

“I’ll do it for you, you lazy slacker, if you don’t get back to work,” he told her. She shook her head, glaring her hatred after his retreating back, and hurried off to serve ale to Ragnak and his fellow diners.

As ever, she felt a distinct surge of anxiety as she entered the dining hall under Ragnak’s gaze. Although reason told her that he was unlikely to single her out from the dozens of other hurrying slaves busily serving food and drink, she still lived in the constant fear that, somehow, she would be recognized as Duncan’s daughter. It was that anxiety, as much as the nonstop work, that left her drained and exhausted at the end of each night.

Which was understandable, Maddie thought. If she believed that her life was endanger like that, even the simplest tasks would become dangerous and just one wrong move could get her killed.

After the evening’s work was completed, the slaves moved gratefully to their sleeping spaces. Evanlyn noted wryly that Jana, obviously bored with Evanlyn’s constant complaints about Erak, had moved her blanket to the far side of the room. She spread her own blanket and went to reroll the cloth around her log pillow. As she did so, a small piece of paper fell from the folds of the old shirt she used to pad the wood.

Maddie sat up expectantly.

Her heart racing, Evanlyn quickly covered the scrap with her foot, glancing around to see if any of her neighbours had noticed. Nobody seemed to. They all continued with their own preparations for sleep. As casually as she could, Evanlyn lay down, retrieving the small scrap of paper as she did so, and pulled her blanket up to her chin, taking the opportunity to glance at the one-word message written on the paper:

“Tonight.”

Will paid close attention to the next part. He didn’t remember much about their escape, as he had been heavily under the drug’s influence at the time.

A kitchenhand came in a few minutes later and doused the lanterns, leaving only the flickering flames of the banked fire to light the room. Exhausted as she was, Evanlyn lay on her back, eyes wide open, pulses racing, waiting for the time to pass.

Gradually, the voices around the room fell silent, replaced by the deep, regular breathing of sleeping slaves. Here and there were soft snores or the occasional cough, and, once or twice, a voice spoke out, slurred and indistinct, as an elderly Teuton slave muttered in her sleep.

The fire died away to a dull red glow and Evanlyn heard the watch sounding the horn for midnight from the harbor. That would be the last signal horn until dawn, at around seven o’clock. She settled back to wait. Erak had told her to wait till an hour after the midnight signal. “That gives them time to settle down and sleep deeply,” he’d said to her, when he outlined his plan. “Leave it any longer and the light sleepers and the older slaves will start waking up and needing to use the privies.”

Gilan nodded at the point, as he knew it was taught to Rangers that the hours after midnight were the best for sneaking around or scouting out enemy territory.

In spite of the tension she felt, her eyelids were beginning to droop, and with a panicky start, she realized she had nearly dropped off to sleep. That would be perfect, she thought bitterly, to have the Jarl waiting for her outside the Great Hall while she was snoring soundly in her blanket.

Cassandra didn’t even want to imagine a world where that happened. She had a feeling it would look a lot different to the one she knew.

She shifted on the hard floor, moving to a less comfortable position, digging her nails into her palms so that the pain would keep her alert. She began to count to measure the time passing, then realized, almost too late, that the soporific effect of counting had nearly put her to sleep again.

Finally, with a shrug of annoyance, she decided that an hour must have passed. There was no sign of anyone being awake in the kitchen as she cautiously pushed back her blanket and stood up. If anyone stirred, she reasoned, she could always claim that she was heading for the privy herself. She had gone to bed fully dressed, apart from her boots.

She carried them with her now, wrapping the blanket around her. As the fire had died down, the room had grown progressively colder and she shivered as the chill air struck at her.

The door to the yard seemed to be loud enough to wake the dead as she tried to ease it open. It swung on the heavy hinges with what seemed to be a deafening shriek. Wincing, she shut it as carefully as she could, marvelling that nobody had seemed to be disturbed by the noise.

“Thick walls used to insulate the inside from the cold.” Halt mused to himself.

There was no moon. The night was overcast with thick clouds, but still the snow that covered the ground reflected what little light there was, making it easy to see details. The black mass that was the yard slaves’ sleeping quarters, a cold and drafty barn, was easily visible, thirty or forty meters away.

Hopping from one foot to the other, she tugged on her boots. Then, hugging the wall of the main building, she moved to her left, making for the corner as Erak had instructed. As she reached the end of the wall, she let out an involuntary gasp. There was a burly figure waiting there, huddled close in to the shadow of the building.

For a moment, she felt a shaft of fear stab at her. Then she realized it was Jarl Erak.

Maddie’s heart race pounded in her ears as she listened to the story.

“You’re late,” he whispered in an angry tone. She realized that he was possibly as keyed up as she was. Jarl or no jarl, he was risking his life to help a slave escape and he’d be well aware of the fact.

“Some of them hadn’t settled down,” she lied. It seemed pointless to tell him that she’d had no way of measuring time. He grunted in reply and she guessed her excuse was accepted. He thrust a small sack into her hands.

“Here,” he said. “There are a few silver coins in there. You’ll probably have to bribe one of the Committeemen to get the boy out of there. This should be enough. If I give you more, they’ll only get suspicious and wonder where it came from.”

No one spoke as the urgency from the escape seemed to leak out into the real world.

She nodded. They had discussed all this in his quarters five nights before. The escape would have to be accomplished without any suspicion falling on Erak. This was the reason why he had instructed her to spend the last few days complaining about the prospect of becoming his slave. It would create an apparent reason for her attempt to escape.

“Take this as well,” he said, handing her a small dagger in a leather sheath. “You might need it to make sure he sticks to the bargain after you’ve bribed him.”

Cassandra tended to carry dangers on her person these days, a habit that had saved her life more than once.

She took the weapon, shoving it through the wide belt she wore. She was dressed in breeches and a shirt, with the blanket draped around her shoulders like a cloak.

“Once I get him out, what then?” she asked softly. Erak pointed to the path that led down to the harbor, and to the township of Hallasholm itself.

“Follow that path. Not far from the gate, you’ll see another path branching off to the left, uphill. Take that. I’ve tethered a pony along the path, with food and warm clothing. You’ll need the horse to keep Will moving.” He hesitated, then added, “You’ll also find a small supply of warmweed in the saddle pack.”

Maddie frowned questioningly.

She looked up at him, surprised. The other night, he had made no secret of his distaste for the narcotic.

“You’ll need it for Will,” he explained briefly. “Once a person’s addicted to the stuff, you can kill him by stopping the supply all at once. You’ll have to wean him off it gradually, reducing the amount each week, until his mind recovers and he can do without it.”

Will shifted uncomfortably at thought of his friend giving him warmweed. Sure, it was to wane him off it, but it was still an uncomfortable thought.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, and he gripped her wrist encouragingly. He glanced at the low clouds above them, sniffing the air.

“It’ll snow before dawn,” he said. “That will cover your tracks. Plus I’ll lay a false trail as well. Just keep heading up into the mountains. Follow the path until you come to a fork in the trail by three boulders, with the largest in the middle. Then branch left and you’ll reach the hut in another two days’ travel.”

He really has thought long and hard about this, Maddie realised, he really did care. She made a quick note that if she ever met the Oberjarl that she would thank him for what he’d done.

There was a small hut up in the mountains, used as a base for hunters during the summer season. It would be unoccupied now and would provide a relatively safe refuge for them through the winter.

“Remember,” he told her, “once the spring thaw starts, get moving. The boy should have recovered by then. But you can’t afford to be caught up there by hunters. Get out once the snow’s gone and keep heading south.” He hesitated, then shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he said. “This is the best I could come up with at short notice, and if we don’t do something now, Will won’t survive much longer.”

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his bearded cheek.

Horace raised his eyebrows as he turned around to look at his wife. She shrugged her shoulders, cheeks turning slightly pink. “He helped us, it was the least I could do for him.”

“You’re doing plenty,” she said. “I’ll never forget you for this, Jarl Erak. I can’t begin to thank you for what you’re doing.”

Awkwardly, he shrugged away her thanks. He glanced at the sky once more, then jerked his thumb at the yard slaves’ barracks.

“You’d better get going,” he told her. Then he added, “Good luck.”

She grinned quickly at him, then hurried across the bare patch of ground to the barracks. She felt glaringly exposed as she crossed the snow-covered yard, and half expected to hear a challenge from somewhere behind her. But she made it to the building without incident and shrank gratefully into the shadows at the base of the wall.

She paused a few seconds to regain her breath and let her heart settle to a more normal pace. Then she edged her way along the wall to the door. It was locked, of course, but only from the outside and only with a simple bolt. She slid it back now, holding her breath as the metal rasped on metal, then swung the rickety door open and slipped inside.

Maddie winced. It sounded like the yard slaves were being locked inside a barn little common cattle in the Winter, like animals. The thought just sickened her and she was glad that the Skandians now treated their slaves better.

It was dark in the barracks, with no fire to light the gloom. She waited, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. Gradually, she could make out the sleeping forms of the slaves, sprawled on the dirt floor, wrapped in rags and scraps of blankets. Light fell across them in bars, coming through the gaps in the rough pine walls of the building.

The Committeemen, Erak had told her, had a separate room at the end of the barracks, where they even kept a small fire burning for warmth. But there was always a chance that one of them might stay on watch in the main barracks. That was why he had given her the silver.

And the dagger.

She touched her hand to the cold hilt of the weapon now, feeling it for reassurance. She had reconnoitred the barracks several days ago and she knew roughly where Will had his sleeping space. She began to head toward it, picking her way carefully among the prone bodies. Her eyes moved this way and that, seeking him out, and she felt a growing sense of desperation as she searched. Then she made out that unmistakable shock of hair above a ragged blanket, and with a sigh of relief, she made her way to him.

At least there would be no problem getting Will to move. Yard slaves, their senses dulled and their minds slowed by the drug, would obey any command they were given.

Everyone winced as the drug was brought up again. They could tell it was not a topic that Will wanted to openly discuss, however Maddie had been the one who wanted to read the novel and Will had allowed it.

She crouched beside Will, shaking his shoulder to wake him—gently at first, then, realizing that in his drugged state he would sleep like the dead, increasingly roughly.

“Will!” she hissed, leaning close to his ear. “Get up. Wake up!”

He muttered once. But his eyes remained tight shut and his breathing heavy. She shook him again with a growing sense of panic.

“Please, Will,” she begged. “Wake up!” And she hit him across the cheek with the palm of her hand.

Cassandra and Will winced simultaneously. She shot him an apologetic look which he brushed off. It was clear to him that there had been very little else she could have done to get him moving in that state.

That did the trick. His eyes opened and he stared foggily at her. There was no sign of recognition but at least he was awake. She dragged at his shoulder.

“Get up,” she commanded. “And follow me.”

Her heart leaped in triumph as he obeyed. He moved slowly, but he moved, rising groggily to his feet and standing, swaying unsteadily, beside her, waiting for further instructions.

She pointed to the door, swinging open and letting a band of white light into the barracks. “Go. To the door,” she ordered, and he began to trudge toward it, uncaring where he put his feet, kicking and treading on the other sleeping slaves. Remarkably, they showed little reaction, at most muttering or tossing in their sleep. She turned to follow him, but a cold voice from the far end of the room stopped her in her tracks.

“Just a moment, missy. Where do you think you’re going?”

Maddie held her breath, along with everyone else in the room.

It was a Committeeman. Even worse, it was Egon. Jarl Erak had been right. They did take turns to stand watch over the other slaves. She turned to face him as he made his way through the crowded room. Like Will, he paid no heed to the sleeping figures on the floor, treading on them as he came.

Evanlyn drew herself up, took a deep breath and said, in as steady a voice as she could manage: “Jarl Erak sent me to fetch this slave. He needs firewood brought into his quarters.”

The gang boss hesitated. It was not impossible that she was telling the truth. If one of the senior Jarls ran out of firewood in the middle of the night, he’d have no compunction about sending a slave to bring a new stack in.

However, he was suspicious and he thought he recognized this girl.

“Really, didn’t think he’d have a brain big enough for such a feat.” The Baron muttered, distasteful of the slave.

“He sent for this slave in particular?” he challenged.

“That’s right,” Evanlyn replied, trying to sound unconcerned. It was the one part of their story that was thin. There was no reason why Erak, or any other Skandian, would have specified a particular yard slave for a menial carrying task.

“Why this slave?” he pressed, and she knew the bluff wouldn’t work. She tried another tack.

“Well, he didn’t actually say this one. He just said a slave. But Will’s a friend of mine and he’ll get to work inside where it’s warm for a few hours and maybe a decent meal, so I thought…” She let the sentence hang, shrugging her shoulders, hoping he’d be satisfied. Egon, however, simply continued to stare at her. Then, finally, his eyes narrowed in recognition.

Maddie cursed under her breath at him and his annoying habit of getting in the way.

“That’s right,” he said. “You were in here the other day. I saw you looking around, didn’t I?”

Inwardly, Evanlyn cursed him. She decided she had to break this impasse quickly. She tugged out the small sack of coins and jingled it.

“Look, I’m just trying to do a friend a good turn,” she said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure none of the other Committeemen were witness to the scene. Then his hand shot out and he grabbed the sack from her.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “I do something for you, and you do something for me.” He shoved the coins inside his shirt and moved closer to her, standing only a few centimetres away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Will was waiting, an uninterested spectator, by the doorway. Suddenly Egon grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

Will hissed something as Horace growled in anger at the prospect of any slaver touching his wife.

“Maybe you can find a few more coins hidden somewhere,” he suggested. Then a frown came over his face as he felt a sharp pain in his belly—and a warm trickle running down his skin from the spot where the pain was cantered. Evanlyn smiled without any warmth.

“Maybe I can gut you like a herring if you don’t let go,” she said, jabbing the razor-sharp dagger into his skin once more.

“Should have just guttered him.” Halt suggested and Horace nodded tensely in agreement.

She wasn’t totally sure that herrings were gutted. But neither did he seem to be. He backed off quickly, waving at the door and cursing her.

“All right,” he said. “Get out of here. But I’ll make your friend pay for this when he comes back.”

Maddie smirked openly and a few others joined her.

With a vast sigh of relief, Evanlyn hurried to the door, grabbing Will’s arm and dragging him outside. Once there, she turned and slid the bolt home again.

“Come on, Will. Let’s get out of here,” she said, and led the way toward the path to the harbuor.

From the shadows, Jarl Erak watched the figures leave and heaved his own sigh of relief.

Then, after a few minutes, he followed them. There was still work for him to do this night.

Everyone let out a huge breath of relief has they realised that Cassandra had managed to escape with Will unscathed. Sir Rodney slid the book over to Horace who took it sceptically, as he had a feeling he knew what the next chapter would be about.

Notes:

Those three chapters definitely make up for the week I spent sick? Right?
And also for any future chapters I may miss, that to.

Chapter 47: The Icebound Land - Chapter 26

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 26.

Notes:

Here you go, just as promised.

Enjoy :)

The small cavalcade followed the road North. Halt and Horace rode in the centre with Deparnieux, who had changed into his customary black armour and surcoat. The raddled old hack that he had been riding was now consigned to the rear of the column, and he was astride a large, aggressive and, as Halt had expected, black battle horse.

Maddie had to refrain herself from quipping something insulting about battle horses as three people around the table rode such horses, and if there was anything they would all argue about, it was horses.

They were surrounded by at least two dozen men-at-arms, marching silently ahead and behind. In addition, there were ten mounted warriors, split into two groups of five and stationed at either end of the column.

Baron Arald reconsidered the Black knight, surprised about the number of troops he had. If this was the party that accompanied him, then he must have at least twice or three times the manpower he would have left at his castle.

Halt noticed that the men nearest them kept their crossbows loaded and ready for use. He had no doubt that at the first indication that they wanted to escape, he and Horace would be bristling with crossbow bolts before they had gone ten steps.

His own longbow was slung across his shoulder, while Horace had retained his sword and lance. Deparnieux had shrugged at them as he took them captive, indicating the mass of armed men around them.

“You can see it’s no use resisting,” he said, “so I’ll allow you to hold on to your weapons.” He had then glanced meaningfully at the longbow resting lightly across Halt’s saddle pommel. “However,” he added, “I think I’d feel more at ease with that bow unstrung, and slung over your shoulder.”

Maddie noticed her mentor’s expression thin incredibly quickly. Will was obviously not pleased about his mentor and best friend getting captured.

Halt had shrugged and complied. His look told Horace that there was a time to fight, and a time to accept the inevitable. Horace had nodded and they had fallen in beside the Gallic warlord, finding themselves immediately bunched in by his retainers. Halt noted wryly that Deparnieux’s generosity did not extend to their string of captured horses and armour.

He gruffly ordered for their lead rein to be handed to one of his mounted retainers, who now rode at the rear of the column with them. Their captor noted with interest that the shaggy little packhorse did not have a lead rope, and stayed calmly alongside Halt’s mount. He raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

Will’s expression further soured as the warlord started to take notice in his horse.

To Halt’s surprise, the black-clad knight turned his horse’s head to the north and they began their march.

“May I ask where you are taking us?” he said.

Deparnieux bowed from the saddle with mock courtesy.

Maddie tried to hide her snicker at the thought of someone bowing to Halt, even a warlord from a foreign country.

“We are heading for my castle at Montsombre,” he told them, “where you will remain as my guests for a short while.”

Halt nodded, digesting that piece of information. Then he asked further: “And why might we be doing that?”

The black knight smiled at him. “Because you interest me,” he said. “You travel with a knight and you carry a yeoman’s weapons. But you’re no simple retainer, are you?”

“Halt? A retainer? No noble would willingly put up with him for that long!” Gilan exclaimed and half the table had to hide their smiles. Halt just rolled his eyes fondly, as he knew that all the important nobles of Araluen knew and respected the old Ranger.

Halt said nothing this time, merely shrugging. Deparnieux, eyeing him shrewdly, nodded as if confirming his own thought.

“No. You are not. You’re the leader here, not the follower. And your clothing interests me. This cloak of yours…” He leaned across from his saddle and fingered the folds of Halt’s dappled Ranger cloak. “I’ve never seen one quite like it.”

Horace rolled his eyes, “Obviously this guy has never been to Araluen. That place is swarming with that kind of fashion as far as I’ve heard.”

He paused, waiting to see if Halt would comment this time. When he didn’t, Deparnieux didn’t seem too surprised. He continued, “And you’re an expert archer. No, you’re more than that. I don’t know any archer who could have pulled off that shot you made last night.”

Halt snorted, “I know at least fifty people…” He didn’t finish that statement, however he didn’t have to.

This time, Halt made a small gesture of self-deprecation. “It wasn’t such a great shot,” he replied. “I was aiming for your throat.”

Deparnieux’s laugh rang out loud and long.

“Oh, I think not, my friend. I think your arrow went straight where you aimed it.” And he laughed again. Halt noticed that the merriment, loud as it was, didn’t reach his eyes. “So,” Deparnieux said, “I decided that such an unusual fish might deserve more study. You may be useful to me, my friend. After all, who knows what other skills and abilities may lie hidden under that unusual cloak of yours?”

Maddie was two seconds away from wanting to shoot something, as this conversation was going nowhere.

Horace watched the two men. The Gallic knight seemed to have lost all interest in him and he wasn’t unhappy about that fact. In spite of the light, bantering words between the two men, he could sense the deadly serious undertones of the conversation. The whole thing was getting beyond him and he was content to follow Halt’s lead and see where this turn of events took them.

“I doubt I’ll be of any use to you,” Halt replied evenly to the warlord’s last statement.

Horace wondered if Deparnieux read the underlying message there: that Halt had no intention of using his skills in his captor’s service.

It seemed that he had, for the black knight regarded the short figure riding beside him for a moment, then replied, “Well, we’ll see about that. For the meantime, let me offer you my hospitality until your young friend’s arm has healed.” He looked around to smile at Horace, including him in the conversation for the first time. “After all, these are not safe roads to ride if you’re not fully fit.”

Maddie rolled her eyes; her father had been doing fine before.

They made camp that night in a small clearing close to the road. Deparnieux posted sentries, but Halt noticed that the number assigned to watch inward exceeded those who were tasked with guarding the camp from attack. Deparnieux must feel relatively safe within these lands, Halt thought. Significantly, as they settled for the night, their captor demanded that their weapons be surrendered for safekeeping. With no real alternative, the two Araluens were forced to comply.

At least the warlord made no further pretence of cordiality, choosing instead to eat and sleep alone in the pavilion—made from black canvas, of course—that his men pitched for him.

“He wouldn’t last long in Arridia.” Gilan commented, smiling at the thought.

Halt found himself facing something of a quandary. If he were traveling alone, it would be a matter of the utmost simplicity for him to just melt away into the night, retrieving his weapons as he went.

But Horace was totally unskilled in the Ranger arts of unseen movement and evasion and there was no possibility that Halt could spirit him away as well. He had no doubt that, if he were to disappear alone, Horace would not survive very long. So Halt contented himself with waiting and seeing what might transpire. At least they were heading north, which was the direction they wanted to follow.

Maddie frowned as she sensed a trend in these books. It seemed the Ranger’s could take care of themselves; however it was when they were accompanied by someone else was when the situation turned out for the worst.

Will could have escaped before going to Skandia, but he didn’t want to leave her mother. Halt could have escaped now from the corrupt knight; however he knew that her father wouldn’t survive without him.

In addition, he had learned in the tavern the night before that the high passes between Teutlandt, the neighbouring land to the north, and Skandia above it would be blocked by snows at this time of the year. So they might as well find quarters in which to spend the next month or two. He guessed that Château Montsombre would fit that bill as well as any other. Halt had no doubt that Deparnieux had some inkling of his real occupation. Obviously, he hoped to enlist him in his battle against neighbouring warlords. For the moment, he mused, they were safe enough, and heading in the right direction.

When the time came, he might have to ring a few changes. But that time wasn’t yet.

The following day, they came to the warlord’s castle. After his initial display of goodwill, Deparnieux had decided not to return their weapons in the morning and Halt felt strangely naked without the comforting, familiar weight of the knives at his belt and the two dozen arrows slung over his shoulder.

Maddie was glad to know that she wasn’t the only one.

Château Montsombre reared above the surrounding forest on a plateau reached by a narrow, winding path. As they climbed higher and higher up the path, the ground fell away on either side in a sheer slope. The path itself was barely wide enough for four men traveling abreast. It was a width that allowed reasonable access to friendly forces, but prevented any invader from approaching in large numbers. It was a grim reminder of the state of affairs in Gallica, where neighbouring warlords battled constantly for supremacy and the possibility of attack was ever present.

The castle itself was squat and powerful, with thick walls and heavy towers at each of the four corners. It had none of the soaring grace of Redmont or Castle Araluen. Rather, it was a dark, brooding and forbidding structure, built for war and for no other reason. Halt had told Horace that the word Montsombre translated to mean “dark mountain.” It seemed an appropriate name for the thick-walled building at the end of the winding, tortuous pathway.

Baron Arald snorted rather loudly, “What a grim sounding place.”

The name became even more meaningful as they climbed higher. There were poles lining the side of the road, with strange, square structures hanging from them. As they drew closer, Horace could make out, to his horror, that the structures were iron cages, only an arm span wide, containing the remains of what used to be men.

Maddie gasped in horror, feeling slightly sick at the thought. People being kept in cages like animals, it was inhuman.

They hung high above the roadway, swaying gently in the wind that keened around the upper reaches of the path. Some had obviously been there for many months. The figures inside were dried-out husks, blackened and shrivelled by their long exposure, and festooned in fluttering rags of rotting cloth. But others were newer and the men inside were recognizable.

She noticed a few other people around the table looking away or reacting the same way she had, with utter disgust. A rush of anger quickly swarmed her thoughts, she couldn’t help but wait impatiently for this coward’s death.

The cages were constructed from iron bars arranged in squares, leaving room for ravens and crows to enter and tear at the men’s flesh. The eyes of most of the bodies had been plucked out by the birds.

He glanced, sickened, at Halt’s grim face. Deparnieux saw the movement and smiled at him, delighted with the impression his roadside horrors were having on the boy.

Cassandra bared her teeth threateningly. The atmosphere in the room dropped a considerable degree.

“Just the occasional criminal,” he said easily. “They’ve all been tried and convicted, of course. I insist on a strict rule of law in Montsombre.”

“What were their crimes?” the boy asked. His throat was thick and constricted and it was difficult to form the words. Again, Deparnieux gave him that unconcerned smile. He made a pretence of trying to think.

“Let’s say ‘various,’” he replied. “In short, they displeased me.”

The faces around the tables were grim.

Horace held the other man’s amused gaze for a few seconds, then, shaking his head, he turned away. He tried to keep his own gaze from the tattered, sorry figures hanging above him. There must have been more than twenty of them all told. Then his horror increased as he realized that not all of them were dead. In one of the cages, he saw the imprisoned figure moving. At first, he thought it was an illusion, caused by the movement of the man’s clothing in the wind. Then one hand reached through the bars as they drew closer and a pitiful croaking sound came from the cage.

Unmistakably, it was a cry for mercy.

“Oh my God,” said Horace softly, and he heard Halt’s sharp intake of breath beside him.

Horace laid the book down for a second, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked at each one in turn, “Do we want to break?”

One by one they shook their heads. When it came to Maddie, she hesitated but quickly followed suite. She wanted to get this over as quickly as possible and she was sure everyone else was the same.

Deparnieux reined in his black horse and sat, easing his weight to one side in the saddle. “Recognize him?” he asked, an amused tone in his voice. “You saw him the other night, in the tavern.”

Horace frowned, puzzled. The man wasn’t familiar to him. But there had been at least a dozen people in the tavern on the night when they had first encountered the warlord. He wondered why he should be expected to remember this man more than any of the others.

Then Halt said, in a cold voice: “He was the one who laughed.”

Maddie froze, remembering the person from earlier. How could anyone do that to someone else? Why?

Deparnieux gave a low chuckle. “That’s right. He was a man of rare humour. Strange how his sense of fun seems to have deserted him now. You’d think he might while away the hours with the odd merry jest.”

And he shook his reins, slapping them on his battle horse’s neck and moving off once again. The entourage moved with him, stopping when he stopped, moving when he moved, and forcing Halt and Horace to keep pace.

Horace looked at Halt once more, seeking some message of comfort there. The Ranger met his gaze for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. He understood how the boy was feeling, sickened by the depravity and abject cruelty he was witnessing. Somehow, Horace found a little comfort from Halt’s nod. He touched his knee to Kicker’s side and urged him forward. And together, they rode toward the dark and forbidding castle that waited for them.

Maddie let out a huge breath and quickly closed her eyes, letting the events wash over her and shoving the horrors she had listened to disappear into the back of her mind.

She opened her eyes to see Horace hand over the book to Cassandra who took it with a slight hesitance. She opened the book and after a moment began reading.

Chapter 48: The Icebound Land - Chapter 27

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 27.

Notes:

Thank you to those leaving kudos! Know that your support is greatly appreciated.

Cassandra began steadily.

The pony was where Erak had told her it would be. It stood tethered to a sapling, its hindquarters turned patiently to the icy wind that was bringing the snow clouds lower over Hallasholm.

Evanlyn untied the rope bridle and the little horse came docilely along. Above their heads, the wind sighed through the pine needles, sounding like some strange inland surf as it stirred the snow-clad branches.

Will followed her dumbly, staggering in the calf-deep snow that covered the path. It was hard going for Evanlyn, but even harder for the boy, exhausted and worn out as he was from weeks of hard labour with insufficient food or warmth.

Maddie clenched her fists tightly at the thought of anyone being treated like the slaves had been. The actions were inhuman, but thankfully the Skandians had abandoned the worst of the practises.

It also didn’t help that she knew an experience would scar someone for a very long time, and Will was one of the strongest people she knew. She had no idea how much courage and will-power it must have taken to get over that, but Maddie was beyond thankful that he had.

Soon, she knew, she should stop and find the warm clothing that Erak had said was inside the pack on the pony’s back. And she’d probably need to let Will ride the pony if they were to make any distance before dawn.

But, for the moment, she wanted no delay, no matter how short. All her instincts told her to continue, to put as much distance as possible between them and the Skandian township, and to do it as fast as she could.

Maddie didn’t want to know what would have happened if her mother had gotten caught. At best, she and Will would have been punished severely for running away. At worst, someone could have worked out her identity and she would have been executed.

From there, the war with the Temujai would have been lost and the entirety of Araluen and its neighbouring countries would have been in danger.

The path wound up into the mountains and she leaned forward, into the wind, leading the pony with one hand and holding Will’s icy-cold hand in the other. Together, they stumbled on, slipping on the thick snow, staggering over tree roots and rocks that were hidden beneath its smooth surface.

Maddie shivered. She had never personally been to Skandia, but by the description it didn’t sound like the type of place to have a pleasant Winter.

Cassandra paused, closed the book with her finger on the current page, and looked at the cover. She showed it to everyone else and they all nodded in agreement at what the cover was depicting. The Queen then got back to reading.

After half an hour’s traveling, she felt the first tentative flakes of snow brushing her face as they fell. Then they were tumbling down in earnest, heavy and thick. She paused, looking at the path behind them, where their footprints were already half obscured.

Erak had known it would snow heavily tonight, she thought. He had waited until his sailor’s instincts had told him that all signs of their passage would be covered. For the first time since she had crept out of the Lodge’s open gateway, she felt her heart lift with hope. Perhaps, after all, things would work out for them.

Will muttered something that sounded like, “Don’t get your hopes up too much.” But Maddie paid him no mind.

Behind her, Will stumbled and, muttering incoherently, fell to his knees in the snow.

She turned to him and realized that he was shivering and blue with the cold, virtually done in. Moving to the pack slung over the pony’s back, she unlaced the fastenings and rummaged inside.

There was a thick sheepskin vest, among other items, and she draped it around the shivering boy’s shoulders, helping him push his arms through the armholes.

“Why were there only one sheepskin vest in the pack?” Maddie question and her mother replied, pausing her reading again.

“There was another in there I also put on, Erak didn’t only leave us with one vest between the two of us.”

He stared at her dully as she did so. He was a dumb animal, mutely accepting whatever befell him. She could hit him, she knew, and he would make no attempt to avoid the blow, or to strike back at her.

Maddie frowned at her mother who winced at the thoughts of her past self. She opened her mouth to apologise, however Will waved it away wordlessly.

Sadly, she contemplated him, remembering him as he had been. Erak had said he could possibly recover, although very few warmweed addicts ever got the chance. Isolated in the mountains as they would be, Will was going to have every opportunity to break the vicious cycle of the drug. She prayed now that the Skandian Jarl was right, and that it was possible for an addict, deprived of warmweed, to make a full recovery.

There was silence at the table. They knew how lucky it was that Will was able to recover from the warmweed addiction, however that didn’t mean hearing his odds made them feel any better about what happened.

She shoved the unresisting boy toward the pony, motioning for him to climb astride. For a moment he hesitated, then, clumsily, he hauled himself up into the saddle and sat there, swaying uncertainly, as she headed out again, following the forest pathway as it led them up into the mountains. Around them, the fat flakes of snow continued to tumble down.

Erak watched the two figures move furtively off into the forest, taking the fork that he had described to Evanlyn. Satisfied that they were on their way, he followed them out of the stockade but continued past the point where they had turned off, and headed for the harbour instead.

“I didn’t know Erak followed us.” Cassandra muttered to herself, though it made sense. If he had set a false trail, it would be easier to make it off an existing one.

There were no sentries posted at the Great Hall at this time of year. There was no fear of attackers, as the thick snows covering the mountains around them were more effective than any human sentries. But Erak was more cautious as he approached the harbour front.

A watch was kept here, to ensure that the wolfships rode safely at their moorings. A sudden squall could see the ships dragging their anchors and being cast up onshore, and so a few men were posted to give warning and rouse the duty crews in case of danger.

But they could just as easily see him and wonder what he was doing at this time of night, so he stayed in the shadows wherever he could.

Maddie winced, remembering how good at unseen movement the Skandian had been described to be previously. Hopefully they had a lot of walruses trying to beach in Skandia to block out the noise.

His own ship, Wolfwind, was moored to the harbour quay and he boarded her silently, knowing that there was no duty crew present. He’d dismissed them that afternoon, relying on his reputation as a weather forecaster to reassure them that there would be no strong winds that night. He leaned over the outboard bulwark and there, floating in the lee of the ship, was the small skiff he had moored there earlier in the day.

Halt was quietly reconsidering what he knew of the Skandian. By the sounds of it, he wasn’t actually a bad tactician. It was more likely that he just enjoyed the easiest tactic of running head fist at the enemy and killing as many as he could rather than meticulously planning move after move.

He glanced at the way the boats in the harbour rode to their moorings and saw that the tide was still running out. He had timed his arrival to coincide with the falling tide and now he climbed quickly down into the smaller craft, felt around in the stern for the drainage plug and pulled it loose.

The icy water cascaded in over his hands. When the boat was half-full, he replaced the plug and heaved himself back over the rail onto the wolfship. Drawing his dagger, he cut through the painter holding the skiff alongside.

Will raised his eyebrows in surprise. This explained why no search parties had decided to come after them when the Winter ended, as they most likely assumed the two escaped slaves had stolen a boat and most likely drowned at sea.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the little craft, already sitting lower in the water, began to slide astern, slowly at first, then with increasing speed as the tide drew it along. There was one oar in the boat, set in the oarlock. He’d arranged it that way in case the boat was found in the next few days. The combination of an empty boat, apparently swamped and half-full of water, with one oar missing, would all point to an accident. The skiff drifted down harbour, becoming lost to sight among the larger craft that crowded the anchorage.

Satisfied that he had done all he could, Erak slipped back ashore and retraced his steps to the Great Hall. As he went, he noticed with satisfaction that the heavy snow had already obliterated the tracks he had made earlier. By morning, there would be no sign that anyone had passed this way. The missing boat and the cut painter would be the only clues as to where the escaped slaves had gone.

“Perhaps I didn’t give Erak enough credit.” Halt muttered to himself, as his respect for Erak increased. The Skandian had put a lot of thought into that plan, more than most Seawolves usually put into their tactics at fighting at least.

The going was harder as the pathway through the forest grew steeper. Evanlyn’s breath came in ragged gasps, and hung on the frigid air in great clouds of steam. The slight wind that had stirred the pines earlier had died away as the snow began to fall. Her throat and mouth were dry and there was an unpleasant, brassy taste in her mouth.

She’d tried to ease her thirst several times with handfuls of snow, but the relief was short-lived. The intense cold of the snow undid any benefit that she might have gotten from the small amount of water that trickled down her throat as the snow melted.

“It’s true. I actually looked it up in a book once I got back and drinking the snow probably just cooled my body temperature eve further rather than rehydrated me.” Cassandra noted.

She glanced behind her. The pony was trudging doggedly in her tracks, head down and seemingly unaffected by the cold. Will was a huddled shape on the pony’s back, wrapped deep in the folds of the sheepskin vest. He moaned softly and continuously.

She paused for a moment, breathing raggedly, taking in huge gulps of the freezing air. It bit almost painfully at the back of her throat. The muscles in the backs of her thighs and calves were aching and trembling from the effort of driving on through the thick snow, but she knew she had to keep going as long as she could. She had no idea how far she had travelled from the Lodge at Hallasholm, but she suspected it was not far enough.

Cassandra distinctively remembered her thoughts at that time. They were filled with far more despair and resignation than the author had let on, and for that she was thankful.

If Erak’s attempt to lay a false trail was unsuccessful, she had no doubt that a party of able-bodied Skandians could cover the ground she and Will had travelled in less than an hour. Erak’s instructions were to get as far up the mountain as possible before dawn came. Then they must get off the pathway and into the cover of the thick trees, where she and Will could hide for the day.

She looked up at the narrow gap through the trees above her. The thick overcast hid any sign of the moon or stars. She had no idea how late it was or how soon the dawn might come.

Miserably, with every muscle in her legs protesting, she started upward again, the pony trailing stolidly behind her. For a moment, she considered climbing up onto the saddle behind Will and riding double. Then she dismissed the notion. It was only a small pony, and while he might carry one person and their packs uncomplainingly, a double load in these conditions would quickly tire him.

Gilan nodded, as he had come to the same conclusion. Sir Rodeny and Baron Arald just sat in silence, listening to the troubles that the Ranger’s of the kingdom had one through to save one of their own, along with the kingdom.

Being a knight may mean being in the front lines of a battle, but Ranger’s are the ones who had to plan out the battle, get the information, go on dangerous missions to other countries. A life as a night can hardly be compared to the life of a Ranger, especially ones such as Halt and Will Treaty.

Knowing how much depended on the shaggy little beast, she reluctantly decided that it was best for her to continue on foot. If she exhausted the pony, it could well be a death sentence for Will. She’d never keep him moving, exhausted and weakened as he was.

She trudged on, lifting each foot clear of the snow, planting it down, slipping slightly as it crunched through the ever-thickening ground cover, compacting it until she had a firm footing once more. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Mouth drier than ever. Breath still clouding on the air and hanging in the still night behind her, briefly marking where she had passed. Unthinkingly, she began to count the paces as she took them. There was no reason to it.

There was silence as everyone listened to Evanlyn’s struggles. They knew that if she had failed, if she had given up or made one wrong move, then the entire Western world might have been overrun.

Maddie listened in awe at what her mother had accomplished. Her and Will had both gone through so much and still somehow managed to survive and thrive afterwards, with the strength very few people possessed.

She wasn’t consciously trying to measure distance. It was an instinctive reaction to the constant, repetitive rhythm she had established. She reached two hundred and started again. Reached it again and started from one once more.

Then, after several more times, she realized that she had no idea how many times she had reached that two hundred mark and she stopped counting. Within twenty steps, she became aware that she was counting again. She shrugged. This time, she decided, she’d count to four hundred before starting back at one again. Anything for a little variety, she thought with grim humour.

The thick flakes of snow continued falling, brushing her face and matting her hair pure white. Her face was growing numb and she rubbed it vigorously with the back of her hand, realized the hand was numb as well and stopped to look through the pack once more.

She’d seen gloves in there when she’d found the vest for Will. She located them again, thick wool gauntlets, with a thumb piece and a single space for the rest of her fingers. She pulled them onto her freezing hands, swinging her arms, slapping her hands against her ribs and up under her armpits to stimulate the circulation. After a few minutes of this, she felt a brief tingle of returning sensation and began walking again.

The pony had stopped when she did. Now, patiently, it moved off again in her footprints.

She reached four hundred and started back at one.

“It really was a miracle that you two didn’t get frost bite.” Horace commented. Both Cassandra and Will nodded in agreement. The thought had occurred to both of them at some point during their time in Skandia, however neither of them had a reason for why it never happened.

Chapter 49: The Icebound Land - Chapter 28

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 28.

Cassandra passed the book to Sir Rodney, he took it and began reading.

Halt looked around the large chambers they had been shown to.

“Well,” he said, “it’s not much, but it’s home.”

Will, Gilan, Horace, Cassandra and Maddie all raised an eyebrow at the retired Ranger. Halt just glared at them half-heartedly, defending himself, “It wasn’t like we had much of a choice. And besides, I was trying to help the situation.”

In fact, he wasn’t being quite fair with his statement. They were high in the central tower of Château Montsombre, the tower Deparnieux told them he kept exclusively for his own use—and that of his guests, he added sardonically. The room they were in was a large one and quite comfortably furnished. There was a table and chairs that would do quite well for eating meals, as well as two comfortable-looking wooden armchairs arranged on either side of the large fireplace.

Doors led off either side to two smaller sleeping chambers and there was even a small bathing room with a tin tub and a washstand. There were a couple of halfway decent hangings on the stone walls and a serviceable rug covering a large part of the floor.

Will’s face conveyed his surprise at the living quarters his mentor and best friend had used. Compared to what he and Evanlyn had, it was luxury. He was glad they didn’t have to make-do as they had, and at least stayed somewhere warm for the Winter.

There was a small terrace and a window, which afforded a view of the winding path they had followed to reach the castle and the forest lands below. The window was unglazed, with wooden shutters on the inside to provide relief from the wind and weather.

The door was the only jarring note in the scheme of things. There was no door handle on the inside. Their quarters might be comfortable enough. But they were prisoners for all that, Halt knew.

Will may have thought too soon.

Horace dumped his pack on the floor and dropped gratefully into one of the wooden armchairs by the fire. There was a draft coming through the window, even though it was still only mid-afternoon. It would be cold and drafty at night, he thought. But then, most castle chambers were. This one was no better or worse than the average.

“Halt,” he said, “I’ve been wondering why Abelard and Tug didn’t warn us about the ambush. Aren’t they trained to sense things like that?”

Maddie frowned, as the thought had occurred to her as well.

Halt nodded slowly. “The same thought occurred to me,” he said. “And I assume it had something to do with your string of conquests.”

The boy looked at him, not understanding, and he elaborated. “We had half a dozen battle horses tramping along behind us, laden down with bits of armour that clanked and rattled like a tinker’s cart. My guess is that all the noise they were making masked any sound Deparnieux’s men might have made.”

Horace frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. “But couldn’t they scent them?” he asked.

Gilan snorted, “Knowing Halt’s luck, they were probably downwind of your guys.”

“If the wind were in the right direction, yes. But it was blowing from us to them, if you remember.” He regarded Horace, who was looking vaguely disappointed at the horses’ inability to overcome such minor difficulties.

Will raised an eyebrow in his friend’s direction who immediately put up his hands hastily in surrender. If there was one thing Ranger’s were more protective over than other Rangers, it was their horses.

“Sometimes,” Halt continued, “we tend to expect a little too much of Ranger horses. After all, they are only human.” The faintest trace of a smile touched his mouth as he said that, but Horace didn’t notice. He merely nodded and moved on to his next question.

Halt sighed loudly, remembering how many jokes he had been able to tell without the battle school apprentice noticing. He caught Baron Arald’s eye and knew that the other understood the feeling.

It was widely known in the court that the Baron of Redmont fief was keen on cracking jokes. The only problem with cracking jokes was that people didn’t always get them, or they did but couldn’t react. As reacting to a joke from someone high above your rank was considered…rude.

That, and also the fact that no one considered one of the best knights in the country to be cracking jokes randomly in amusement, especially when discussing a serious topic.

“So,” he said, “what do we do now?”

The Ranger shrugged. He had his own pack open and was taking out a few items—a clean shirt and his razor and washing things.

“We wait,” he said. “We’re not losing any time—yet. The mountain passes into Skandia will be snowed over for at least another month. So we may as well make ourselves comfortable here for a few days until we see what our gallant Gall has in mind for us.”

Horace snorted at the optimism, but at the time there was no reason to think any different.

Horace used one foot to remove the boot from the other and wiggled his toes in delight, enjoying the sudden feeling of freedom.

“There’s a thing,” he said. “What do you suppose this Deparnieux is up to, Halt?”

Halt hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not sure. But he’ll probably show his hand sometime over the next few days. I think he has a vague idea that I’m a Ranger,” he added thoughtfully.

“Do they have Rangers here?” Horace asked, surprised. He’d always assumed that the Ranger Corps was unique to Araluen. Now, as Halt shook his head, he realized his assumption was correct.

“Imagine if everyone had an intelligence force, it would be chaos.” Maddie said. Politics would become all about spying and information gathering rather than diplomatic requests and protocol.

“No, they don’t,” Halt replied. “And we’ve always been at some pains not to spread word of the Corps too far and wide. Never know when you’re going to end up at war with someone,” he added. “But, of course, it’s impossible to keep something like that a total secret, so he may have got some word of it.”

“And if he has?” Horace asked. “I thought he was originally only interested in us because he wanted to fight me—you know, like you said.”

“That was probably the case at first,” Halt agreed, “but now he’s got wind of something and I think he’s trying to work out how he can use me.”

Will snorted at the idea. Halt was very stubborn at times (who am I kidding? All the time…) and if the Lord of Rain and Night couldn’t recruit him, this idiot had no chance.

“Use you?” Horace repeated, frowning at the idea. Halt made a dismissive gesture.

“That’s usually the way people like him think,” he told the boy. “They’re always looking to see how they can turn a situation to their own advantage. And they think that everyone can be bought, if the price is right. Do you think you could put that boot back on?” he added mildly. “The window can only let in a limited amount of fresh air and your socks are a touch ripe, to put it mildly.”

Maddie looked to her father who winced at the mention of his foot odour.

“Oh, sorry!” said Horace, tugging the riding boot back on over his sock. Now that Halt mentioned it, he was aware of a rather strong odour in the room.

A few people in the room hid their smiles and Cassandra nudged her husband playfully, “Sometimes being a royal dies have its privileges, like readily available soap.” Horace had started to go slightly pink.

“Don’t knights in this country take vows of chivalry?” he asked, returning to the subject of their captor. “Knights vow to help others, don’t they? They’re not supposed to ‘use people.’”

“They take the vows,” Halt told him. “Keeping them is another matter altogether. And the idea of knights helping the common people is one that works in a place like Araluen, where we have a strong king. Here, if you’ve got the power, you can pretty much do as you please.”

“Well, it’s not right,” Horace muttered. Halt agreed with him, but there didn’t seem to be anything to gain by saying so.

“Can’t we help other nations by getting a stronger monarch on the throne?” Maddie asked but Cassandra immediately shook her head.

“It is not our right to go and interfere with other people’s way of life Maddie. We can’t just invade and stick someone better on the throne because we think it’s a good idea, even if doing so may help the local people in the long run.”

“Just be patient,” he told Horace now. “There’s nothing we can do to hurry things along. We’ll find out what Deparnieux wants soon enough. In the meantime, we may as well relax and take it easy.”

“Another thing…,” Horace added, ignoring his companion’s suggestion. “I didn’t like those cages by the roadside. No true knight could ever punish anyone that way, no matter how bad their crime might be. Those things were just terrible. Inhuman!”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Halt met the boy’s honest gaze. There was nothing he could offer by way of comfort. Inhuman was an apt description of the punishment.

“Yes,” he said, finally, “I didn’t like those either. I think that before we leave here, my lord Deparnieux might have a little explaining to do on that matter.”

They dined that night with the Gallic warlord. The table was an immense one, with room for thirty or more diners, and the three of them were dwarfed by the empty space around them. Serving boys and maids scurried about their tasks, bringing extra helpings of food and wine as required.

The meal was neither good nor bad, which surprised Halt a little. Gallic cuisine had a reputation for being exotic and even outlandish. The plain fare that was served up to them seemed to indicate that the reputation was an unfounded one.

Cassandra could disagree. Some of the stuff she had tasted from Gallic quizzen was…interesting to say the least.

The one thing he did notice was that the serving staff went about their tasks with their eyes cast down, avoiding eye contact with any of the three diners. There was a palpable air of fear in the room, accentuated when any of the servants had to move close to their master to serve him with food or to fill his goblet.

Halt sensed also that Deparnieux was not only aware of the tension in the atmosphere, he actually enjoyed it. A satisfied half smile would touch his cruel lips whenever one of the servants came close to him, eyes averted and holding his or her breath until the task was completed.

Baron Arald frowned at those words. He made sure that the servants he employed were always good, decent people and that whenever there was a problem staff the staff, it was delt with fairly and quickly.

Everyone knew of this good reputation, and he would be horrified if people were so afraid of him that they felt they couldn’t work properly because of it.

They spoke little during the meal. Deparnieux seemed content to observe them, rather as a boy might observe an interesting and previously unknown bug that he had captured. In the circumstances, neither Halt nor Horace were inclined to offer any small talk.

“Sadly Deparnieux never knew that these bugs he had captured were venomous, extremely.” Halt informed everyone.

When they had eaten, and the table had been cleared, the warlord finally spoke what was on his mind. He glanced dismissively at Horace and waved a languid hand toward the stairway that led to their chambers.

“I won’t keep you any longer, boy,” he said. “You have my leave to go.”

Cassandra clenched her fist in anger at the disrespect the slug was showing her husband.

Flushing slightly at the ill-mannered tone, Horace glanced quickly at Halt and saw the Ranger’s small nod. He rose, trying to retain his dignity, trying not to show the Gallic knight his confusion.

“Good night, Halt,” he said quietly, and Halt nodded again.

“’Night, Horace,” he said. The apprentice warrior drew himself up, looked Deparnieux in the eye and abruptly turned and left the room. Two of the armed guards who had been standing by in the shadows instantly fell in behind him, escorting him up the stairs.

“This fool wouldn’t know what respect was even if it was shoved up his – ” Horace laid a hand on Cassandra’s arm, stopping her from finishing her sentence.

It was a small gesture, Horace thought as he climbed to his chambers, and it was probably a childish one. But ignoring the master of Château Montsombre as he left made him feel a little better.

Deparnieux waited until the sound of Horace’s footsteps on the stone-flagged stairs had receded. Then, pushing his chair back from the table, he turned a calculating gaze on the Ranger.

“Well, Master Halt,” he said quietly, “it’s time we had a little chat.”

Gilan mouthed Master Halt to himself, he looked to Will who just shrugged.

Halt pursed his lips. “About what?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m just no good at all with gossip.”

The warlord smiled thinly. “I can tell you’re going to be an amusing guest,” he said. “Now tell me, exactly who are you?”

“Halt. He’s Halt.” Maddie said and Will nodded in agreement.

Halt shrugged carelessly. He toyed with a goblet that was sitting, almost empty, on the table in front of him, twirling it this way and that, watching the way the faceted glass caught the light from the fire in the corner.

“I’m an ordinary sort of person,” he said. “My name’s Halt. I’m from Araluen, traveling with Sir Horace. Nothing much more to tell, really.”

The smile stayed fixed on Deparnieux’s face as he continued to regard the bearded man sitting opposite him. He appeared nondescript enough, that was for sure. His clothes were simple—verging on drab, in fact. His beard and hair were badly cut. They looked as if he had cut them with a hunting knife, thought Deparnieux, unaware that he was only one of many people to have had that very same thought about Halt.

Halt frowned in annoyance, but all the people around the table knew it was true and had to hide their smiles.

He was a small man too. His head barely came up to the warlord’s shoulder. But he was muscular

for all that, and in spite of the grey hairs in his beard and hair, he was in excellent physical condition.

But there was something about the eyes—dark and steady and calculating—that belied the claim of ordinariness that the man made now. Deparnieux prided himself that he knew the look of a man who was used to command, and this man had it, definitely.

Will smiled. Somethings you just can’t get rid of, he thought.

Plus there was something about his equipment. It was unusual to see a man with this unmistakable air of command who was not armed as a knight. The bow was a commoner’s weapon, in Deparnieux’s eyes, and the double knife scabbard was something he had not encountered before.

He had taken the opportunity to study the two knives. The larger one reminded him of the heavy saxe knives carried by the Skandians. The smaller knife, razor-sharp like its companion, was a perfectly balanced throwing knife. Unusual weapons indeed for a commander, Deparnieux thought.

Sir Rodney snorted, “Halt’s a but higher than a commander idiot.”

The strange cloak fascinated him as well. It was patterned in irregular daubs of green and grey and he could see no reason for the colours or the pattern. The deep cowl served to hide the man’s face when he pulled it up in place. Several times during their ride to Montsombre, the Gallic knight had noticed that the cloak seemed to shimmer and merge with the forest background, so that the small man almost disappeared from sight. Then the illusion would pass.

Deparnieux, like many of his countrymen, was more than a little superstitious. He suspected that the cloak’s strange properties could be some form of sorcery.

All the Ranger’s around the table snorted. Lady Pauline laid a hand on Halt’s shoulder, “Don’t snort dear, you’re not Abelard.” Will quicky looked away, remembering that Alyss had said the same to him before…

It was this last thought that had led to his somewhat equivocal treatment of Halt. It didn’t pay to antagonize sorcerers, the warlord knew. So he determined to play his cards carefully until he knew exactly what to expect of this mysterious little man. And, should it prove that Halt had no dark powers, there was always the possibility that he might be persuaded to turn his other talents to Deparnieux’s own ends.

If not, then the warlord could always kill the two travellers as he pleased.

Halt resisted the urge to snort in disbelief again.

He realized now that he had been silent for some time following Halt’s last statement. He took a sip of wine and shook his head at the sentiments Halt had expressed.

“Not ordinary in any way, I think,” he said. “You interest me, Halt.”

Again, the Ranger shrugged. “I can’t see why,” he replied mildly.

Deparnieux twirled his wine goblet between his fingers. There was a tentative knock at the door and his head steward entered apologetically and a little fearfully. He had learned by bitter experience that his master was a dangerous and unpredictable man.

“What is it?” Deparnieux said, angry at the intrusion.

“Your pardon, my lord, but I wondered would there be anything more?”

Deparnieux was about to dismiss him when a thought struck him. It would be an interesting experiment to provoke this strange Araluen, he thought. To see which way he jumped.

“Jumped?” Maddie asked, and Will explained it to her. “Jumped meaning how he would react to see what type of moral compass he held. Whether he could control his anger, or whether he agreed with the treatment being dished out.” (I don’t actually know, this is just a guess.)

“Yes,” he said. “Send for the cook.”

The steward hesitated, puzzled.

“The cook, my lord?” he repeated. “Do you require more food?”

“I require the cook, you fool!” Deparnieux snarled at him. The man hastily backed away.

“At once, my lord,” he said, backing nervously toward the door. When he had gone, the Gallic warlord smiled at Halt.

“It’s almost impossible to find good staff these days,” he said. Halt eyed him contemptuously.

“It must be a constant problem for you,” he said evenly. Deparnieux glanced keenly at him, trying to sense any sarcasm behind the words.

Gilan sighed, “This guy must be thicker than he looks, Halt’s full of sarcasm.” Halt glared at the Ranger, but Will hid his smile as he gave the other a thumbs up in encouragement.

They sat in silence until there was a knock at the door and the steward returned. The cook followed a few paces behind him, wringing her hands in the hem of her apron. She was a middle-aged woman, and her face showed the strain that came from working in Deparnieux’s household.

“The cook, my lord,” the steward announced.

Deparnieux said nothing. He stared at the woman the way a snake stares at a bird. Her wringing of the apron became more and more pronounced as the silence between them grew. Finally, she could bear it no longer.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” she began. “Was the meal not—”

“You do not speak!” Deparnieux shouted, rising from his chair and pointing angrily at her. “I am the master here! You do not speak before me! So remain silent, woman!”

Maddie clenched her fist angrily.

Halt’s eyes narrowed as he watched the unpleasant scene. He knew that this was all being done for his benefit. He sensed that Deparnieux wanted to see how he might react. Frustrating as it might be, there was nothing he could do to help the woman right now. Deparnieux shot a quick glance at him, confirming his suspicions, seeing that the smaller man was as calm as ever. Then he resumed his seat, turning back to the unfortunate cook. “The vegetables were cold,” he said finally.

Sir Rodeny face was starting to run red with anger and the Baron laid an arm on his friend’s shoulder, calming him down. This treatment wasn’t deserved by anyone, and it was now official that Deparnieux was lower than the worms in the eyes of every person in that room.

The woman’s expression was equal parts fear and puzzlement.

“Surely not, my lord? The vegetables were—”

“Cold, I tell you!” Deparnieux interrupted. He turned to Halt. “They were cold, were they not?” he challenged. Halt shrugged.

“The vegetables were fine,” he said evenly. No matter what happened, he must keep any sense of anger or outrage out of his voice. Deparnieux smiled thinly. He looked back at the cook.

“Now see what you have done?” he said. “Not only have you shamed me in front of a guest, you have made that guest lie on your behalf.”

Cassandra muttered some un-queenly curses and no one even commented about it. They all believed that the situation was most likely appropriate for the language.

“My lord, really, I didn’t—”

Deparnieux cut her off with an imperious wave of the hand.

“You have disappointed me and you must be punished,” he said. The woman’s face grew grey with fear. In this castle, punishment was no light matter.

“Please, my lord. Please, I will try harder. I promise,” she babbled, hoping to forestall his pronouncement of her punishment. She looked appealingly to Halt.

“Please, master, tell him that I didn’t mean it,” she begged.

The room was dead silent now.

“Leave her be,” the Ranger said finally.

Deparnieux’s head cocked expectantly to one side.

“Or?” he challenged. Here was an opportunity to assess his prisoner’s powers—or lack thereof. If he truly were a sorcerer, then perhaps he might show his hand now.

Halt could see what the other man was thinking. There was an air of expectancy about him as he watched Halt carefully. The Ranger realized, reluctantly, that he was in no position to enforce threats. He decided to try another tack.

“Or?” he repeated, shrugging. “Or what? The matter is unimportant. She is nothing but a clumsy servant who deserves neither your attention nor mine.”

Halt internally winced at his won words, however that had been his best bet to get the women out un-punished. Still, they sounded uncomfortably like what is brother might have said, which was never what Halt wanted to sound like.

The Gallican fingered his lip thoughtfully. Halt’s apparent lack of care might be real. Or it might be simply a way of masking the fact that he had no powers. The principal reason for doubt in Deparnieux’s mind was the fact that he couldn’t really believe that any person of power or authority would really have more than a passing concern for a servant. Halt might be backing down. Or he might actually not care enough to make an issue of the matter.

Everyone just sighed at such a closed-minded person. Honestly, it was a miracle there was enough room in his brain to get anything done.

“Nevertheless,” he replied, watching Halt, “she must be punished.”

He looked at the head steward now. The man had shrunk back against one wall, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while all this went on.

“You will punish this woman,” he said. “She is lazy and incompetent and she has embarrassed her master.”

The steward bowed obsequiously. “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. The woman will be punished,” he said. Deparnieux raised his eyebrows in mock wonder.

“Really?” he said. “And what will the punishment be?”

“Having to listen to this idiot for any extended period of time, that’s punishment enough.” Maddie whispered drily.

The servant hesitated. He had no idea what the knight had in mind. He decided that, on the whole, it would be better to be on the side of harshness.

“Flogging, my lord?” he replied, and as Deparnieux seemed to nod in agreement, he continued, more definitely, “She will be flogged.”

But now the warlord was shaking his head and beads of perspiration broke out on the balding steward’s forehead.

“No,” Deparnieux said in a silky tone. “You will be flogged. She will be caged.”

Powerless to intervene, Halt watched the cruel tableau unfold before his eyes. The head servant’s face crumpled with fear as he heard he was to be flogged. But the woman, on hearing her own punishment, sank to the floor, her face a mask of despair.

Halt recalled the winding road they had travelled to Montsombre, lined with the pitiful wretches suspended in iron cages. He felt sickened by the black-clad tyrant in front of him. He stood abruptly, shoving his chair back so that it toppled over and crashed to the flagstones.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”

The room was silent as Sir Rodeny handed the book off to Maddie.

Lady Pauline stood up and suggested, “Maybe we should take a break for lunch?” Everyone agreed and after two hours, the group sat back down, and Maddie began reading.

Chapter 50: The Icebound Land - Chapter 29

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 29.

Notes:

Woooooooooooo! Fifty chapters! That's as much as the original fanfic this is based off, yay!

Hope you guys have enjoyed this fanfic and I am personally extremely proud of myself for getting this far. I think I might do Book 4, however 1) I may need a few weeks to get a few chapters ready in advance (Without uploads) and 2), I'll need to find an easily editable free version online of the book which I hope shouldn't be too hard (Touch wood), and 3), I'll be using the name Oakleaf Bearers as that's the version I read.

The Icebound Land has 37 chapters in it plus an epilogue so we're almost there. Enjoy the fiftieth chapter :)

Evanlyn had no idea how long they had been stumbling up the snow-covered path. The pony trudged, head down and uncomplaining, with Will swaying uncertainly on its back, moaning quietly. Evanlyn herself continued to stagger mindlessly, her feet squeaking and crunching on the new-fallen dry snow underfoot.

Maddie glanced at her mother briefly, wondering whether she would prefer to read the chapter from her POV. Cassandra, realising what her daughter was asking, shook her head and smiled.

Finally, she knew she could go no farther. She stumbled to a halt and looked for a place to shelter for what remained of the night.

The prevailing north wind over the previous days had piled the snow thickly against the windward side of the pines, leaving a corresponding deep trough in their lee. The lower branches of the bigger trees spread out above these hollows, creating a sheltered space below the surface of the snow. Not only would they find shelter from the weather as the snow continued to fall, the deep hole would conceal them from the casual glance of passers-by on the path.

It was by no means an ideal hiding place, but it was the best available. Evanlyn led the pony off the track, looking for one of the larger trees, set three or four rows back from the path.

Almost at once, she sank waist-deep in the snow. But she struggled forward, leading the pony behind her in the path she made. It took almost the last reserves of her strength, but she finally stumbled into a deep hollow behind a tree.

Maddie internally breathed a sigh of relief, as she hasn’t realised how worried she’d been about her mother until now.

The pony hesitated, then followed her. Will at least had the presence of mind to lean down over the pony’s neck to avoid being swept out of the saddle by the huge, snow-laden overhanging branches of the pine.

The space under the tree was surprisingly large and there was plenty of room for the three of them. With their combined body heat in the more or less enclosed space, it was also nowhere near as cold as she had thought it might be. It was still bitterly cold, mind you, but not life-threatening.

She helped Will down from the pony’s back and motioned for him to sit. He sprawled, shivering, his back against the rough bark of the tree, while she searched the pack and found two thick wool blankets. She draped them around his shoulders, then sat beside him and pulled the rough wool around herself as well. She took one of his hands in hers and rubbed his fingers. They felt like ice. She smiled at him in encouragement.

“We’ll be fine now,” she told him, “just fine.”

He looked at her and, for a moment, she thought he had understood her. But she realized he was simply reacting to the sound of her voice.

Will looked down again, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

As soon as he seemed to have warmed up a little, and his shivering had died down to an occasional spasm, she unwrapped herself and stood to loosen the pony’s pack saddle. The animal grunted and snorted in relief as the straps loosened around its belly, then slowly settled to its knees to lie down in the shelter.

Perhaps, in this snow-covered land, horses were trained to do this. She had no idea. But the reclining pony offered a warm resting spot for her and Will. She dragged the unresisting boy away from the bole of the tree and resettled him, leaning back against the warm belly of the horse. Then, wrapping herself in the blankets again, she nestled close to him. The horse’s body heat was bliss. She could feel it in the small of her back and, for the first time in hours, she felt warm. Her head drooped against Will’s shoulder and she slept.

Outside, the heavy flakes of snow continued to tumble down from the low clouds.

Within thirty minutes, all sign of their passage through the deep snow was obliterated.

“All thanks to Erak.” Cassandra assumed everyone, and no one had any doubts.

The news that two of the slaves had gone took some time to be relayed to Erak the following morning.

That was hardly surprising, as such an event wasn’t considered important enough to bother one of the senior Jarls. In fact, it was only after one of the kitchen slaves recalled that Evanlyn had spent the previous few days bemoaning her assignment to his household that Borsa, who had been informed of the girl’s disappearance, thought to mention it to him.

As it was, he only mentioned the fact in passing, as he saw the bearded ship’s captain leaving the dining hall after a late breakfast.

“That damn girl of yours has gone,” he muttered, brushing past Erak. As hilfmann, of course, Borsa had been informed of the slave’s disappearance as soon as the kitchen steward had discovered it. It was the hilfmann’s job to deal with such administrative hiccups, after all.

Erak looked at him blankly. “Girl of mine?”

Halt made a note that Erak was a surprisingly good lair.

Borsa waved a hand impatiently. “The Araluen you brought in. The one you were going to have for a servant. Apparently, she’s run off.”

Erak frowned. He felt it was logical for him to look a little annoyed about such a turn of events.

“Where to?” he asked, and Borsa replied with an irritated shrug.

“Who knows? There’s nowhere to run to and the snow was falling like a blanket last night. There are no signs of tracks anywhere.”

And, at that piece of news, Erak breathed an inner sigh of relief. That part of his plan had succeeded, at any rate. His next words, however, belied the sense of satisfaction that he hid deep inside.

“Well, find her!” he snapped irritably. “I didn’t haul her all the way across the Stormwhite so you could lose her!”

Halt raised his eyebrows in surprise. Will also looked to him, as if to ask did you know Erak was such a good actor?  No. No he did not.

And he turned on his heel and strode away. He was, after all, a senior jarl and a war leader. Borsa might well be the hilfmann and Ragnak’s senior administrator, but in a battle-oriented society such as this, Erak outranked him by a significant margin.

Borsa glared after his retreating back and cursed. But he did it quietly. Not only was he aware of their comparative ranks, he also knew that it was an unwise man who would insult the Jarl to his face—or to his back as the case might be. Erak had been known to lay about him with his battleax on the slightest of provocations.

“Like say hypothetically, one of his Jarl’s betrayed him and got him captured in Arridi?” Gilan asked, Maddie turned to look at him suspiciously while Will, Horace, Cassandra, and Halt all looked away innocently. 

The thought of Erak’s voyage from Araluen with the girl brought the other slave to his mind—the boy who had been a Ranger apprentice. He had heard that the girl had been asking about him in the past few days. Now, swinging his heavy fur cloak around him, he headed for the door and the quarters of the yard slaves.

Wrinkling his nose against the stink of unwashed bodies, Borsa stood in the doorway of the yard slaves’ barracks and surveyed the cringing Committeeman in front of him.

“You didn’t see him go?” he asked incredulously. The slave shook his head, keeping his eyes cast down. His manner showed his guilt. Borsa was sure he had heard or seen the other slave escaping and had done nothing about it. He shook his head angrily and turned to the guard beside him.

“Have him flogged,” he said briefly, and turned back to the main Lodge building.

Maddie had to stop herself from smiling in satisfaction. Her mother and Halt had no such quorum.

It was barely an hour later that the report came in of the missing skiff. The end of the painter, cut with a knife, told its own story. Two missing slaves, one missing boat. The conclusion was obvious. Bleakly, Borsa thought about the chances of surviving in the Stormwhite at this time of year in an open boat—particularly close to the coast. For, contrary to the way it might seem, the fugitives would have a better chance of survival in the open sea. Close to the coast, and driven by the prevailing winds and heavy waves, it would be a miracle if they weren’t smashed along the rocky coast before they had gone ten kilometres.

“Good riddance,” he muttered, and sent word that the patrols sent to search the mountain paths to the north should be recalled.

Maddie smirked, it seemed fate quite liked her mother and mentor, as it had dished out karma and helped ensure they found the right people at the right time to not only survive, but to gain an entirely  new ally.

Later that day, Erak overheard two slaves talking in muted tones about the two Araluens who had stolen a boat and tried to escape. Around noon, the search parties returned from the mountains. The men were obviously grateful to be in from the deep snow and the biting wind that had sprung up shortly after dawn.

His heart lifted. At least now the fugitives would be safe until spring.

As long as they managed to find the mountain cabin, he thought soberly, and didn’t freeze to death in the attempt.

Maddie handed the book to Will on that last optimistic note.

Chapter 51: The Icebound Land - Chapter 30

Summary:

Will reads chapter 30.

Notes:

Wooooo! Officially longer than the original fanfic :)

Life in Chteau Montsombre had taken on a pattern. Their host, the warlord Deparnieux, saw his two unwilling guests only when he chose to, which was usually over the evening meal, once or twice a week. It also generally coincided with those occasions when he had thought of some new way of baiting Halt, to try to draw him out.

Gilan snorted, “At least you only saw him as little as possible.”

At other times, the two Araluens were confined mainly to their tower room, although each day they were allowed a short time for exercise in the castle courtyard, under the suspicious gaze of the dozen or so men-at-arms who stood sentry over them in the tower. They had asked several times if they might venture outside the castle walls, and perhaps explore the plateau a little.

Baron Arald hid his surprise. Only a dozen men at arms to guard both Horace and Halt, he would have been more comfortable having a dozen each!

They expected no more than the answer they received, which was a stony silence from the sergeant of the men set to guard them, but it was still extremely frustrating.

Now Horace paced up and down the terrace, high in the central tower of Château Montsombre.

Inside, Halt was sitting cross-legged on his bed as he put the finishing touches to a new bow he was making for Will. He had been working on the project since they had landed in Gallica. He had carefully selected strips of wood and glued and bound them tightly together, so that their different grains and natural shapes were opposed to one another and bent the composite piece into a smooth curve. Then he had attached two similar, but shorter, composites to either end, so that their curve opposed the main shape of the bow. This formed the recurve shape that he wanted.

Will looked up in surprise. He had thought that Halt had carried the bow from Araluen, not that he had made it on the way there.

When they had first arrived at Montsombre, Deparnieux had seen the pieces in Halt’s pack, but he had seen no reason to confiscate them. Without arrows, a half-made bow constituted no threat to him.

Maddie grinned, reminded of the old Ranger saying, an unstrung bow is a stick, a strung bow is a weapon.

The wind curled around the turrets of the castle, keening its way among the figures of gargoyles carved in the stone. Below the terrace, a family of rooks soared and planed on the wind, coming and going from their nest, set in a cranny in the hard granite wall.

Horace always felt slightly queasy to find himself looking down on birds flying. He moved back from the balustrade, pulling his cloak more tightly around him to keep out the wind. The air carried the threat of rain with it and, in the north, there were banks of heavy cloud driving toward them on the wind. It was midafternoon on another wintry day in Montsombre. The forest that spread out below them was dull and featureless—from this height it looked like a rough carpet.

“What are we going to do, Halt?” Horace asked, and his companion hesitated before answering. Not because he was uncertain of the answer itself; rather, because he was unsure how his young friend’s temperament would greet it.

Maddie raised in eyebrow in question, curious about Halt’s plan.

“We wait,” he said simply, and immediately saw the frustration in Horace’s eyes. He knew the boy was expecting something to precipitate matters with Deparnieux.

“But Deparnieux is torturing and killing people! And we’re just sitting back watching him do it!” the boy said angrily. He expected more from the resourceful ex-Ranger than the simple injunction to wait.

Halt looked over to Horace who flushed slightly in embarrassment, but the older Ranger understood where the apprentice’s expectations had come from.

The forced inactivity was galling to Horace. He wasn’t coping well with the boredom and frustration of day-to-day life in Montsombre. He was trained for action and he wanted to act. He felt the compulsion to do something—anything. He wanted to punish Deparnieux for his cruelty. He wanted a chance to ram the black knight’s sarcastic comments back down his throat.

“All in favour of doing the same?” Gilan asked, raising his hand.

Everyone else in the room immediately raised their hand in reply, even those who didn’t participate greatly in combat such as Lady Pauline. However, everyone knew that couriers of the Diplomatic Service all knew how to wield dangers with efficient and brutal accuracy.

Needless to say, they all knew that Lady Pauline would be way too much for Deparnieux to handle, as she was by far one of the scariest people in that room.

Most of all, he wanted to be free of Montsombre and back on the road in search of Will.

Will gave a small smile at his friend’s determination to save him.

Halt waited until he judged Horace had calmed down a little. “He’s also lord of this castle,” he replied mildly, “and he has some fifty men at his beck and call. I think that’s a few more than we could comfortably deal with.”

Horace gave a small shrug in present day. To be honest, if he and Halt were captured again, he believed that they could take down fifty men by themselves. Horace was still an esteemed knight of the kingdom and Halt was known as one of the best Ranger’s in Araluen history.

Horace picked a crumbled piece of granite from a corner of the balustrade and tossed it far out into the void below, watching it fall, seeming to curve in toward the castle walls until it was lost from view.

“I know,” he said moodily, “but I wish we could do something.”

Halt glanced up from his task. Although he hid the fact, his sense of frustration was even sharper than Horace’s. If he were on his own, Halt could escape from this castle with the greatest ease. But to do so, he would have to abandon Horace—and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he found himself torn by conflicting loyalties—to Will, and to the young man who had unselfishly chosen to accompany him in search of a friend.

Gilan couldn’t stop himself from snorting, “The young ones really grow on you, don’t they Halt?” His ex-mentor couldn’t help but agree.

Maddie noticed once again the ability of a Ranger to escape from situations didn’t extend to their companions.

He knew that Deparnieux would show no mercy to Horace if Halt were to escape. At the same time, every fibre of his being ached to be on the road and in pursuit of his lost apprentice. He dropped his eyes to the almost completed bow again, careful to keep any sense of his own frustration out of his voice.

“The next move is up to our host, I’m afraid,” he told Horace. “He’s not sure what to make of me. He’s not sure whether I might be useful to him. And while he’s uncertain, he’s on his guard. That makes him dangerous.”

“Then surely we might as well fight him?” Horace asked, but Halt shook his head emphatically.

“I’d rather he relaxed a little,” he said. “I’d rather he felt we were not as dangerous, or as useful, as he first assumed. I can sense he’s trying to make his mind up about me. That business with the cook was a test.”

Maddie grittered her teeth in anger at the mention of what happened to that poor cook.

The first drops of rain spattered onto the flagstones. Horace looked up, realizing with some surprise that the clouds, seemingly so far away only a few minutes ago, were already scudding overhead.

“A test?” he repeated.

Halt twisted his face into a grimace. “He wanted to see what I would do about it. Maybe he wanted to see what I could do about it.”

“So you did nothing?” Horace challenged, and instantly regretted the hasty words. Halt, however, took no offense. He met the boy’s gaze steadily, saying nothing. Eventually, Horace dropped his eyes and mumbled, “Sorry, Halt.”

Horace winced. There was a reason that most of the diplomatic missions were done by Cassandra and not himself. Horace was a warrior at heart and mostly couldn’t be bothered to sugar coat or deceive  with his words.

Halt nodded, registering the apology. “There wasn’t much I could do, Horace,” he explained gently. “Not while Deparnieux was keyed up and on his guard. That’s not the time to take action against an enemy. I’m afraid,” he added in a warning tone, “the next few weeks are going to bring us more of these tests.”

That gained Horace’s attention immediately. “What do you think he has in mind?”

“I don’t know the details,” Halt said. “But you can bet that our friend Deparnieux will perform more unpleasant acts, just to see what I do about them.” Again, the ex-Ranger grimaced. “The point is, the more I do nothing, the more he will relax, and the less careful he will be around me.”

“And that’s what you want?” Horace queried, beginning to understand. Halt nodded grimly in reply.

“That’s what I want,” he said. He glanced at the dark clouds that were whipping overhead. “Now come inside before you get soaked,” he suggested.

The rain came and went over the next hour, pelting in on the wind, driven almost horizontally through those open window spaces of the Château where the occupants had neglected to close the wooden shutters.

An hour before dark, the rain cleared as the ever-present wind drove the clouds farther south, and the low sun broke through in the west, in a spectacular display against the dispersing storm clouds.

The two prisoners were watching the sunset from their windswept terrace when they heard a commotion below them.

A lone horseman was at the main gate, hammering on the giant brass bell that hung on a post there. He was dressed as a knight, carrying sword and lance and shield. He was young, they could see—probably only a year or two older than Horace.

Maddie felt her heart sink, already predicting where this was going.

The newcomer stopped hammering and filled his lungs to shout. He spoke, or rather shouted, in Gallic, and Horace had no idea what he was saying, although he certainly recognized the name “Deparnieux.”

“What’s he saying?” he asked Halt, and the Ranger held up a hand to hush him as he listened to the last few words from the knight.

“He’s challenging Deparnieux,” he said, his head cocked to one side to make out the strange knight’s words more clearly. Horace made an impatient gesture.

“I gathered that!” he said with some asperity. “But why?”

Halt waved him to silence as the newcomer continued to shout. The tone was angry enough, but the words were a little difficult to make out as they ebbed and flowed on the swirling wind.

“From what I can understand,” Halt said slowly, “our friend Deparnieux murdered this fellow’s family—while he was away on a quest. They’re very big on quests here in Gallica.”

Cassandra tried not to role her eyes in annoyance.

“So what happened?” Horace wanted to know. But the Ranger could only shrug in reply.

“Apparently Deparnieux wanted the family’s lands, so he got rid of the lad’s parents.” He listened further and said, “They were on the elderly side and relatively helpless.”

Horace grunted. “That sounds like what we know about Deparnieux.”

Abruptly, the stranger ceased shouting, turned his horse and trotted away from the gate to wait for a reaction. For a few minutes, there was no sign that anyone other than Halt and Horace had paid the slightest attention. Then a sally port in the massive wall crashed open and a black-armoured figure on a jet-black battle horse emerged.

“What is it with bad guys liking black armour and horses?” Gilan asked everyone, as Morgarath had a black horse and armour. A few people shrugged, not having the faintest clue.

Deparnieux cantered slowly to a position a hundred meters from the other knight. They faced each other while the young knight repeated his challenge. On the castle ramparts, Horace and Halt could see Deparnieux’s men eagerly taking up vantage positions to watch the coming battle.

“Vultures,” Halt muttered at the sight of them.

The black-clad knight made no reply to the stranger. He simply reached up with the edge of his shield and flicked the visor on his helmet closed. That was enough for his challenger. He slammed down his own visor and set spurs to his battle horse. Deparnieux did the same and they charged toward each other, lances levelled.

Even at a distance, Halt and Horace could see that the young man was not very skilled. His seat was awkward and his positioning of shield and lance was clumsy. Deparnieux, by contrast, looked totally coordinated and frighteningly capable as they thundered together.

“This doesn’t look good,” Horace said in a worried tone.

They struck with a resounding crash that echoed off the walls of the castle. The young knight’s lance, badly positioned and at the wrong angle, shattered into pieces. By contrast, Deparnieux’s lance struck squarely into the other knight’s shield, sending him reeling in the saddle as they passed. Yet strangely, Deparnieux appeared to lose his grasp on his own lance. It fell away into the grass behind him as he wheeled his horse for the return pass. For a moment, Horace felt a surge of hope.

“He’s injured!” he said eagerly. “That’s a stroke of luck!”

But Halt was frowning, shaking his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “There’s something fishy going on here.”

Will narrowed his eyes at the pages before continuing to read. He agreed with past Halt’s statement, something wasn’t right.

The two armoured warriors now drew their broadswords and charged again. They crashed together. Deparnieux took the other knight’s stroke on his shield. His own sword struck ringing against his opponent’s helmet, and again the young man reeled in the saddle.

The battle horses screamed in fury as they circled and reared now, with each rider trying to gain a winning position. The warriors struck at each other again and again as they came within reach, Deparnieux’s men cheering every time their lord landed a blow.

“What’s he doing?” Horace asked, his earlier excitement gone. “He could have finished him off after that first stroke!” His voice took on a tone of disgust as he realized the truth. “He’s playing with him!”

Baron Arald and Sir Rodeny scowled at the thought of this human being considered under the name of a knight or lord. As far as they were concerned, he was lower than the rats.

Below them, the ringing, slithering screech of sword on sword continued, interspersed by the duller clang as they struck each other’s shield. To experienced spectators like Halt and Horace, who had seen many tournaments at Castle Redmont, Deparnieux was obviously holding back. His men, however, didn’t seem to notice.

They were peasants who had no real knowledge of the skills involved in a duel such as this. They continued to roar their approval with each stroke Deparnieux landed.

“He’s playing to the audience,” Halt said, indicating the men-at-arms on the ramparts below them. “He’s making the other man look better than he really is.”

Horace shook his head. Deparnieux was showing yet another side of his cruel nature by prolonging the battle like this. Far better to give the young knight a merciful end than to toy with him.

“He’s a swine,” he said in a low voice. Deparnieux’s behaviour went against all the tenets of chivalry that meant so much to him. Halt nodded agreement.

Cassandra snorted, swine didn’t even begin to describe what this man was.

“We knew that already. He’s using this lad to boost his own reputation.”

Horace threw him a puzzled look and he explained further.

“He rules by fear. His hold over his men depends on how much they respect and fear him. And he has to keep renewing that fear. He can’t let it slip. By making his opponent look better than he really is, he enhances his own reputation as a great warrior. These men – ”he gestured contemptuously at the ramparts below—“don’t know any better.”

Deparnieux seemed to decide that he had prolonged matters long enough. The two Araluens detected a subtle change in the tempo and power of his blows. The young knight swayed under the onslaught and tried to give ground. But the black-armoured figure urged his battle horse after him, following him relentlessly, raining blows on sword, shield or helmet at will. Finally, there was a duller sound as Deparnieux’s sword struck a vulnerable point—the chain mail protecting his opponent’s neck.

A few people around the table winced.

The black knight knew it was a killing stroke. Contemptuously, he wheeled his horse toward the castle gate, without a backward glance at his opponent, who was crumpling sideways from the saddle. The ramparts resounded with cheers as the limp figure crashed onto the turf and lay, unmoving. The gate slammed shut behind the victor.

Halt stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“I think,” he said, “we might have found the key to our problem with Lord Deparnieux.”

Will placed the book down and slid it over to Halt who took it up and began reading the next chapter.

Notes:

Have a nice day :)

Chapter 52: The Icebound Land - Chapter 31

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 31.

It was midmorning when Evanlyn woke, although she had no way of knowing it. There was no sign of the sun. It was hidden behind the low-lying snow clouds. The light was so flat and diffused that it seemed to come from every direction and no direction. It was daylight and that was all she knew.

She eased her cramped muscles and looked around. Beside her, Will sat upright and wide-awake. He may have been that way for hours or he may have woken only minutes before her. There was no way of knowing. He simply sat, eyes wide, rocking slowly back and forward and staring straight ahead.

Will looked down at the description of his drugged self.

It tore at her heart to see him that way.

Horace gently took his wife’s hand and squeezed encouragingly.

As she stirred, the horse sensed her movement and began to heave itself back upright. She moved away from the animal to give it room, taking Will’s hand and pulling him away too. The horse came to its feet and stamped once or twice, then shook itself and snorted violently, blowing a huge cloud of steam into the frigid air.

The snow had stopped during the night but not before it had obliterated all sign of their passage to the hollow under the tree. It would be a hard slog back to the path, Evanlyn realized, but at least she was rested now. She thought briefly about eating—there was a small supply of food in the pack—then she discarded the idea, in favour of moving on and putting more distance between them and Hallasholm. She had no way of knowing that the search parties had already been recalled by Borsa.

She decided that she could live for a few more hours with the empty feeling in her belly, but not with the raging thirst that had dried her mouth. Moving to a point where the snow lay thick and new, she took a handful and put it in her mouth, letting it melt there. It produced a surprisingly small amount of water, so she repeated the action several more times. She considered showing Will how to do the same but suddenly felt impatient to be on their way. If he was thirsty, she reasoned, he could work it out for himself.

Cassandra winced, knowing from memory that Will didn’t figure it out. Of course he couldn’t, he was still under the heavy influence of the drug.

She strapped the pack saddle onto the pony’s back again, tightening the girths as much as she could. The pony, canny in the way of its kind, tried to suck air and expand his belly, so he could exhale and allow the straps to loosen. But Evanlyn had been awake to that trick since she had been eleven years old.

The Ranger’s in the group looked at each knowingly. Ranger horses also knew the trick and would try it at every opportunity available.

She kneed the horse firmly in the belly, forcing him to gasp the air out, then, as his body contracted, she jerked the straps tight. The pony turned a reproachful eye on her but otherwise accepted his fate philosophically.

The horse is smarter than half the battle school apprentices, Sir Rodney thought quietly to himself and made a note to look out for the trick the next time he went riding, as he hadn’t been aware of it before.

As she led the way out from under the tree, forcing a path once more through the waist-deep snow, Will made a move to mount the pony. She stopped him, holding up a hand and saying no gently to him. They needed the pony and Will should be rested after an undisturbed night in the relative warmth of the snow hollow. Later, she might need to let him ride the horse again. She knew his reserves of strength couldn’t be very deep. But for now, he could walk and they could preserve the little horse’s strength as much as possible.

It took five minutes’ hard work to reach the relatively easy going of the path once more, and already breathing hard and wet with perspiration, she doggedly resumed her uphill path.

The horse plodded patiently behind her and Will walked half a pace to her right. His low-level, nonstop keening was beginning to set her teeth on edge, but she did her best to ignore it, knowing that he couldn’t help it. For the hundredth time since they had left Hallasholm, she found herself wishing for the day when he might have finally expelled all traces of the drug from his system.

That day was to be further postponed, unfortunately. After a couple of hours of solid, dogged plodding through the fresh fallen snow, Will was suddenly seized by an uncontrollable fit of shivering.

Maddie’s eyes went wide and she looked to her parents and Will, unsure of how the situation played out but needing reassurance all the same.

His teeth chattered and his body shook and trembled and heaved as he fell to the ground, rolling helplessly in the snow, his knees drawn up to his chest. One hand flailed uselessly at the snow, while the other was jammed firmly in his mouth. She watched in horror as the moaning turned to a shuddering cry, dragged deep from his soul and torn with agony.

She dropped to her knees beside him, putting her arms around him and trying to soothe him with her voice. But he jerked away from her, rolling and thrashing again, and she realized that there was nothing for it but to give him a little of the warmweed Erak had put in the pack.

Will shifted uncomfortably at the description of his state.

She’d seen it already when she had searched for warm clothes and blankets. There was a small amount of the dried leaf packed in an oiled linen pouch. Jarl Erak had warned her that Will would not be able to quit the drug straightaway. warmweed built up a physical dependence in its addicts, so that total deprivation meant actual pain.

Maddie sucked in a few deep breaths to calm herself down.

She would have to gradually wean the boy off the drug, he had told her, by giving him ever-decreasing amounts at ever-increasing intervals until he could cope with the deprivation.

Evanlyn had hoped that Erak might be wrong. She knew that each dose of the drug extended the time of the dependence further and she had hoped that she might just be able to cut off Will’s supply straightaway and help him cope with the pain and torment. But there was no help for him as he was now and, reluctantly, she let him have a small amount of the dried leaf, shielding the pouch with her body as she took it from the pack, then again when she returned it.

Will seized the small handful of the grey, herblike substance with horrifying eagerness. For the first time, she saw a glint of expression in his normally dull gaze. But his attention was totally focused on the drug and she came to realize how completely it ruled his life and his mind these days. Silently, tears forming in her eyes, she watched the hollow shell who had once been such a vital, enthusiastic companion. She condemned Borsa and the other Skandians who had caused this to the hottest corner of whatever hell they believed in.

Cassandra mentally re-affirmed that statement, perhaps not the hottest corners of hell as they had tried to be better, but that didn’t stop the anger from coursing through her blood at the thought of what happened to her friend.

The apprentice Ranger crammed the small amount of leaf into his mouth, forcing it into one cheek and allowing the saliva to soak it and release the juice that would carry the narcotic through his system. Gradually, the shuddering spasms calmed down, until he knelt in the snow beside the path, hunched over, rocking gently backward and forward, eyes slitted, once again moaning softly to himself in whatever lonely, pain-filled world he inhabited.

The pony watched these events incuriously, from time to time pawing a hole in the snow and nibbling at the sparse strands of grass exposed there. Eventually, Evanlyn took Will’s hand and pulled him, unresisting, to his feet.

“Come on, Will,” she said in a dispirited voice. “We’ve still got a long way to go.” As she said it, she realized she was talking about a lot more than just the distance to the hunting cabin in the mountains.

Crooning softly and tunelessly to himself, Will followed her as she led the way upward yet again.

The daylight was nearly gone by the time she found the cabin.

Maddie released the tightening apprehension she had been feeling, glad that her mother and Will had found sanctuary, at least for a while.

She had gone past it twice, following the instructions that Erak had made her commit to memory: a left fork in the trail a hundred paces after a lightning-blasted pine; a narrow gully that led downward for a hundred meters, then curved back up again, and a shallow ford across a small stream.

Mentally, she ticked off the landmarks, peering this way and that through the gloom of evening as it settled over the trees. But she could see no sign of the hut—only the featureless white of the snow.

Finally she realized that, of course, the hut would not be visible as a hut. It would be virtually buried in snow itself. Once she saw that simple fact, she became aware of a large mound not ten meters away from her. Dropping the pony’s lead rein, she blundered forward, the snow catching at her legs, and made out the edge of a wall, then the slope of a roof, then the hard angle of a corner, more regular and even than any shape that nature might have concealed under the snow.

Maddie briefly wondered whether the Skandians posted border guards in the region, as little hidden huts like that could easily to dug out to form a small sentry post that would be almost entirely hidden from view.

Moving around the large mound, she found the leeward side was more exposed and she could see the door and a small window, covered with a wooden shutter. She reflected that it was lucky the door had been built on the lee side of the cabin, then realized that this would have been intentional. Only a fool would place a door on the side where the prevailing north winds would pile the snow deeply.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she retraced her steps and took the pony’s bridle. Will’s meagre strength had given out hours before and he was once more slumped on the pack saddle, swaying and moaning in that continuous undertone. She led the pony to stand by the tiny porch that adjoined the doorway, tying the lead rein to a tether post that was set in the ground there. There was probably no need for that, she reflected.

Everyone was relieved. Just because they knew the destination, didn’t mean they understood how painful the journey was.

The pony had shown no inclination to leave her so far. However, it did no harm to take precautions. The last thing she wanted was to have to hunt for the pony and its rider through the gathering dusk. Satisfied that the bridle was tied firmly, she shoved the ill-fitting door open and entered the hut to take stock of their new refuge and its contents.

It was small, just one main room with a rough table and two benches on either side. Against the far wall, there was a wooden cot, with what appeared to be a straw-filled mattress on it. The room smelled of damp and mustiness and she wrinkled her nose momentarily, then realized that once she had a fire burning in the stone fireplace that composed most of the western wall, she could do something to dispel the smells.

There was a handy supply of firewood stacked by the fireplace, with a flint and iron as well.

She spent a few minutes kindling a fire and the cheerful crack of the flames, and the flickering yellow light they cast over the interior of the hut, raised her spirits.

In a corner that was obviously a pantry, she found flour and dried meat and beans. There was some evidence that small scavengers had been at the supplies, but she felt that they would probably be sufficient for the next month or two. She and Will wouldn’t be feasting, she knew, but they would survive.

Particularly if he recovered any of his old skill as he shook off the effects of the drug. Because now, she saw, there was a small hunting bow and a leather quiver of arrows hanging behind the door of the hut. Even in the deep winter there would be some small game available—snowshoe rabbits and snow hares, mainly. They might well be able to supplement the food that had been stored here.

Horace looked up in interest at the mention of the bow. He vaguely remembered Will having a small bow when they reunited, but he just assumed it was a random one he made at some point.

If not—she shrugged at the thought. At least they were free and at least she had a chance to break Will’s warmweed addiction. She would face other problems as they arose.

The interior of the hut was becoming warmer now and she went back outside, motioning for Will to dismount. As he did so, she frowned at the sight of the pony. He could hardly stay outside, she realized. Yet the thought of sharing the single-roomed hut with him for the winter held little appeal. The previous night, even though she had been grateful for his warmth, she had been totally conscious of the powerful animal odour that came from him.

Telling Will to wait by the door, she moved around the hut to the side she had so far not inspected, and found her answer there.

There was a low lean-to built onto the hut at this point. It was open at one side but would provide sufficient shelter for the pony through the winter. There were a few items of abandoned tack and leather harness hanging on iron nails there, along with some simple tools. Obviously, it was intended as a stable.

Maddie gave a slight smile at the thought of the little pony. The animal certainly earned a good home for what he had done.

It had another use as well, she was grateful to see. Along the outer wall of the hut, against which the lean-to abutted, there was a large stack of cut firewood. She was relieved to see it there. Already she had wondered what she might do when she had exhausted the small supply in the hut itself.

She brought the pony to the lean-to and removed the pack saddle and bridle from him. There was a feed tub there and a small supply of grain, so she let him have some.

He stood gratefully, munching on the grain, grinding his teeth together in that peaceful way that horses have.

The Baron tried not to roll his eyes at the description of the pony. Yes, he had been integral in saving both Will and Cassandra’s life that day, however he was still just a horse.

It seemed that this John Flanagan fellow liked horses just as much as a Ranger.

At this stage, she could find no water for him. But she’d seen him licking at the snow during the day and reasoned that he could satisfy himself that way until she could arrange some alternative. The small supply of grain in the stable would obviously not last him until spring and she worried about that fact for a moment. Then, in line with her new philosophy of not worrying about matters she couldn’t rectify, she shrugged the thought away.

“Worry about it later,” she told herself, and returned to the cabin proper.

Maddie looked to her mother sceptically and Cassandra pretended she didn’t see the look her daughter was giving her.

Procrastination wasn’t the best thought process a future queen should have, however at the time it seemed like the best solution.

She found that Will had had the good sense to move inside and was seated on one of the benches, close to the fire. She took that as a good sign and prepared a simple meal from the remains of the provisions Erak had placed in the pack for them.

There was a battered kettle on a hanging arm by the fireplace and she rammed it full of snow, swinging the arm in until the kettle was suspended over the flames and the snow began to melt, then the water to boil. She had seen a small box of what looked like tea in the pantry area of the hut. At least they could have a warm drink to drive the last traces of cold and dampness away, she thought.

She smiled at Will as he chewed stolidly at the food she had placed before him. She felt strangely optimistic. Once more, she cast her glance over the interior of the hut. The light had gone outside now and they were lit solely by the uncertain but cheerful yellow glow of the fire. In the light it threw, the hut looked somehow welcoming and reassuring, and as she’d hoped, the heat of the fire and the smell of the pine smoke had overpowered the dampness and mustiness that had filled the room when she’d first entered.

“Well,” she said, “it isn’t much, but it’s home.”

She had no idea she was echoing the words spoken by Halt, hundreds of kilometres to the south.

Halt passed the book to Gilan who took it without hesitation.

Chapter 53: The Icebound Land - Chapter 32

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 32.

Gilan glanced up to look at both Halt and Horace briefly before he began reading.

Halt and Horace weren’t surprised when, the evening following the one-sided combat, the sergeant of the guards told them that the lord Deparnieux expected their company in the dining hall that night. It was a command, not an invitation, and Halt felt no need to pretend that it was anything else.

He made no acknowledgment of the sergeant’s message, but merely turned away to gaze out the tower window. The sergeant seemed unconcerned by this. He turned and resumed his post at the top of the spiralling staircase that led to the dining hall. He had passed on the message. The foreigners had heard it.

That evening, they bathed, dressed and walked together down the spiral staircase to the lower floors of the castle, their boot heels ringing on the flagstones as they went. They had spent the latter part of the afternoon discussing their plan of action for the night and Horace was eager to put it into effect. As they reached the three-meter-high double doors to the dining hall, Halt put a hand on his arm and stopped him. He could see the impatience on the young man’s face.

How the Hell did I end up learning patience when both of my parents seemed to lack it? Maddie thought ideally to herself, eyeing the two royals.  

They had been cooped up here for weeks now, listening to Deparnieux’s sneering, veiled insults and watching his savagely cruel treatment of his staff. The incidents with the cook and the young knight were only two of many. Halt knew that Horace, with the impatience of all young men, was keen to see Deparnieux given his comeuppance. He also knew that the plan they had agreed on would depend on patience and proper timing.

Maddie sat forward in her seat in anticipation.

Halt had realized that Deparnieux’s need to appear invincible to his men was a weakness they could exploit. Deparnieux himself had created a situation where he was forced to accept any challenge that might be issued, so long as it was made before witnesses. There could be no carping or quibbling on the warlord’s part. If he appeared to show fear, or reluctance to accept a challenge, it would be the beginning of a long, downward spiral. Now, as they stopped, Halt met Horace’s eager, anticipatory gaze with his own—steady, patient and calculating.

“Remember,” he said, “nothing until I give you the signal.”

Horace nodded. His cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement. “I understand,” he said, holding in his eagerness with some difficulty. He felt the Ranger’s hand on his arm, realized those steady eyes were still on his. He took three deep breaths to steady his pulse, then nodded again, this time more deliberately.

“I do understand, Halt,” he said again. He met the Ranger’s gaze this time, holding it with his own. “I won’t spoil things,” he assured his friend. “We’ve waited too long for this moment and I’m aware of it. Don’t worry.”

The retired Ranger hid his smile. At the beginning of their journey, he was sure that Horace had just been another fool with a sword. But once it came down to challenging Deparnieux, the Ranger knew that the boy could be both trusted, and replied upon.

Halt studied him for another long moment. Then, satisfied with the unspoken message he saw in the boy’s eyes, he nodded and released his arm. He shoved the double doors back so that they crashed against the wall on either side. Together, Horace and Halt marched into the dining hall to where Deparnieux waited for them.

Gilan had a slightly wild grin on his face as he read, no doubt excited for Deparnieux’s downfall as the rest of them.

The meal they were served was another disappointing example of the much-vaunted Gallic cuisine. To Halt’s taste, the dishes placed before them depended far too much on a rich and slightly sickly combination of too much cream and an excess of garlic. He ate sparingly, noticing, however, that Horace, with a young man’s appetite, wolfed down every morsel that was placed before him.

Everyone around the table rolled their eyes and Horace flushed pink from embarrassment. His eating habits were one of the many things his friends knew about him, as it had come up once or twice in their adventures.

Throughout the meal, the warlord kept up a constant stream of sarcasm, referring to the clumsiness and stupidity of his own serving staff and to the inept display made by the unknown knight the day before. As was their custom, Halt drank wine with the meal, while Horace contented himself with water. As they had finished eating the over-rich, heavy food, servants brought jugs of coffee to the table.

This, Halt had to admit, was one thing the Galls did with great skill. Their coffee was ambrosia, far better than any he had ever tasted in Araluen. He sipped appreciatively at the fragrant, hot drink, looking over the rim of his cup to where Deparnieux regarded him and Horace with his usual, disdainful smile.

Gilan and Will immediately looked up at the mention of coffee. Maddie rolled her eyes but paid close attention all the same.

By now, the Gallic knight had come to a decision about Halt. There was, he believed, nothing to fear from the grey-bearded foreigner. Obviously, the man had some skill with a bow. And he probably had skills in woodcraft and stalking as well. But as for his original fears that Halt might have some arcane skills as a sorcerer, he felt comfortable that he had been mistaken.

Gilan snorted. Sadly there was no Jenny around to call him Blaze, but he was poked with an elbow all the same.

Now that he felt it was safe to do so, Deparnieux could not resist the temptation to berate Halt with sneers and insults even more than before. The fact that he had been wary of the bearded man for some time merely served to redouble his efforts to discomfort him. The warlord enjoyed toying with people. He loved to hold people helpless, loved to see them suffer or rage impotently under the scourge of his sarcastic tongue.

Maddie clenched her fists.

And, as his contempt for Halt grew, so too did his total dismissal of Horace. Each time the three of them dined together like this, he waited expectantly for the moment when he could brusquely dismiss the muscular young man and send him, cheeks flaming with rage and embarrassment, back to the tower.

Now, he judged, it was time to do so once more. He tilted his heavy chair back on its hind legs, draining the silver goblet that he held in his left hand. He waved the other hand disdainfully in the boy’s direction.

“Leave us, boy,” he commanded, refusing to even look at Horace. He felt a distinct thrill of pleasure when the boy, after a slight pause, and a quick glance at his companion, stood slowly and replied with one word.

“No.”

Maddie smiled, a broad and genuine smile that, if one looked close enough, was suspiciously close to a smirk.

The word hung in the air between them. Deparnieux exulted in the boy’s rebellion, but he allowed no sign to show on his face. Instead, he affected a heavy frown of apparent displeasure. He turned slowly to face the youth. He could see Horace’s breath coming faster as the adrenaline surged through his veins, now that this vital moment had finally arrived.

“No?” Deparnieux repeated, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “I am the lord of this castle, and my word here is law. My pleasure is the command of all others. You do me the discourtesy of telling me no in my own castle?”

Baron Arald mentally stopped himself from sighing. Just because someone was lord of a castle, didn’t mean they knew all.

A wise Baron would listen to the head cook in the kitchen, or the head of diplomatic services during negotiations, as he knew and trusted their judgement when it came to their respected fields.

“The time is past when your word is to be obeyed without question,” Horace replied carefully, frowning as he strove to make sure he stayed to the exact wording Halt had laid out. “You have forfeited your right to obedience by your unchivalrous actions.”

Deparnieux still maintained a pretence of displeasure. “You challenge my right to command in my own fief?”

“I challenge your right to get up in the mornings…” Horace muttered under his breath.

Horace hesitated once more, making sure he phrased his reply exactly. As Halt had told him, accuracy now was of paramount importance. In fact, as Horace realized only too well, it was a matter of life and death.

“When is it not…” Halt sighed quietly.

“It’s time that right was challenged,” he replied, after a pause. Deparnieux, allowing a wolfish smile to show on his dark features, now rose from his seat, leaning forward over the table, resting both hands on the bare wood surface.

Will frowned at the description, as it reminded him of the Skandians. His allies wouldn’t have tolerated this kind of behaviour for a moment and would beheaded the fool, Deparnieux, before the end of their first interaction with the scum.

“So you challenge me?” he asked, the pleasure in his voice all too obvious. Horace, however, made an uncertain gesture.

“Before any challenge is issued, I would demand that you respect it,” he said, and the warlord frowned slightly.

“Respect it?” he repeated. “What do you mean, you whining pup?”

Cassandra clenched her fists, seconds away from stabling someone or something.

Horace shook his head doggedly, dismissing the insult.

“I want an undertaking that you will abide by the terms of the challenge. And I want it made before your own men.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Now the hint of anger in Deparnieux’s voice wasn’t assumed. It was real. He could see where the boy was going.

“I think,” Halt interrupted quietly, “that the boy feels you rule by fear, Lord Deparnieux,” he said. The Gall turned to face him.

“And what is that to either of you, bowman?” he asked, although he thought he already knew.

Halt shrugged, then replied casually, “Your men are with you because of your reputation as a warrior. I believe Horace would prefer to see the challenge issued and accepted before your men.”

The room as dead silent as Gilan read.

Deparnieux frowned. With the challenge more or less issued in front of some of his men already, he knew he had no choice but to comply. A warlord who even seemed to show fear of a sixteen-year-old youth would find little respect from the men he commanded, even if he were to win the resultant battle.

“You feel I am afraid of this boy’s challenge?” he asked sarcastically. Halt held up a cautioning hand.

“No challenge has been issued…yet,” he said. “We’re merely concerned to see that you have the courage to honour any challenge that might eventuate.”

Deparnieux snorted in disgust at the Ranger’s careful words. “I can see your true calling now, bowman,” he replied. “I thought you might be a sorcerer. I see now you are no more than a grubby lawyer, bickering over words.”

Will’s expression darkened greatly.

Halt smiled thinly and inclined his head slightly. He made no other reply and the silence stretched between them. Deparnieux glanced quickly at the two sentries who stood inside the large double doors of the dining hall. Their faces betrayed their interest in the scene being played out. The details would spread throughout the castle within the hour if he were to refuse the challenge now, or try to gain any unfair advantage over the boy.

His men had little love for him and he knew that, should he not treat the challenge fairly, he would begin to lose them. Not immediately, perhaps, but gradually, by ones and twos as they deserted his banner and flocked to his enemies. And Deparnieux had all too many enemies.

Wonder why, Maddie thought with grim satisfaction.

He glared at the boy now. He had no doubt whatsoever that he could best Horace in a fair fight. But he resented the fact that he had been manipulated into this position. In Château Montsombre, it was Deparnieux who preferred to do the manipulating. He forced a smile and tried to look as if he were bored with the entire affair.

“Very well,” he said, in a careless tone, “if this is what you wish, I will abide by the terms of the challenge.”

“And you give that undertaking in front of your own men here?” Horace said quickly, and the warlord scowled at him, abandoning any pretence that he didn’t dislike the quibbling boy and his bearded companion.

“Yes,” he spat at them. “If I must spell it out to please you, I guarantee my acceptance, in front of my men.”

Horace heaved a large sigh of relief. “Then,” he said, beginning to tug one of his gloves free from where it was tucked securely into his belt, “the challenge may be issued. The combat will take place in two weeks’ time.”

“Agreed,” Deparnieux replied.

“On the grassed field before Château Montsombre…”

“Agreed.” The word was almost spat out.

“Now he knows what we feel when we need to say his name.” Cassandra glared daggers at the book, the insult barely scratching the surface of her imagination.

“…in view of your own men and the other people of the castle…”

“Agreed.”

“…and it shall be mortal combat.” Horace’s voice hesitated slightly over the phrase, but he glanced quickly at Halt and the Ranger nodded slightly to give him courage. And now the smile returned to the warlord’s lips, thin and bitter and savage.

“Agreed,” he said again. Yet this time, the word was almost purred. “Now get on with it, boy, before you lose your courage and wet your pants.”

Horace cocked his head at the warlord and, for the first time, felt in control of the situation.

“What a thoroughly unpleasant piece of work you are, Deparnieux,” he said softly, and the black knight leaned forward across the table, thrusting his chin out for the ritual blow with a glove that would issue the challenge and make the entire event irrevocable.

“Frightened, boy?” He sneered, and then flinched as a glove slapped stingingly across his cheek.

Maddie smirked. Not even bothering to hide the pleasure she was getting out of the confrontation.

Not that the pain made him flinch. Rather, it was the unexpectedness of it all. For the boy across the table hadn’t moved. Instead, the bearded, grizzled bowman had come to his feet with a speed and agility that left the warlord no time to react, and struck him across the face with the glove that he had held under the table for the past few minutes.

Cassandra had a wicked smile on her face and everyone else around the room silently cheered and waited for karma to take its course.

“Then I challenge you, Deparnieux,” the Ranger said. And for a few seconds the warlord felt a surge of uncertainty as he saw the light of satisfaction deep behind those steady, unwavering eyes.

Gilan passed the book to Lady Pauline who took it steadily. But even she had a slight smile on her face.

Chapter 54: The Icebound Land - Chapter 33

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 33.

A small patch of sunlight crept across the single room of the hut. Evanlyn, dozing in a chair, felt the warmth of the sun on her face and smiled, unconsciously. Outside, the snow was still deep on the ground, but the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue in the mid-afternoon.

Half-asleep, she enjoyed the warmth as it slowly moved across her. Behind closed eyelids, she saw the bright red of the sun’s glare.

Then, abruptly, the light was blocked and she opened her eyes.

Will stood before her, in the attitude that had become familiar to her over the past week. His hands were clasped together and his dark brown eyes, once so alight with amusement and fun, held nothing but a wistful plea. He stood patiently, waiting for her to react, and she smiled at him, a little sadly.

The smile from the last chapter was quickly wiped off everyone’s face at the description of Will’s condition under the warmweed.
 
“All right,” she told him gently.

The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips, seeming for a moment to reflect in those dark eyes, and she felt a renewal of the surge of hope that had been growing within her over the past days. Gradually, but noticeably, Will was changing. At first, as she withheld the drug from him, he had convulsed in those awful shuddering fits, only recovering when she doled out a small portion of the warm weed.

A few people around the table winced and Cassandra briefly put her head in her hands, knowing that she had been a fool to withhold the drug completely and had caused her friend to suffer in pain from the seizures.

The only bright side was that Will had been so far under the drug’s control that he would have no memories of the event, thankfully.

But, as the intervals between doses had grown longer and the doses themselves smaller, she had begun to hope that he would eventually recover. The seizures were a thing of the past. Now, instead of being ruled by his body as it craved the drug, Will was becoming more mentally attuned to a smaller supply. There was still a need there, but it was reflected in the pleading, almost childlike behaviour that she was seeing now.

Will frowned, as he did sometimes have brief memories of standing in front of Evanlyn at some point. He didn’t remember talking to her; however he did recall that she would always stop whatever she was doing and give him something, which was always the end of the memory.

Similar events had happened with a different setting and time, so he presumed that it must have occurred quite often. As he listened to Lady Pauline reading, it finally made a lot more sense.

After three days without a taste of the weed, he would come to her and simply stand in front of her, the message clear in his eyes. And, in response, she would measure out a helping of the ever-decreasing stock of drug that remained in the oiled cotton pouch. It was a race, she knew, to see whether his dependence would outlast the supply.

Maddie shuddered at the thought. What if the supply had been less and Will was never able to recover from the drug? Would the Araluen she knew today still exist? The answer was almost certainly no, and it scared her to think that one person’s actions, one person’s life could affect a country so much.

Obviously that was the case of royalty, however Will was never raised to rule a country. She supposed that Ranger training did kinder raise you to make important decisions, as it was a crucial part of the job.

If that were the case, she could see some hard times ahead for the two of them. She had no idea what his reaction would be if she refused him. But she sensed that further deprivation would result in another bout of uncontrollable shivering and crying.

Perhaps, she reasoned, that was the next necessary stage in his rehabilitation. But, rightly or wrongly, she simply could not bring herself to witness that helpless, naked need again. Time enough for that when the warmweed finally ran out, she thought.

“Thank god it didn’t.” Cassandra said, “I don’t know what would have happened otherwise.”

“Nothing good.” Horace replied steadily, putting a head on Cassandra’s shoulder in support.

“Stay here,” she told him, rising from the wood-frame chair and heading for the door. Again, she thought she saw a dim glint of pleasure in his eyes. It was gone almost as soon as she thought she had seen it, but she told herself that it had really been there, that she wasn’t simply seeing what she hoped to see.

She kept the supply of warmweed in the stable, behind a loose board on one of the sidewalls. Initially, she was planning to conceal the oiled cloth pouch in the pile of firewood logs. But then she realized that she would use Will to fetch firewood and the possibility of his finding the supply of the drug was too awful to contemplate.

Will grimaced at the thought of him relapsing after being steadily weaned off the drug.

She had no clear idea what would happen to him if he took an excessively large dose. At the least, she reasoned, his dependence would soar once again to a new level. And there might possibly be more permanent side effects as well—even fatal ones. What she did know was that if Will found the warmweed and used it all in one massive binge, she would face weeks of the convulsions and shuddering fits that had seized him when he had been deprived of the drug before.

She wondered if his dulled mind could process the fact that she always left the cabin and returned with the weed; whether he was capable of putting together a cause-and-effect sequence and reasoning that the weed must be kept somewhere outside the cabin.

She wasn’t sure, but in any event, she took no risk, taking great care to check that he hadn’t followed her when she took the pouch from the small concealed space in the timber wall. She looked carefully over her shoulder as she entered the stable and the pony looked up and snorted a greeting to her. But there was no sign that Will was showing any interest in her movements.

Maddie looked over to her mentor and she could see he was listening intently to the story. What she didn’t know was that the retelling of the events, not from his point of view, were stirring up a few forgotten memories that, in context, made a lot more sense.

Apparently, he was content to wait where he was, knowing that she would shortly return with the drug that he craved. How this happened, or where she found it, didn’t seem to be questions that concerned him. They were abstractions and he dealt only in absolute facts these days.

She measured a minute amount of the dried weed into the palm of her hand, rewrapped the remaining supply and replaced it behind the loose board. Again, halfway through the sequence, she turned suddenly to see if she might be being observed. But there was no sign of her companion—only the pony, watching her with liquid, intelligent eyes.

“Don’t say a word,” she said to the horse in a lowered tone. Remarkably, it chose that very moment to shake its head, as ponies do from time to time. Evanlyn shrugged after a second of startled reaction. It was as if the horse had heard and understood her.

Will, Gilan, Maddie, and Halt hid their grins as Horace turned to his wife and raised an eyebrow in astonishment. Cassandra blushed, slightly embarrassed at being caught for taking to the little pony, especially because she had chastised Horace for doing the exact same thing to Kicker more than once.

She replaced the pouch in the hollow and jammed the section of board back to conceal it. Stooping to the earth floor of the stable, she gathered a handful of dirt and smeared it over the jagged line that marked the join in the wood. Then, satisfied that the hiding place was concealed as well as it could be, she returned to the cabin.

Will smiled as she entered and, for one moment, she thought he had recognized her from the old days. The old days, she thought ruefully. They were barely a few months ago, but now she thought of them as ancient history. Then she realized that his gaze was riveted on her clenched right hand. The smile was for the drug, not for her.

Horace opened his hand and she took it firmly in hers. He knew it had been a hard time for them both and bring it back up was no doubt reminding them of unwanted memories.

Still, it was a beginning, she thought.

She held out the clenched hand and he eagerly stepped forward, cupping both his hands underneath hers, anxious that not a grain should be spilled. She allowed the grey-green herb to trickle into his hands, watching his face as his eyes followed the thin stream of the drug. Unconsciously, his tongue darted across his lips in anticipation.

When she had given him all of it—and allowed him to carefully brush the few minute crumbs that remained fastened on her palm into his own—he looked up at her and smiled again. This time, he smiled at her, she was sure.

“Good,” he said briefly, and then his gaze fell to the tiny mound of dried warmweed in his hand. He turned away from her, hunching over the hand as he brought it to his mouth. Evanlyn felt that sudden glow of hope burn brightly within her once more. It was the first time Will had actually spoken to her in the time since they had escaped from Hallasholm.

Maddie sighed in relief, the story too engaging for her to simply think of it as the past. Though she knew the outcome, it still didn’t make the journey ay less dauting or exciting.

It wasn’t much. Just the one word. But it was a beginning. She smiled after him as he hunkered down in a corner of the cabin. Animal-like, he instinctively cowered away as he took the drug, seemingly nervous that she might take it from him.

“Welcome back, Will,” she said softly.

But he said nothing in reply. The warmweed had him once again.

Lady Pauline passed the book to Baron Arald.

Chapter 55: The Icebound Land - Chapter 34

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 34.

The Baron cleared his throat and began reading.

Horace rose in his stirrups as Kicker reached a full gallop. He held the long ash pole out to his right-hand side, at right angles to his body and the line of travel. Ahead of him, standing unmoving in the middle of the field situated in front of the castle, Halt drew back the string of his longbow until the feathered end of the arrow touched the corner of his mouth.

Horace urged the battle horse to an even faster pace, until they had reached maximum speed. He glanced out to his right, to make sure the helmet that he had attached to the end of the pole was still in the correct position, facing Halt. Then he looked back at the small figure on the grass before him.

He saw the first arrow released, spitting from the bow with incredible force and speeding toward the moving target. Then, in an almost incomprehensible blur of motion, Halt’s hands moved and another arrow was on the way.

The Ranger’s all nodded to themselves, as they all knew Halt’s skill with a bow. Will leaned in slightly, curious about what his ex-mentor was up to. He had no doubt that Halt had a plan when he challenged Deparnieux, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

As far as Will could tell, Deparnieux wasn’t actually too bad at combat and the Ranger couldn’t help but worry for his mentor, even if it was in the past.

Almost at the same time, Horace felt a double concussion transmitted down the length of the ash pole he held out, as the two shafts slammed into the helmet within the space of half a second.

He allowed Kicker to ease down to a canter as they passed Halt, taking the horse in a wide circle to come to a stop before the Ranger. Halt now stood with his bow grounded, waiting patiently to see the result of his practice. Horace let the pole and the attached helmet dip to the ground in front of him. Both shafts, incredibly, had found their way through the helmet’s vision slits and into the soft padding that Halt had put inside to protect the razor-sharp arrowheads.

Halt gave a small nod at the mention of his past antics, remembering the long and arduous practise he had forced himself to do before the duel.

As Halt took the old helmet in his hands, Horace swung his leg over the pommel and slid to the ground beside him. The grizzled Ranger nodded once as he inspected the result of his target practice.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

Horace dropped the end of his reins, allowing Kicker to wander off and crop the short, thick grass that grew on the tournament field. He was puzzled and more than a little worried by Halt’s actions.

Maddie raised her eyebrows in surprise. Kicker was her father’s battle horse and though he was well trained, he wasn’t able to complete with Ranger horses such as Bumper and Tug. However, the way that the author had illustrated the action with that specific phrase made her question her first assumptions.

After the challenge had been issued and accepted, Deparnieux had agreed to return their weapons. Halt claimed that he had not fired an arrow in weeks and would need to hone his skills for the combat.

Deparnieux, who practiced his own combat skills daily, saw nothing unusual in the request. So the weapons had been returned, although the two Araluens were watched closely by at least half a dozen crossbowmen whenever they practiced.

Gilan gave a slight snort. If the conditions were right, he had no doubt that Halt and Horace could have broken out if they had needed to. But now that the duel had been issued, they could get rid of Deparnieux once and for all.

For the past three days, Halt had instructed Horace to gallop down the field, the helmet held out on the end of a pole, as he fired shafts at the eyeholes. Every time, at least one of the two shafts had found its mark. Generally, Halt managed to put both arrows through the tiny spaces he was aiming at.

Yet this was no more than Horace expected of the Ranger. Halt’s skill with a longbow was legendary. There was no need for him to practice now, particularly when, by doing so, he was revealing his tactics to the Gallic warlord.

“Is he watching?” Halt asked quietly, seeming to read Horace’s thoughts. The Ranger had his back to the castle walls and couldn’t see. But Horace, moving his eyes only and not his head, could make out the black silhouette at one of the castle’s many terraces, hunched over the balustrade watching them—as he had done every time they had taken the field.

Creep, Maddie thought. If you were going to watch someone practise, then you should do so in clear view. Not hiding up in a tower while pretending to be doing something else.

“Yes, Halt,” he said now. “He’s watching. But is it wise for us to do this where he can see?”

The very faintest trace of a smile seemed to touch the Ranger’s lips.

“Possibly not,” he replied. “But he’d make sure he saw us no matter where we practiced, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes,” Horace admitted reluctantly, “but surely you don’t need to practice, do you?”

Halt shook his head sadly. “Spoken like a true apprentice,” he said. “Practice never hurt anyone, young Horace. Bear that in mind when we get back to Castle Redmont.”

When, Maddie noted, not if.

Horace eyed Halt unhappily as he eased the two arrows free from the straw and leather padding that filled the inside of the helmet.

“There’s something else,” he began, and Halt held up a hand to stop him.

“I know, I know,” he said. “Your precious rules of chivalry are bothering you again, aren’t they?” Horace was forced to nod reluctant agreement. It was a bone of contention between the two of them, and had been ever since Halt had arranged to challenge Deparnieux to a duel.

Maddie forced herself not to role her eyes. Though she understood the rules of chivalry, like most Rangers, she generally didn’t abide by them. Their all good and true to a certain extent, however there are often lines Ranger’s must cross, and something like the rules would prevent them from doing so.

Besides, Knights are the ones that needed to look all noble and abide by a code. After all, otherwise the common people would never trust them. Rangers, on the other hand, were loyal to the Queen or King of Araluen first and foremost, and everyone knew it.

Finally, Rangers did things in the shadows that weren’t always legal, while as knights always parade around the place, sometimes extensively, to show off wealth and power. There was a key difference. While the knights seemed like the first defence for the royalty, the Rangers were far more effective because of their lack of code holding them back.

At first, the warlord had been enraged, then sarcastically amused, that a commoner might assume to challenge him.

Will quickly turned his laughter into a coughing fit as Halt glared at him from across the table. Horace hid his smile.

“I am a consecrated knight,” he spat at Halt. “A nobleman! I cannot be challenged to combat by any ruffian from the forest!”

Gilan cackled, almost bent over double laughing, trying his best to keep out of range of Halt’s jabs.

The Ranger’s brows had darkened at that. His voice, when he spoke, was low and dangerous. Inadvertently, both Deparnieux and Horace had leaned forward to listen more carefully to his words.

“Guard your tongue, you lowborn cur!” Halt had replied. “You’re speaking to a member of the royal house of Hibernia, sixth in line to the throne and with a lineage that was noble when you and yours were scouring the kennels for scraps to eat!”

Maddie looked to Halt in astonishment. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or whether he was just a really good lair. Will, Gilan and Horace’s reaction weren’t exactly helping her form her opinion either, so she just chose to ignore them.

And, as he had spoken, an unmistakable Hibernian burr had accented his words. Horace had looked at him in considerable surprise. He had never had the slightest idea that Halt was descended from a royal line. Deparnieux was equally taken aback by the news. He was right, of course. No knight was obliged to honour a challenge from one beneath him.

But the grizzled archer’s claim to royal blood put a different aspect on matters. His challenge must be treated seriously and with respect. Deparnieux could not ignore it—particularly as it had been issued in the presence of several of his men. To refuse the challenge would undermine his position seriously.

Maddie knew that must have been Halt’s intention, however that still didn’t convince her that he wasn’t like…the secret heir to one of the kingdoms of Hibernia.

As a result, he had accepted and the combat was set down for a week from that day. Later, in their tower chambers, Horace had expressed his surprise about Halt’s background.

“I had no idea you were descended from Hibernian royalty,” he said. Halt snorted dismissively as he replied.

“I’m not,” he said.

Will had to almost slide under the table to hide his smile.

“But our friend doesn’t know that and there’s no way he can prove I’m not. Therefore he has to take my challenge as binding.”

And it was this disregard for the strict conventions of chivalry that had Horace so concerned, as much as the fact that Halt seemed to be letting his enemy know exactly what tactics he had for the combat, which was now only a day away. Training in the Battle school placed great store upon the conventions and obligations of knighthood.

Sir Rodney nodded, pleased to know the importance of knighthood had influenced such a great student early on.

They were, so Horace had been taught for the past eighteen months, binding and inflexible. They placed obligations on those who would be knights, and while they gave them great privileges, those privileges had to be earned. A knight had to observe the rules. To live by them and, if necessary, to die for them.

Among the most binding and inflexible of those conventions was that of a knight’s recourse to trial by combat. It was a course that could be followed only by those who were followers of one of the various chivalrous orders. Even Horace, as an unknighted warrior, wasn’t, strictly speaking, entitled to challenge Deparnieux. But Halt certainly wasn’t and the Ranger’s cavalier attitude to a system that Horace held in the highest esteem had shocked the boy—and continued to do so now.

“Does it still shock you Horace?” Halt asked, eyebrow raised at the knight. Horace shook his head firmly.

“Honestly Halt, I’m not sure there’s anything about you that can shock me anymore.”

“Look,” said Halt, not unkindly, as he put an arm around Horace’s brawny shoulders, “the rules of chivalry are a fine thing, I admit that. But only for those who abide by all the rules.”

“But—” Horace began, but Halt stopped him by squeezing his shoulder.

“Deparnieux has used those rules to kill, to plunder and to murder for God knows how many years. He accepts those parts of the rules that suit him and discards the ones that don’t. You’ve seen that already.”

Horace nodded unhappily. “I know, Halt. It’s just I’ve been taught that—”

Maddie tried her best not to roll her eyes. Deparnieux wouldn’t even count as a knight in any decent country. If anything he was more like a haughty mercenary with a sword to back up his word.

Halt interrupted him again, but gently. “You’ve been taught by men who are noble,” he said. “By men who uphold the rules of chivalry—all the rules—and live according to them. Let me tell you, I know no finer man than Sir Rodney, or Baron Arald, for that matter. Men like that are the embodiment of everything that is right about chivalry and knighthood.”

The Baron briefly paused and gave Halt a nod in thanks for the compliment, Sir Rodney next to him did likewise. Halt returned the gesture, as his statement had been true.

He paused, looking intently at the boy’s troubled face. Horace nodded agreement. Halt had chosen two of his role models in Rodney and the Baron. Seeing that he had made his point, Halt continued. “But a murdering, cowardly swine like Deparnieux cannot be allowed to claim the same standards as men like that. I have no compunction at all about lying to him as long as it helps me bring him to the point where I can fight him—and defeat him, with any luck.”

“Was it you who told me there was no such thing as luck?” Will asked as he glanced at Halt.

The retired Ranger shook his head, “If anything, I probably believe in luck more than I believe in most of the nobility I’ve met. I’ve certainly been lucky in my life, but whether it’s a real force or not remains to be seen.”

And at that point, Horace turned to him, his face still troubled, but perhaps a little less so. “But how can you hope to defeat him when he knows exactly what you plan to do?” he asked miserably.

Halt shrugged and replied, without any trace of a smile. “Perhaps I’ll get lucky.”

Baron Arald passed the book to Maddie who took it. She gave a small apologetic smile to Sir Rodney but promised to let him read next.

Notes:

Totally didn't almost forget :)

Chapter 56: The Icebound Land - Chapter 35

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 35.

The hunting bow was awkward in Evanlyn’s grip. She fumbled as she tried to set one of the arrows on the string, almost dropping it into the snow at her feet as she tried to keep her eyes on the small animal moving slowly across the clearing before of a bow.

Cassandra winced at the mention of her use of the bow. In the years after, she had learned that she was much better with a sling and had deicide to leave the skills of archery for the Rangers.

Meanwhile Maddie looked on, curious about how good her mother had been with a weapon she was extremely proficient in.

Unthinkingly, she hissed her annoyance and instantly the rabbit sat up on its hind legs, its ears twitching this way and that to see if they could catch another hint of the foreign sound it had just picked up, and the nose twitching this way and that as it sampled the air for any trace of a foreign scent.

Horace raised an eyebrow at his wife who flushed in embarrassment. Now that neither her nor Will were in any life-threatening danger (at least for a little while), he could make jokes about her temper and other qualities that he loved about her.

Evanlyn froze, waiting till the animal had reassured itself that there was no immediate danger, then went back to scrabble with its forepaws in the snow, scraping it away to expose the wet, stunted grass underneath.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she watched as the rabbit began to graze again, then, looking down this time, slipped the arrow onto the string, just under the nock mark that the bow’s original maker had placed there.

At this point, the string had been built up in thickness, with a fine cord wound around and around it, so that the nock fitted snugly, holding the arrow in place without any need for her fingers to do so. It was a snug hold, but a light one nevertheless, and the force of the string’s release would instantly break the grip and send the arrow on its way.

She brought the bow up now and began to draw back on the string with her right hand. She knew she wasn’t doing this correctly. She’d seen enough archers in her time to know that this simply wasn’t the way it was done. However, as she was beginning to appreciate, watching a trained archer and emulating his movements were two completely different matters.

Maddie had to stop herself from snorting. Gilan and Will weren’t as successful and earned a glare from the Queen.

Will, she remembered, could nock and draw an arrow in one smooth, practiced and seemingly effortless movement. She could picture the movement now in her mind, but it was totally beyond her abilities to re-create it. Instead she held the bow upright and quivering, gripping the arrow’s nock between her finger and thumb, and attempting to draw the string back with the strength of her fingers and arm alone. Doing it that way, she could barely manage to bring the arrow to half draw.

The Rangers (and apprentice) winced in unison. Cassandra flushed a deeper shade of red in embarrassment.

She pursed her lips in anger. That would have to do. She closed one eye and squinted down the arrow, trying to aim it at the small creature, which was feeding contentedly and oblivious to the mortal danger lurking in the trees fringing the clearing. With more hope than conviction, she finally released her grip on the arrow. Three things happened.

The bow jerked in her grip, throwing the arrow off its aim by at least three meters. The arrow itself flipped out of the bow, with barely enough power behind it to cause it to pierce flesh, and the string slapped painfully against the soft inside skin of her right forearm. She yelped in pain and dropped the bow. The arrow skated off the bole of a tree and disappeared into the forest on the far side of the clearing.

“Her right forearm?” Maddie questioned, puzzlement evident in her voice as she looked up from the book. “I thought she drew the arrow with her right hand and held the bow in her left?”

Maddie quickly skimmed the previous page and confirmed, “It says she drew the string back with her right hand, so shouldn’t her left forearm be flicked with the string?”

Will frowned, she was right. Perhaps the author hadn’t written that she’d changed hands, or that they’d just wrote the wrong arm getting wacked.

The rabbit came upright again and peered at her, a look of total puzzlement seeming to come over it as it cocked its head to see her more clearly. Then, dropping to all fours, it ambled slowly out of the clearing and into the trees.

Maddie smothered her laughter as she pictured a younger version of her mother being overly frustrated and stared at sceptically by a rabbit. Cassandra gave her a side eye but didn’t mention the badly hidden fit of laughter as her daughter continued reading.

So much, she thought bitterly, for the mortal peril hanging over its head.

She picked up the bow, rubbing the painful spot on her forearm where the string had slapped her, and went to look for the arrow. After ten minutes’ searching, she decided it would have to remain lost. Glumly, she headed back to the small cabin.

 “I guess I’m going to have to practice more,” she muttered.

“An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right.” Maddie muttered under her breath.

“A Ranger practices until he never gets it wrong…” Will finished for her.

He frowned, restating, “Until they never get it wrong.” Maddie gave him a small grin before continuing.

This had been her second attempt at hunting. Her first had been equally fruitless and every bit as discouraging. For what must have been the fiftieth time, she sighed over the thought that if Will were healthy, he would have no difficulty at all in using the bow to provide food for their table.

She had shown him the bow, of course, hoping that the sight of the weapon might awaken some spark of memory within him. But he had done nothing other than stare at it with that disinterested, disingenuous expression that had become all too familiar to her.

Will winced. If he had been a little more with it, perhaps he and Cassandra may have been able to recover from their time as slaves quicker, as he could have provided more nutritious food for them.

There had been a fresh snowfall overnight and the snow was knee-deep as she trudged back to the cabin. It had been the first snow in over a week and that had also set her to thinking. Winter must be more than halfway over and, eventually, when the spring came, the Skandians from Hallasholm would again begin to move through these mountains.

Perhaps some might even arrive to use the cabin she and Will were wintering in. He would have to be recovered by then so they could begin the long trek south, and she had no idea how long his recovery might take. He seemed to be improving with each day, but she couldn’t be sure. Nor could she really be sure how long they had until the spring thaw began to melt the snow.

“I didn’t even know what day of the week it was.” Cassandra admitted, as that information wouldn’t have helped her as a slave.

They were in a race, she knew. But it was a race where she had no sight of the finish line. It could be on her any day.

The cabin came into view. She was relieved to see that a thin whisper of woodsmoke still issued from the chimney. She’d banked the fire before she’d left earlier in the day, hoping that she’d put enough fuel on to keep it burning through her absence. Nothing was more disheartening, she had already discovered, than arriving home cold and wet to a dead fire.

Maddie agreed.

Naturally, there was no way she could expect Will to tend the fire while she was away. Even a simple task like that seemed beyond him. It was not, she realized, that he was unwilling. He was simply totally uninterested in doing or saying anything beyond the most basic functions. He ate, slept and occasionally came to her with that pleading expression in his eyes, asking for more warm weed. At least, she consoled herself, it had been some time since he had done that.

For the rest of the time, he simply sat wherever he might be, staring at the floor, or his hand, or a piece of wood, or whatever might have formed a focus point for his eyes at the time.

Halt tried to picture his apprentice in that manor but found that he couldn’t. The Will he knew was also moving, talking, and openly showing his emotions while with his friends and family.

He was immensely glad that Cassandra had been able to break Will out of his addiction before he had arrived. Otherwise, Halt was sure he would have done something foolish out of anger that would have certainly gotten them all killed.

The old leather hinges on the cabin door creaked as she swung it inward. The noise was enough to draw Will’s attention to her. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the cabin, much as he had been when she left, some hours earlier.

“Hullo, Will. I’m back,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. She always tried, living in the hope that one day he would answer her.

This was not to be that day. The boy showed no sign of reply or interest. Sighing to herself, she leaned the small bow against the wall, just inside the door. Vaguely, she realized that she should unstring the bow, but she was too dispirited to do so right at the moment.

Maddie frowned at the lack of bow care. She knew it was important to not leave your bow stringed for pro-longed periods of time when not using it as it can damage the limbs over a long enough period of time which could affect the draw weight.

She crossed to the pantry and took out a small piece of their dwindling supply of dried beef. There was rice there too and she began preparing the beef-flavoured rice that had become their staple meal over the last few weeks, setting water to boil so that she could steep the meat in it and prepare a thin stock with at least a little flavour to it.

Horace wrinkled his nose at the food. He knew it had been their only option, but that didn’t make it any less bland.

She had measured out a cup of the rice and was setting it into another pan when she heard a slight noise behind her. Turning, she realized that Will had moved from the position he’d occupied for most of the afternoon. He was now sitting near the doorway. She wondered what had caused him to move, then decided that it was probably a random inclination on his part.

Then she saw what it was, and she gave a jerk of surprise, spilling some of the precious rice onto the table. The little bow was still leaning against the wall by the door. But now, it had been unstrung.

Maddie immediately handed the book over to Sir Rodney who took it with a slight grin on his face. They had all noticed by now that the author swapped between Will and Cassandra, to Horace and Halt every chapter. So that meant that Sir Rodney was now reading the chapter about the duel between Halt and Deparnieux, rather than Cassandra’s poor attempt at archery.

The knight nodded to her in thanks before he began reading. 

Chapter 57: The Icebound Land - Chapter 36

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 36.

Maddie leaned forward in anticipation.

Deparnieux’s men had been out since early that morning, sweeping scythes through the long grass that covered the field in front of Château Montsombre. The Gallic knight was taking no chances on the planned combat. He had seen battle horses brought down by tangles of long grass and he wanted to make sure that the fighting ground was clear of any such danger.

Sir Rodney hated to agree with him. This man was smart; however he was also Deparnieux. So no matter what redeeming qualities he had, it didn’t matter.

Now, an hour after noon, he emerged from the sally port that he had used on the occasion of his last combat. He had no doubt that he would defeat Halt. But he also had no misconceptions about the small stranger. He had watched the constant practice sessions that Halt and Horace had been conducting and he knew the Araluen was an archer of rare skill. He had no doubt of the tactics that his opponent would be employing.

Halt subtly raised an eyebrow in response. Now the author was giving Deparnieux’s point of view, Halt was surprised the so-called knight lasted that long.

The practice sessions had made them plain. Deparnieux smiled to himself. Halt’s psychological tactics were interesting, he thought. The constant sight of an arrow slamming though the vision slit of a rapidly moving helmet might well be enough to unnerve most opponents. But, while Deparnieux had little doubt about Halt’s abilities, he had even less about his own. His reflexes were as sharp as a cat’s and he was confident that he could deflect Halt’s arrows with his shield.

Maddie frowned. Unless Deparnieux’s shield could cover his entire body, plus his eyes, she doubted Halt would need to look too hard for an opening to send a barrage of arrows.

The grey-haired Araluen seemed to have misjudged his opponent, he thought, and felt vaguely disappointed by the fact. He had expected so much of the stranger. Now, it seemed, those early impressions had come to very little. Halt was an expert bowman, that was all. He had no supernatural powers or arcane skills.

Will, Gilan and Horace all discretely shared a look which said, this guy is so screwed, then endeavoured not to burst out laughing when they all glanced over to Halt who was watching their interactions with a raised eyebrow.

Lady Pauline gave each of them a small smile as she poked her husband under the table. Halt stopped staring at the past-apprentices and looked to Sir Rodney who had noticed the exchange.

In fact, thought the warlord, he was a rather limited, rather boring man with a high opinion of himself. He doubted the archer’s claim to royal lineage, but that no longer mattered to him. The man deserved to die, and Deparnieux would be happy to oblige him.

Greater men have tried, Will thought, imagining a certain rebel Baron. And look how he turned out.

There were none of the usual flourishes of trumpets or ruffles of side drums as Deparnieux cantered his black charger slowly onto the combat field. This was not a day for ceremony. This was a simple working day for the black knight. An interloper had challenged his authority and his pre-eminence in the area. It was necessary to dispatch such people with maximum efficiency.

For all that, virtually every member of the staff of Château Montsombre, and a good many of Deparnieux’s fighting men, were present to witness the combat. He smiled wolfishly as he wondered how many of them were watching in the hope that they would see him defeated. More than a few, he thought. But they were doomed to disappointment. In fact, the dispatch of the archer would serve a useful purpose for him. Nothing would serve discipline so well as the sight of the Château’s lord and master dealing a quick death to an upstart interloper.

“This guy has a serious ego problem.” Maddie noted, and everyone nodded in agreement.

Speak of the devil, there he was now. The archer was cantering onto the far end of the field, on his absurd little barrel of a horse.

Halt gave the book a death glare. It was fine if Deparnieux insulted him, but Abelard. No.

If the so-called knight was still alive, Halt would have been tempted to go after him right there and then for that comment, and he knew a few people who would have joined him. However, the bastard was long dead so there was nothing he could do.

He wore no armour, only a studded leather vest that would give him no protection at all against Deparnieux’s lance and sword. And, of course, his ever-present grey-and-green dappled cloak.

His young companion rode a few paces behind him. He was fitted out in chain mail and had his helmet slung at the saddlebow of his battle horse. He wore his sword and carried the round buckler emblazoned with the oakleaf symbol.

Interesting, thought Deparnieux. Obviously, in the event of Halt’s inevitable defeat, his young fellow traveller would attempt to avenge his friend. All the better, thought the black knight. If one death would serve as a salutary lesson to his more unruly retainers, two would be doubly effective. After all, that was how this entire disappointing business had started in the first place.

Baron Arald tried his best to hide his anger. Deparnieux was so over-confident that he could beat both Halt and Horace, even when they had both faced far more dangerous opponents in the past.

He brought his horse to a stop now, testing his grip on the lance in his right hand, ensuring that he had it at just the right point of balance. At the far end of the field, his opponent continued to ride forward, slowly and steadily. He seemed ridiculously small, dwarfed by the muscular youth and the huge battle horse that paced beside him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Horace said, trying to speak without moving his lips, in case Deparnieux was watching—which he undoubtedly was. Halt turned in the saddle and almost smiled at him.

“So do I,” he said quietly. He noticed that Horace’s right hand was easing his sword in its scabbard once more. He had done that same thing at least half a dozen times as they rode forward. “Relax,” he added calmly. Horace glanced at him openly now, no longer caring if Deparnieux saw him or not.

“Relax?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re going to fight an armoured knight with nothing more than a bow and you tell me to relax?”

“Don’t forget the arrows!” Maddie added in helpfully. Horace just turned his level gaze at her, “You’ve been spending too much time with Will and Gilan, haven’t you?” He asked as the two Rangers snickered to themselves.

Maddie smirked, “Well, one of them is the Ranger Commandant and the other is my mentor, so I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

Cassandra elbowed her husband, whispering, “She got you there.” Horace just sighed and motioned for Sir Rodney to keep going.

“I’ll have one or two arrows as well, you know,” Halt told him mildly, and Horace shook his head in disbelief.

Maddie made a see gesture as Horace gaped. When did that happen? He hadn’t remembered that!

“Well…I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said again. Halt smiled at him now. Just the briefest flash of a smile.

“So you keep saying,” he replied. Then he nudged Abelard with his knee and the little horse came to a stop, ears pricked and ready for more signals. Halt’s eyes locked on the distant figure in the black armour and he raised his right leg over the saddlebow and slid off the horse.

“Take him out of harm’s way,” he told the apprentice, and Horace leaned down and took the Ranger horse’s rein. Abelard twitched his ears and looked inquisitively at his master. “Go along,” Halt told him quietly and the horse allowed himself to be led away. Halt glanced once at the youth sitting astride the battle horse. He could see the worry in every line of the boy’s body.

“You had such faith in me.” Halt commented wryly at the apprentice.

“Horace?” he called, and the apprentice warrior stopped and looked back at him.

“I do know what I’m doing, you know.”

Horace managed a wan smile at that.

“If you say so, Halt,” he said.

As they were talking, Halt carefully selected three arrows from the two dozen in his quiver and slid them, point down, into the top of his right boot. Horace saw the movement and wondered at it. There was no need for Halt to place his arrows ready to hand in that way. He could draw and fire from the quiver on his back in a fraction of a second.

He didn’t have time to wonder about it any further. Deparnieux was calling from the far end of the field.

“My lord Halt.” His accented voice came to Horace clearly as he reined in, off to one side. “Are you ready?”

“My Lord Halt.” Gilan mimicked, grinning as Halt turned his unwavering gaze to his ex-apprentice.

Not bothering to speak, Halt raised a hand in reply. He looked so small and vulnerable, Horace thought, standing all alone in the centre of the mown field, waiting for the black-clad knight on his massive battle horse to bear down on him.

Halt turned back to stare at Horace who just shrugged helplessly.

“Then may the best man win!” shouted Deparnieux mockingly, and this time Halt did reply.

“I plan to,” he called back as Deparnieux clapped his spurs to the horse and it began to lumber forward, building up to a full gallop as it came.

It struck Horace then that Halt had not said anything to him about what he should do if Deparnieux were victorious. He had half expected the Ranger to instruct him to try to escape. He certainly expected that Halt would forbid him to challenge Deparnieux immediately after the combat—which was precisely what Horace planned to do if Halt lost.

He wondered now if the Ranger hadn’t said anything because he knew that Horace would ignore any such instruction, or if it was simply because he was totally confident of emerging as the victor.

“Both.”

Not that there seemed any way that he could. The earth shook under the hooves of the black battle horse and Horace’s expert eye could see that the Gallic warlord was a warrior of enormous experience and natural ability. Perfectly balanced in his seat on the horse, he handled the long, heavy lance as if it were a lightweight staff, leaning forward and rising slightly in his stirrups as the point of his lance drew ever closer to the small figure in the grey-green cloak.

It was the cloak that first sent a slight feeling of misgiving through Deparnieux’s mind. Halt was swaying slightly as he stood his ground, and the uneven patterns on the cloak, set against the grey-green of the mown winter grass, seemed to send his figure in and out of focus. The effect was almost mesmerizing. Angrily, Deparnieux thrust the distracting thought aside and tried to centre his attention on the archer. He was close now, barely thirty meters away, and still the archer hadn’t…

Will snorted, “Trust me, you won’t see it coming.”

He saw it coming. A blur of movement as the bow came up and the first arrow spat toward him at incredible speed, coming straight toward the vision slits in his helmet and bringing instant oblivion with it.

Yet, fast as the arrow was traveling, Deparnieux was even faster, raising the shield in a slant to deflect the arrow. He felt it slam against the shield, steel screeching on steel as it gouged a long furrow in the gleaming black enamel then went hissing off as the shield deflected it.

But the shield was now blocking his sight of the little man and he lowered it quickly.

All the devils in hell take him!

"Please do..." Maddie muttered under her breath.

It was what Halt had planned on, firing a second arrow even as the shield was still up! Deparnieux’s incredible reflexes saved him again, bringing the shield back up to deflect the treacherous second shot. How could anyone manage to fire so quickly, he thought, then cursed as he realized that, unsighted as he was, he had already been carried past the spot where the archer stood, calmly stepping out of the line of the lance point.

Deparnieux let the battle horse slow to a canter, wheeling him in a wide arc. It wouldn’t do to risk injury to the horse by trying to wheel it too quickly. He’d take his time and…At that moment there was a bright flash of pain in his left shoulder. Twisting awkwardly, his vision constricted by the helmet, he realized that, as he had galloped past, Halt had sent another arrow spitting at him, this time aiming for the gap in his armour at the shoulder.

Halt sat back and watched as all the people around the table leaned forward in anticipation. They had all been waiting for justice to take its course.

The chain mail that filled the gap had taken most of the force of the arrow, but the razor-sharp broadhead had still managed to shear through a little way and penetrate the flesh. It was painful, but only minor, he realized, moving the arm quickly to ensure that no major muscles or tendons had been damaged. If the fight were to be a prolonged one, it could stiffen and affect his shield defence.

As it was, the wound was a nuisance. A painful nuisance, he amended as he felt the hot blood trickling down his armpit. Halt would pay for that, he promised himself. And he would pay dearly.

Because now, Deparnieux believed he understood Halt’s plan. He would continue to blind him as he came charging in, forcing him to raise the shield to protect his eyes at the last minute, then sidestepping as Deparnieux went charging past.

Except the knight had no intention of playing Halt’s game. He would abandon the wild high-speed charge with a lance for a slow, deliberate approach. After all, he didn’t need the force and momentum of a charge. He wasn’t facing another armoured knight, trying to knock him from the saddle. He was facing a man standing alone in the middle of the field.

Maddie frowned before looking to Halt who was the image of calm and collected. She couldn’t tell if this was part of the plan he had come up with, or whether this development had thrown a spanner in the mix.

As the plan came to him, he tossed the long, unwieldy lance to the ground, reached around and broke the arrow shaft off close to his shoulder, and tossed it after the lance. Then, drawing his broadsword, he began to trot slowly to where Halt stood, waiting for him.

He kept Halt to his left so that the shield would be in position to deflect his arrows. The long sword in his right hand swung easily in circles as he felt its familiar weight and perfect balance.

Watching, Horace felt his heart thud faster in his chest. There could be only one end to the contest now. Once Deparnieux had abandoned the headlong charge for a more deliberate approach, Halt was in serious trouble. Horace knew that nine out of ten knights would have continued to charge, outraged by Halt’s tactics and determined to crush him with their superior force. Deparnieux, he could see now, was the one in ten who would quickly see the folly in that course, and find a tactic to nullify Halt’s biggest advantage.

The mounted knight was only forty meters away from the small figure now, moving slowly toward him. As before, the bow came up and the arrow was on its way. Deftly, almost contemptuously, Deparnieux flicked his shield up to deflect the arrow. This time, he heard the ringing screech of its impact and lowered the shield again. He could see the next arrow, already aimed at his head. He saw the archer’s hand begin the release and again brought the shield up as the arrow leaped toward him.

But there was one important item he didn’t see.

A few people leaned forward even further in anticipation, and Halt allowed himself a small grin.

This arrow was one of the three that Halt had placed in the cuff of his boot. And this arrow was different, with a much heavier head, made from heat-hardened steel. Unlike the normal war arrows in Halt’s quiver, it was not a leaf-shaped broadhead. Rather, it was shaped like the point of a cold chisel, surrounded by four small spurs that would stop it from deflecting off Deparnieux’s plate armour and allow it to punch through into the flesh behind.

It was an arrowhead designed to pierce armour and Halt had learned its secrets years before, from the fierce mounted archers of the eastern steppes.

Will coughed something that sounded remarkably like “Temujai.”

Everyone ignored him.

The arrow flew from the bow. As Deparnieux raised his shield, he never saw the extra weight of the head already causing it to drop below its point of aim. The arrow arced in underneath the slanted shield and punched into the breastplate exposed there, with barely a check to its speed and force.

Deparnieux heard it. A dull impact of metal on metal—more a metallic thud than a ringing tone. He wondered what it was. Then he felt a small core of intense pain, a bright flare of agony, that began in his left side and expanded rapidly until it engulfed his entire body.

He never felt the impact as his body hit the grassy field.

Everyone cheered.

Halt lowered the bow. He eased the string and replaced the second armour-piercing arrow, already nocked and ready, back in his quiver.

The lord of Château Montsombre lay unmoving. A stunned silence hung over the small crowd of onlookers who had come out of the castle to watch the combat. None of them knew how to react. None of them had expected this result. The servants, cooks and stable hands felt a cautious sense of pleasure. Deparnieux had never been a popular master.

His use of the lash and the iron cages on any servant who displeased him had seen to that. But their expectations of the man who had just killed him were not necessarily any higher. Logically, they assumed that the bearded stranger had killed their master so that he could take control of Montsombre.

Will rolled his eyes at their dramatics. He knew it was a serious worry for the people working there, however he couldn’t think Halt as anything other than a Ranger.

That was the way of things here in Gallica and former experience had shown them that a change in master brought no improvement to their lot. Deparnieux himself had defeated a former tyrant some years back. So, while they felt satisfaction to see the sadistic and pitiless black knight dead, they viewed his successor with no great sense of optimism.

“Aren’t they in for a surprise.” Cassandra said, as she had no doubt that Halt would ensure that they were under better rule before leaving.

For the men-at-arms who had served under Deparnieux, it was a slightly different matter. They, at least, felt a closer bond to the dead man, although to class that feeling as loyalty would be overstating matters. But he had led them to many victories and a considerable amount of booty over the years, so now three of them started toward Halt, their hands dropping to their sword hilts.

Seeing the movement, Horace spurred Kicker forward to come between them and the grey-cloaked archer. There was a ringing hiss of steel on leather as his sword came free of the scabbard, catching the early-afternoon sun on its blade as it did so. The soldiers hesitated.

Good choice, Maddie thought, knowing it probably saved their lives.

They knew of Horace’s reputation and none of them fancied himself swordsman enough to contest matters with the younger man. Their normal battleground was the confusion of a pitched battle, not the cold, calculating atmosphere of a duelling ground such as this.

“Get the horse,” Halt called to Horace. The apprentice glanced around in surprise. Halt hadn’t moved. He stood, feet slightly apart, side on to the approaching soldiers. Once again, an arrow was nocked to his bowstring, although the bow remained lowered.

“What?” Horace asked, puzzled, and the Ranger jerked his head at the warlord’s battle horse, shifting its weight from foot to foot, tossing its head uncertainly.

“The horse. It’s mine now. Get it for me,” Halt repeated, and Horace trotted Kicker slowly to a point where he could lean down and gather the black horse’s reins. He had to re-sheathe his sword to do so and he glanced warily at the three soldiers—and the dozen others who stood behind them, as yet uncommitted one way or the other.

“Captain of the guard!” Halt called. “Where are you?”

A stockily built man in half armour took a pace forward from the larger group of warriors.

Halt looked at him a moment, then called again: “Your name?”

The captain hesitated. In the normal course of events, he knew, the victor of such a combat would simply demand a continuation of the status quo, and life at Montsombre would go on, relatively unchanged. But the captain also knew that, often as not, a new commander could choose to demote or even eliminate the ranking officers from the previous regime.

That made sense, Maddie thought. As you wouldn’t want to reply on people who were loyal to your predecessor.

He was wary of the bow in the stranger’s hands. But he saw no point in not making himself known. The others would be quick to isolate him if it meant possible advancement for them. He came to a decision.

“Philemon, my lord,” he said. Halt’s eyes bored into him and there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Step over here, Philemon,” Halt said finally, and replacing the arrow in his quiver, he slung the longbow over his left shoulder. That gesture was encouraging for the captain, although he had no doubt that, if Halt wished, he could unsling the bow and have several arrows on the way in less time than he, Philemon, could blink. Cautiously, every nerve end tingling with anticipation, he moved closer to the small man. When he was within easy talking distance, Halt spoke.

“I have no wish to stay here any longer than I need,” he said quietly. “In a month, the passes into Teutlandt and Skandia will be open and my companion and I will be on our way.”

He paused and Philemon frowned, trying to understand what he was being told.

Halt sighed. As it was, sometimes the fighting was the easiest part and the actual aftermath was a pain in the neck.

“You want us to come with you?” he asked, at last. “You expect us to follow you?”

Halt shook his head. “I have no wish to ever see any of you again,” he said flatly. “I want nothing of this castle, nothing of its people. I will take Deparnieux’s battle horse, because I am entitled to it as the victor in this combat. As for the rest, you’re welcome to it: castle, furnishings, booty, food, the lot. If you can keep it from your friends, it’s yours.”

Philemon shook his head in disbelief. This was phenomenal luck! The stranger was moving on, and handing over the castle, lock, stock and barrel, to him—a mere captain of the guard. He whistled softly to himself. He would replace Deparnieux as the controller of this region. He would be a lord, with a castle, and men-at-arms and servants to do his bidding!

“Two things.” Halt interrupted his thoughts. “You’ll release those people in the cages immediately. As for the rest of the castle servants and slaves, I’ll give them their choice of whether they stay or go. I’ll not bind them to you in any way.”

Everyone around the table nodded, as this captain would be a fool to refuse.

The captain’s heavy brows darkened at the statement. He opened his mouth to protest, then hesitated as he saw the look in Halt’s eyes. It was cold, determined and utterly without pity.

“To you or your successor,” he amended. “The choice is yours. Argue about it and I’ll put the choice to whoever replaces you after I kill you.”

And as he heard the words, Philemon realized that Halt would have no hesitation in carrying out the threat. Either he or the muscular young swordsman on the battle horse would have no trouble taking care of him.

He weighed the alternatives: jewels, gold, a well-stocked castle, a force of armed men who would follow him because he would have the wherewithal to pay them and a possible lack of servants.

Or death, here and now.

“I accept,” he said.

“He would have been a fool not to. I wonder what happened after we left?” Horace wondered out loud. Halt shrugged, as he said before, he never wanted to see that castle again.

After all, Philemon realized, most of the servants and slaves would have nowhere to go. The chances were good that the majority would choose to stay on at Château Montsombre, trusting to a weary fatalism that things couldn’t really be much worse and they might just possibly be a little better.

Halt nodded slowly. “I rather thought you would.”

Sir Rodney passed the book to Cassandra, as he could tell there was only a few chapters left.

Chapter 58: The Icebound Land - Chapter 37

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 37.

Notes:

Last chapter before the epilogue.

Announcement at the bottom, don't worry, I'm not quitting.

Cassandra began reading.

Evanlyn was concentrating hard. The tip of her tongue protruded through her teeth and there was a small frown on her face as she began to trim the piece of soft leather to the correct shape.

She couldn’t afford to make mistakes, she knew. She had found the piece of leather in the stable lean-to and there was only just enough for the purpose she had in mind. It was soft, supple and thin. There were other odds and ends of harness and tack in the shed but they were dried out and stiff. This was the piece she needed.

Evanlyn was making a sling.

Maddie listened carefully, her interest peeking at the mention of a sling.

She had finally given up trying to learn any skill with the bow. By the time she could hit the side of a barn, she thought, she and Will would have been long dead from hunger. She sighed. Being brought up as a princess had definite disadvantages. She could do fine needlework and embroidery, judge good wine and host a dinner party for a dozen nobles and their wives. She could organize servants and sit for hours, straight-backed and apparently attentive, through the most boring official ceremonies.

All valuable skills in their right place, but none of them was much use to her in her present situation. She wished she had spent a few hours learning even the rudiments of archery. The bow, she admitted ruefully, was beyond her.

“Perhaps all royals should become Rangers then.” Maddie said ideally, “That way they can learn both how to defend themselves and learn essential life skills.”

But a sling! That was a different matter. As a little girl, she and her two male cousins had made slings and wandered through the woods outside Castle Araluen, hurling stones at random targets. She recalled that she had been pretty good too.

On her tenth birthday, to her intense fury, her father had decided that it was time for his daughter to stop being a tomboy and to begin to learn the ways of a lady. The wandering and slinging ceased. The embroidering and hostessing began.

Maddie winced in sympathy. She felt sorry for her parents, as she was self-conscious about how…strong-willed she had grown up. For the first few years of her life, she had been probably little more than nuisance.

Still, she thought, she could probably remember enough of the technique to serve her now, with a little practice.

She smiled a little, remembering those privileged days at Castle Araluen. They were a far cry from all this. These days, she had new skills, she thought wryly. She could drag a pony through thigh-deep snow, sleep rough, bathe a lot less frequently than polite society might think appropriate and, with any luck, even kill, clean and cook her own food.

That is, of course, if she could get the damn sling right. She shaped the soft leather patch around a large round stone, wrapping the stone in it and pulling the soft leather tight to create a pouch. She wrapped and released over and over again, forcing the shape of the rock into the leather. Her hands were starting to ache with the effort and she seemed to recall that, as a child, servants had done this part for her.

“I’m not really much use, am I?” she said to herself.

Maddie was about to defend her mother when she kept reading and found she didn’t need to.

In fact, she was selling herself short. Her reserves of courage, determination and loyalty were vast, as was her ingenuity.

Cassandra smiled at the author’s kind words.

Unlike someone raised to these conditions, she might not always find the best way to solve their problems. But somehow, she would find a way. She would never give in. And it was that strength of purpose and ability to adapt that would make her a great ruler, if she were ever to make her way back to Araluen.

“Count on it.” Will said, glancing at his friend.

She heard a noise behind her and turned. Her heart sank as she saw Will standing close to her. His eyes were empty, his expression blank. For one awful moment, she thought he was looking for another dose of warmweed and she felt a real surge of fear. It had been two weeks since his last dose of the drug. When she had given him that, the packet was left virtually empty. She had no idea what would happen the next time the need clawed at him.

Each day, she lived with the constant dread that he would ask for more, mixed with a desperate growing hope that perhaps he was cured of the addiction. Since the day he had unstrung the bow, she had looked for some further sign of awareness or memory from him. But in vain.

He pointed to the water jug on the bench and she heaved a sigh of relief. She poured him a mug of water and he shambled away, his mind still locked in that faraway place only addicts know. Not cured, she thought, but at least the moment she was dreading had been postponed a little longer.

Will narrowed his eyes. He remembered faintly asking Cassandra for things, but the memories seemed to cut in and out a lot, sometimes his mashing scenes. He had just found it easier to forgot and move on then try and figure out what each scene meant.

He hadn’t wanted to ask Cassandra, otherwise risk bringing up unwanted memories for herself.

Her eyes blurred with tears. She dashed them away and turned back to her work. Earlier, she had cut two long thongs from the saddle pack, and now she attached one to either side of the pouch. She placed the stone in the pouch and swung the sling experimentally. It had been a long time, but it felt vaguely familiar. The weight of the rock felt comfortable and it nestled securely in the pouch. She glanced across at Will. He was huddled against the wall of the cabin, his eyes closed, lost to the world. He’d stay like that for hours, she knew.

“No point wasting any more time,” she said to herself, then called to Will, “I’m going hunting, Will. I’ll be a while.”

She collected a supply of pebbles and set out. Her previous attempts with the bow had taught her that the local wildlife tended to give the cabin a wide berth now that it was inhabited. Bitter experience in the past, she thought. It was certainly nothing to do with her attempts at hunting.

As she went, she took the opportunity to practice her technique, loading a rock into the sling, whirling it around her head till it made a dull droning sound, then releasing to cast at nearby tree trunks.

At first, the results were less than encouraging. The velocity was fine but the accuracy was sadly lacking. But as she continued to practice, her old skill began to return. More and more often, the stones she flung slammed into their targets.

Maddie was slightly disappointed at the lack of descriptors about her mother’s technique, but now she had an excuse to ask her later.

She did even better when she loaded two stones into the sling, doubling her chances of a hit. Eventually, satisfied that she was ready, she set out, heading for a clearing by a stream, where she had seen rabbits feeding and sunning themselves on the warm rocks.

She was in luck. A large buck rabbit was sitting on the rocks, eyes closed, ears and nose twitching as he basked in the sunlight and the heat of the sun-warmed rock beneath it.

She felt a thrill of satisfaction as she loaded two of the larger stones into the sling and began to whirl it above her head. The dull, droning sound built as the sling gathered speed and the rabbit’s eyes came open as he heard it. But he sensed no danger in the sound and remained where he was. Evanlyn saw his eyes open and resisted the temptation to cast instantly. She let the sling whip around two or three more times, then released, following through with a full arm cast, straight at her target.

Maddie smiled brightly, knowing that in dire situations, she could do the same. Hunting and tracking wasn’t her favourite part of being a Ranger, but it was an extremely useful skill to have.

Perhaps it was beginner’s luck, but both stones hit the rabbit with the full force of the whirling sling behind them. The larger of the two broke its right hind leg, so that when it tried to flee, it flopped awkwardly over in the snow. Evanlyn, with a surge of fierce triumph, was across the clearing, grabbing the struggling animal and wringing its neck to put it out of its misery.

The fresh meat would be a welcome addition to their meagre diet. Flushed with success, she decided she might as well try another hunting spot and see if her luck held. Two rabbits would definitely be better than one.

She moved cautiously, and the soft snow underfoot aided her stealthy progress. As she drew closer to the next clearing, she began to walk with greater care, setting her feet carefully and making sure that, as she held tree branches aside to pass by, she allowed them to return to their initial position noiselessly.

In all likelihood, it was this extreme caution that saved her life.

The table grew still as the tension skyrocketed. Everyone had thought the situation was looking up, but Cassandra’s voice grew grim as she read the next part.

She was about to step clear of the trees when some sixth sense made her hesitate.

Something wasn’t right. She had heard something, or felt something, that was out of place here. She hung back, staying in the shadows inside the tree line and waiting to see if she could identify the cause of her unease. Then she heard it again, and this time she recognized it. The soft fall of a horse’s hooves on the thick snow that still blanketed the ground.

Maddie was stunned. There was no way it could be the Skandians, as they hated riding horses. Who else could be that far North?

Mouth dry, heart suddenly pounding, Evanlyn froze in place. She remembered Will’s instructions on Skorghijl.

She was still well concealed from anyone or anything in the clearing. The pines grew thickly and the midmorning sunshine cast deep shadows between the trees. Her hair had risen on the back of her neck as she stood, motionless. Her eyes darted this way and that, straining to see through the alternating patches of bright, sunlit snow and deep shadow.

Now she heard the soft, snuffling snort of a horse breathing and she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. Across the clearing, a cloud of steam hung on the air, and as she watched, she saw the horse and its rider emerge from the deep shadows behind it.

For one brief moment, she felt a surge of joy as she thought the horse was Will’s Ranger horse, Tug. Small, sturdy and shaggy in the coat, it was barely more than a pony in size. As she saw him, she nearly stepped forward into the sunlight, but then, just in time, she stopped, as she saw the rider.

Maddie realised with clarity who it was. It had been mentioned before that Ranger horses were bred from small, ponies from the Eastern Stepps, and that Halt had ‘borrowed’ some the last time he was there.

He was dressed in furs, with a flat-topped fur hat on his head and a bow slung over his shoulder. She could make out his face quite clearly: brown, weather-beaten skin and high, prominent cheekbones, which made the eyes appear as little more than slits above them. He was small and stocky, she realized, like his horse, and something about him spelled danger.

His head turned as he looked at the trees on his right and Evanlyn took the opportunity to shrink farther back into the cover of the forest. Satisfied that there was nobody watching, the rider urged his horse forward a few paces, into the centre of the clearing.

He paused there, and his eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows to where the girl stood, concealed behind the rough-barked bole of a large pine. For a few breathless seconds, she thought he had seen her. But then he touched the horse’s flank with the heel of one of his fur-trimmed boots and wheeled him to the right, trotting quickly out of the clearing and into the trees. In a moment, he was lost to her sight, the only sign of his presence the clouds of steam left hanging on the freezing air by the horse’s warm breath.

It was the Temujai. The warriors of the Eastern Stepps.

For several minutes, Evanlyn stayed huddled against the pine tree, fearing that the rider might suddenly turn and backtrack. Then, long after the soft thud of his horse’s hoofbeats on the snow had died away, she turned and began to run back through the forest toward the cabin.

Will had been sleeping.

Will looked to Cassandra who briefly met his gaze before continuing to read.

He woke slowly, consciousness gradually filtering through to him as he became aware that he was sitting on a hard wood floor. His eyes opened and he frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a small cabin, where the bright sunlight of late winter struck through an unglazed window and formed an elongated square on the floor, wider at its base than at the top.

Maddie had to physically stop herself from shouting in relief.

Groggily, still half-asleep, he stood, realizing that for some reason he had been sleeping while sitting on the floor, his back against one of the walls. He wondered why he had chosen such a spot, when he could see that the cabin contained one rough bunk and two chairs.

As he came slowly to his feet, something fell clattering from his lap to the floor. He looked down and saw a small hunting bow lying there. Curious, he picked it up, studying it. It was a low-powered affair, without any recurve, and without the long, heavy limbs of a proper longbow. Useful for small game, he thought vaguely, and precious little else. He wondered where his own recurve bow had gone to. He couldn’t remember having ever owned this toy.

Then he remembered. His bow had been lost, taken from him by the Skandians at the bridge. And as that memory came back, so did others: the flight through the swamps and marshes of the fenlands as a prisoner of the Skandians; the voyage across the Stormwhite Sea on Erak’s wolfship; the harbor at Skorghijl, where they had sheltered through the worst of the storm season; and then the trip onward to Hallasholm.

And then…And then, nothing.

“Almost nothing…” Will whispered. He remembered this moment clearly, as if it had happened yesterday.

He racked his brain, trying to find some memory of events after they had reached the Skandian capital. But there was no memory there. Nothing but a blank wall that defied all his efforts to pierce it.

A jolt of fear hit him. Evanlyn! What had become of her? He remembered, as if through a fog, that there was some great danger hanging over her. Her identity must never be revealed to their captors. Had they actually reached Hallasholm? He was sure that, if they had, he would remember. But where was the green-eyed blond girl who had come to mean so much to him? Had he inadvertently betrayed her? Had the Skandians killed her?

“Thanks Will for your belief in both me and yourself.” Cassandra told him, and he could do nothing but shrug and give a small smile.

A Vallasvow! He remembered it now. Ragnak, Oberjarl of the Skandians, had sworn a vow of vengeance on every member of the Araluen royal family. And Evanlyn was, in reality, Cassandra, princess of the realm. In an agony of uncertainty and lost memory, Will pounded the heels of his fists into his forehead, trying to remember, trying to reassure himself that Evanlyn had not suffered because he had somehow failed her.

The room was dead silent as everyone listened to past Will’s thoughts.

And then, even as he thought about her, the door of the cabin slammed back on its crude leather hinges and she was there, framed against the bright sunlight reflecting from the snow outside and as breathtakingly beautiful as he knew he would always remember her to be, no matter how long he lived or how old they might both become.

Horace gave his friend a raised eyebrow and Will winced, remembering his thoughts at the time had been rather juvenile to say the least.

He moved toward her now, a smile of utter relief breaking out across his features, holding out his hands to her as she stood, wordless, staring at him as if he were some kind of a ghost.

“Evanlyn!” he said. “Thank God you’re safe!”

And, saying it, he wondered why her eyes had filled, and why her shoulders were shaking as tear after tear spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks.

After all, he couldn’t really see that there was anything to cry about.

“Will, you are an idiot.” She declared. “Why did you think you failed me?”

He shrugged, “I was a little confused, but before was so worried about giving away your identity.” Will admitted and the queen reassured him.

“Will, I trust you. From our time on the bridge until right now, I trust you.” Will smiled, grateful for his friend.

“And I you.”

Cassandra slid the book over to Halt.

Notes:

Well, only one chapter left and I need to confess something.

I haven't actually started on book 4.

Well...

I have sorta? I found a free website online I can get the original book off that I can format easily but I haven't been writing any chapters in advance, not yet anyway.

Life has been a been hectic (nothing bad, just stressful) so I haven't had the chance to write anything in advance, just upload. So, after the end of book 3, I might take a 2 weeks break just so I can get a head start. It shouldn't be as long as last time and I promise I'll let you know if it is.

Thank you for all the recent kudos and I hope everyone is still enjoying this. This has probably become an AU because of how many facts I've stated that may or may not be cannon. If I even continue to do this, I may make it even less cannot just because I want Alyss to appear if they read the later books, e.g. book 5, 6, and 10.

Obviously that would involve several things to happen, but I have an OC who may be able to help. At least, if I ever get around to writing his own story first.

Anyway, I'll stop blabbering on. After next update, I'll be taking a two week-ish gap just so my life can calm down and I can write some chapters in advance. Thankyou to everyone still reading and I hope you all have an amazing day :)

Chapter 59: The Icebound Land - Epilogue

Summary:

Halt reads the epilogue.

Halt and Horace rode carefully down the winding path that led from Château Montsombre. Neither of them spoke, but both felt the same intense satisfaction. They were on their way again. The worst of winter was over and, by the time they reached the border, the passes into Skandia would be open.

Horace glanced back once at the grim building where they had been trapped for so many weeks. Then he shaded his eyes to look more carefully.

Horace smothered his laughter at the glare Halt gave him. He had forgotten this part.

“Halt,” he said, “look at that.”

Halt eased Abelard to a stop and swivelled around. There was a thin banner of grey smoke rising from the castle keep, and as they watched, it thickened and turned black. Dimly, they could hear the shouts of Philemon’s men as they ran to fight the fire.

“Looks to me,” said Halt judiciously, “as if some careless person left a torch burning in a pile of oily rags in the basement storeroom.”

Everyone immediately turned to the retired Ranger who didn’t look up from reading, though there was the barest hint of a smile on his face.

Horace grinned at him. “You can tell all that just by looking, can you?”

Halt nodded, keeping a deadpan expression.

“We Rangers are gifted with uncanny powers of perception,” he replied. “And I think Gallica will be better off without that particular castle, don’t you?”

Maddie dissolved into a fit of giggles and was soon followed by Will, Horace, Cassandra and Gilan. Lady Pauline diplomatically hid her grin behind her hand, but those who knew her recognised the look of laughing on the inside.

Only the warlord had actually lived in the keep. The soldiers and domestic staff lived in other parts of the building and they would have plenty of time to stop the fire from spreading that far. But the keep, the central tower that had been Deparnieux’s headquarters, was doomed. And that was as it should be. Montsombre had been the site of too much cruelty and horror over the years, and Halt had no intention of leaving it unscathed, so that Philemon could continue the ways of his old master.

“Of course, the stone walls won’t burn,” said Horace, with a tinge of disappointment.

“No,” Halt agreed. “But the timber floors and their support beams will. And all the ceilings and stairways will burn and collapse. And the heat will damage the walls as well. Shouldn’t be surprised if some of them just collapse.”

“Good,” said Horace, and there was a world of satisfaction in the single word.

“I guess that means we should put arson on the list of crimes we think Halt’s committed.” Gilan mused, and Halt gave him a dry, incredulous looked.

“What list?”

That set everyone off again as the room dissolved into fits of giggles and laughter.

Together, they turned their backs on the memory of Deparnieux. They urged their horses forward and the little cavalcade moved off, Tug following close behind the two riders.

“Let’s go and find Will,” said Halt.

“Found him!” Gilan announced, before yelping as someone smacked him. Halt closed up the book and looked out the window to see the sun dipping below the horizon.

“Do we want to read the next book?” He asked. Maddie got up and went to the pile. She picked up the next one and read the title.

“Oakleaf bearers. Can sworn enemies fight side by side to save their lives and their kingdoms? Just as spring approaches and Will and Evanlyn can finally escape Skandia, Evanlyn is carried off by mysterious horsemen. Will sets out after them, but one boy against six fierce Temujai warriors is impossible odds - even for a Ranger's apprentice.”

“Halt and Horace arrive just in time. But there is no time to celebrate as Halt realises these Temujai are only the scouts for a massive invasion force. The four Araluens must work together with the Skandians to defeat the invaders - if the Oberjarl will accept their help.”

Notes:

So, I got Covid. I had managed to escape it for the past THREE YEARS AND NOW I GET IT WHEN I ACTUALLY HAVE TO DO STUFF???

SERIOUSLY?

Anyway, I'll be taking a short two week break. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter (Even though it is short) and hope you're having a better day than I am.

Chapter 60: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 1

Summary:

Will reads chapter 1.

Notes:

Totally didn't forgot...Nope. Couldn't be me...

Just to make it up to you, it's a long chapter. Enjoy!

It had been a few weeks since they had all sat down and read The Icebound Land. Cassandra, Horace and Gilan had all promptly left for Araluen, as they had duties to attend to, but promised they would return in a months’ time so they could start on the next book.

Will and Maddie went back to their cabin and continued Maddie’s training, as crime rate in the local area had been on the low end recently, and nothing needed the Rangers immediate attention. Added to that was the next Ranger Gathering coming up where Maddie would be tested to see if she had the skills to become a 5^th year apprentice, her final year of being a Ranger’s apprentice before going back to being crown princesses.

Halt and Pauline were left with the sacred duty of protecting the books, and since Halt had been present, or at least aware, about nearly every adventure, he took it upon himself to look through the remaining books.

Some titles were mostly self-explanatory. The Emperor of Nihon-Ja was obviously about the time Horace got himself tangled in foreign politics. Erak’s Ranson was when the group had to take a trip to Arridia to rescue the Oberjarl Erak.

The titles that concerned him the most were The King’s of Clonmel and Halt’s Peril, for obvious reasons. Thankfully they were both books 8 and 9, so he doubted they would get to them any time soon.

Then there was the last one called The Lost Stories, which didn’t really give a lot of context. The blurb didn’t exactly help either. But apparently it was the 11^th book in the series, meaning he wouldn’t have to worry about it for some time.

The month passed quickly, and before anyone knew it, they were all back to sitting around the table in Pauline and Halt’s room. Everyone had decided to switch around where they sat and once everyone was comfortable, Will began on the first chapter.

It was a constant tapping sound that roused Will from his deep, untroubled sleep. He had no clear idea at what point he first became aware of it. It seemed to slide unobtrusively into his sleeping mind, magnified and amplified inside his subconscious, until it crossed over into the conscious world and he realized he was awake, and wondering what it might be.

Tap-tap-tap-tap

Tap-tap-tap-tap, Gilan helpfully acted out, using the table to drum out the pattern the book was describing with his finger.

It was still there, but not as loud now that he was awake and aware of other sounds in the small cabin.

From the corner, behind a small curtain of sacking that gave her a modicum of privacy, he could hear Evanlyn's even breathing. Obviously, the tapping hadn't woken her. There was a muted crackle from the heaped coals in the fireplace at the end of the room and, as he became more fully awake, he heard them settle with a slight rustling sound.

Tap-tap-tap

Tap-tap-tap, Gilan went again which earned him a few eye rolls and sighs, doing nothing to dappen the Ranger Commandant’s cheerfulness.

It seemed to come from nearby. He stretched and yawned, sitting up on the rough couch he'd fashioned from wood and canvas. He shook his head to clear it and, for a moment, the sound was obscured. Then it was back once more and he realized it was coming from outside the window.

Maddie held her breath. She knew it was unlikely anyone had found them over the Winter, but that didn’t stop her from being nervous.

The oiled cloth panes were translucent-they would admit the grey light of the pre-dawn, but he couldn't see anything more than a blur through them. Will knelt on the couch and unlatched the frame, pushing it up and craning his head through the opening to study the small porch of the cabin.

Will winced, aware that it hadn’t been the smartest plan he’d ever come up with. If there had been anyone watching, they would have had no problem seeing him struggle and taking him out, if that had been their intention.

A gust of chill entered the room and he heard Evanlyn stir as it eddied around, causing the sacking curtain to billow inward and the embers in the fireplace to glow more fiercely, until a small tongue of yellow flame was released from them.

Somewhere in the trees, a bird was greeting the first light of a new day, and the tapping sound was obscured once more.

Birds, Maddie thought to herself, that means its almost spring. As most birds from the countries further North often migrated South for the Winter.

Then he had it. It was water, dripping from the end of a long icicle that depended from the porch roof and falling onto an upturned bucket that had been left on the edge of the porch.

Tap-tap-tap:tap-tap-tap

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap…

“Gilan, you can probably stop now.” Will remarked dryly.

Will frowned to himself. There was something significant in this, he knew, but his mind, still fuddled with sleep, couldn't quite grasp what it was. He stood, still stretching, and shivered slightly as he left the last warmth of his blanket and made his way to the door.

Will supposed he could blame the horrible plan on the after effects of the warmweed, but even then he should have been able to come up with something better than Shove his head out the window and hope it opens far enough.

Hoping not to wake Evanlyn, he eased the latch upward and slowly opened the door, holding it up so that the sagging leather hinges wouldn't allow the bottom edge to scrape the floor of the cabin.

Cassandra eyed her friend with an unreadable expression. As far as Maddie could tell, her mother was slightly annoyed by Will’s actions, but was trying not to show it. The apprentice admitted, her mother was far better at hiding her emotions than she grave herself credit for, but she was still her, and Maddie knew exactly what to look for.

Closing the door behind him, he stepped out onto the rough boards of the porch, feeling them strike icy cold against his bare feet. He moved to the spot where the water dripped endlessly onto the bucket, realizing as he went that other icicles hanging from the roof were also dripping water. He hadn't seen this before. He was sure they usually didn't do this.

Will tried hard not to wince. Obviously the sleep had affected his brain more than he anticipated. He ignored the small grin Gilan was giving him, and the amused look that was basically vibrating off Horace at that very moment.

He glanced out at the trees, where the first rays of the sun were beginning to filter through. In the forest, there was a slithering thump as a load of snow finally slid clear of the pine branches that had supported it for months and fell in a heap to the ground below.

And it was then that Will realized the significance of the endless tap-tap-tap that had woken him.

About time, Maddie thought, watching as her mentor tried his hardest to not reveal how done he was with his past self. Though his acting really didn’t help, as he was in a room full of people who knew him best, which also consisted of Rangers, couriers, and royalty.

Just about the only people he didn’t have to worry about were the knights who just listened along happily, none to wiser about the broader joke around the table.

Behind him, he heard the door creak and he turned to see Evanlyn, her hair wildly tousled, her blanket wrapped tight around her against the cold.

"What is it?" she asked him. "Is something wrong?"

He hesitated a second, glancing at the growing puddle of water beside the bucket.

"It's the thaw," he said finally.

“Very helpful Will.” Halt remarked, one eyebrow raised.

After their meagre breakfast, Will and Evanlyn sat in the early morning sun as it streamed across the porch. Neither of them had wanted to discuss the significance of Will's earlier discovery, although they had since found more signs of the thaw.

Small patches of soaked brown grass were showing through the snow cover on the ground surrounding the cabin, and the sound of wet snow sliding from the trees to hit the ground was becoming increasingly common.

The snow was still thick on the ground and in the trees, of course. But the signs were there that the thaw had begun and that, inexorably, it would continue.

“Winter in Skandia is bloody cold.” Cassandra helpfully informed her daughter. “If you ever plan on visiting, I suggest going in the Summer.”

"I suppose we'll have to think about moving on," Will said, finally voicing the thought that had been in both their minds.

Where? Maddie thought to herself. Neither her mother, nor mentor knew that Halt and Horace were currently trying to find them. She just hoped they didn’t move on too quickly and end up missing each other.

"You're not strong enough yet," Evanlyn told him. It had been barely three weeks since he had thrown off the mind-numbing effects of the warmweed given to him as a yard slave in Ragnak's Lodge. Will had been weakened by inadequate food and clothing and a regimen of punishing physical work before they had made their escape.

Since then, their meagre diet in the cabin had been enough to sustain life, but not to restore his strength or endurance. They had lived on the cornmeal and flour that had been stored in the cabin, along with a small stock of vegetables and the stringy meat from whatever game Evanlyn and he had been able to snare.

Horace, once again, winced in sympathy.

There was little enough of that in winter, and what game they had managed to catch had been in poor condition itself, providing little in the way of nourishment.

Will shrugged. "I'll manage," he said simply. "I'll have to."

And that, of course, was the heart of the problem. They both knew that once the snow in the high passes had melted, hunters would again begin to visit the high country where they found themselves. Already, Evanlyn had seen one such-the mysterious rider in the forest on the day when Will's senses had returned to him. Fortunately, since that day, there had been no further sign of him. But it was a warning. Others would come, and before they did, Will and Evanlyn would have to be long gone, heading down the far side of the mountain passes and across the border into Teutlandt.

“Maybe we would have run into them.” Horace mused out loud.

Evanlyn shook her head doubtfully. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she realized that Will was right. Once the thaw was well and truly under way, they would have to leave whether she felt he was strong enough to travel or not.

"Anyway," she said at last, "we have a few weeks yet. The thaw's only just started, and who knows? We may even get another cold snap."

It was possible, she thought. Perhaps not probable, but at least it was possible. Will nodded agreement.

"There's always that," he said.

Gilan snorted. “Neither of you sound even remotely optimistic.”

Will eyed his commandant evenly, “No offence, but there was very little to be optimistic about at the time.”

The silence fell over them once more like a blanket. Abruptly, Evanlyn stood, dusting off her breeches. "I'll go and check the snares," she said, and when Will began to rise to accompany her, she stopped him.

"You stay here," she said gently. "From now on, you're going to have to conserve your strength as much as possible."

Will hesitated, then nodded. He recognized that she was right.

“And not just because I was a princess.” Cassandra said, smiling at her old friend.

She collected the hessian sack they used as a game bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then, with a small smile in his direction, the girl headed off into the trees.

Feeling useless and dispirited, Will slowly began to gather up the wooden platters they had used for their meal. All he was good for, he thought bitterly, was washing up.

“I mean…” Gilan started, and Maddie had to stop herself from groaning. Ranger’s Apprentices were always given chores to do around the cabin, and they always sucked. Still, it made her feel better that basically every Ranger that ever lived had to do the same thing she did at one point or another.

The snare line had moved farther and farther from the cabin over the past three weeks. As small animals, rabbits, squirrels and the occasional snow hare had fallen prey to the snares that Will had built, the other animals in that area had become wary. As a consequence, they had been compelled to move the snares into new locations every few days-each one a little farther away from the cabin than the one before.

“Why didn’t you just rotate it in sections around the cabin at equal distances?” Maddie asked. Her mother looked at her in surprise.

“We didn’t even consider that. It surely would have saved us a lot more time.” However, there was a large chance that if her mother hadn’t been setting out snares in that specific way, she wouldn’t be here right now, and neither would most of the Western World.

Evanlyn estimated that she had a good forty minutes' walking on the narrow uphill track before she would reach the first snare. Of course, if she'd been able to move straight to it, the walk would have been considerably shorter. But the track wound and wandered through the trees, more than doubling the distance she had to cover.

The signs of the thaw were all around her, now that she was aware of it. The snow no longer squeaked dryly underfoot as she walked. It was heavier, wetter and her steps sank deeply into it. The leather of her boots was already soaked from contact with the melting snow. The last time she had walked this way, she reflected, the snow had simply coated her boots as a fine, dry powder.

Maddie winced. If the snow was starting to melt, that would mean her mother’s shoes would become extremely wet and soggy. One thing leather was notorious for was that it was extremely annoying to dry, especially if you were somewhere with constant rain or snow.

She also began to notice more activity among the wildlife in the area. Birds flitted through the trees in greater numbers than she'd previously seen, and she startled a rabbit on the track, sending it scurrying back into the protection of a snow-covered thicket of blackberries.

At least, she thought, all this extra activity might increase the chances of finding some worthwhile game in the snares.

Evanlyn saw the discreet sign that Will had cut into the bark of a pine and turned off the track to find the spot where she and Will had laid the first of the snares. She recalled how gratefully she had greeted his recovery from the warmweed drug. Her own survival skills were negligible and Will had provided welcome expertise in devising and setting snares to supplement their diet. It was all part of his Ranger training under Halt, he had told her.

Will smiled a little at the line, mostly because it was true.

She remembered how, when he had mentioned the older Ranger's name, his eyes had misted for a few moments and his voice had choked slightly. Not for the first time, the two young people had felt very, very far from home.

Maddie felt a pang of sympathy for her parents, Will, Halt and grandfather. Things hadn’t been easy back then, but they had all paved a way for a better future.

As she pushed her way through the snow-laden bushes, becoming wetter and wetter in the process, she felt a surge of pleasure. The first snare in the line held the body of a small ground-foraging bird. They had caught a few of these previously and the bird's flesh made excellent eating. About the size of a small chicken, it had carelessly poked its neck through the wire noose of the snare, then become entangled. Evanlyn smiled grimly as she thought how once she might have objected to the cruelty of the bird's death. Now, all she felt was a sense of satisfaction as she realized that they would eat well today.

“How bloodthirsty…” Horace muttered under his breath, swiftly moving out of the way as Cassandra tried to smack him. Thankfully, Maddie now sat between them and quickly dived for cover. She wanted no part in the conflict but it did bring a smile to her face all the same.

Amazing how an empty belly could change your perspective, she thought, removing the noose from the bird's neck and stuffing the small carcass in her makeshift game bag. She reset the snare, sprinkling a few seeds of corn on the ground beyond it, then rose to her feet, frowning in annoyance as she realized that the melting snow had left two wet patches on her knees as she'd crouched.

Evanlyn sensed, rather than heard, the movement in the trees behind her and began to turn.

Before she could move, she felt an iron grip around her throat, and as she gasped in fright, a fur-gloved hand, smelling vilely of smoke, sweat and dirt, clapped over her mouth and nose, cutting off her cry for help.

Maddie winced, and Cassandra had a stormy expression on her face. Horace mirrored his wife as Will passed the book onto Halt.

Notes:

Should be back to regular schedule. Also, chapter 60! Wooooo!

Chapter 61: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 2

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 2.

Notes:

Regular schedule here we go.....

Halt begins the next chapter.

The two riders emerged from the trees and into a clear meadow. Down here in the foothills of Teutlandt, the coming spring was more apparent than in the high mountains that reared ahead of them. The meadow grasses were already showing green and there were only isolated patches of snow, in spots that usually remained shaded for the greater part of the day.

A casual onlooker might have been interested to notice the horses that followed behind the two mounted men. They might even have mistaken the men, at a distance, for traders who were hoping to take advantage of the first opportunity to cross through the mountain passes into Skandia, and so benefit from the high prices that the season's first trade goods would enjoy.

“Halt. Being a trader? Who exactly does the author think he is?” Gilan inquired. Halt looked up long enough to catch Will shrugging at his commandant.

“He barely has enough patience to tolerate protocal, there’s no way he could survive being a merchant or trader.”

Probably true, Halt mused as he got back to reading.

But a closer inspection would have shown that these men were not traders. They were armed warriors. The smaller of the two, a bearded man clad in a strange grey and green dappled cloak that seemed to shift and waver as he moved, had a longbow slung over his shoulders and a quiver of arrows at his saddle bow.

His companion was a larger, younger man. He wore a simple brown cloak, but the early spring sunshine glinted off the chain mail armour at his neck and arms, and the scabbard of a long sword showed under the hem of the cloak. Completing the picture, a round buckler was slung over his back, emblazoned with a slightly crude effigy of an oakleaf.

Will tried not to snicker. Halt’s drawing skills had not improved over the years since Will had been an apprentice. Obviously, the author had also noticed.

Their horses were as mismatched as the men themselves. The younger man sat astride a tall bay-long-legged, with powerful haunches and shoulders, it was the epitome of a battle horse. A second battle horse, this one a black, trotted behind him on a lead rope. His companion's mount was considerably smaller, a shaggy barrel-chested horse, more a pony really. But it was sturdy, and had a look of endurance to it.

Another horse, similar to the first, trotted behind, lightly laden with the bare essentials for camping and traveling. There was no lead rein on this horse. It followed obediently and willingly.

“Good horse.” Maddie noted, and Will nodded.

“Of course.”

Horace craned his neck up at the tallest of the mountains towering above them. His eyes squinted slightly in the glare of the snow that still lay thickly on the mountain's upper half and now reflected the light of the sun.

"You mean to tell me we're going over that?" he asked, his eyes widening.

Halt looked sidelong at him, with the barest suggestion of a smile. Horace, however, intent on studying the massive mountain formations facing them, failed to see it.

Horace frowned, disappointed at his past self for missing such a rare opportunity.

"Not over," said the Ranger. "Through."

Horace frowned thoughtfully at that. "Is there a tunnel of some kind?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes dramatically, “Do you really think a mountain would just have a convent cave all the way through? And would you really want to travel in that?”

Horace shifted, “I wasn’t really thinking it through at the time, alright?”

Will snickered, “You were an apprentice, you weren’t meant to think.”

"A pass," Halt told him. "A narrow defile that twists and winds through the lower reaches of the mountains and brings us into Skandia itself."

Horace digested that piece of information for a moment or two. Then Halt saw his shoulders rise to an intake of breath and knew that the movement presaged yet another question. He closed his eyes, remembering a time that seemed years ago when he was alone and when life was not an endless series of questions.

Will gave Halt a grin.

Then he admitted to himself that, strangely, he preferred things the way they were now. However, he must have made some unintentional noise as he awaited the question, for he noticed that Horace had sealed his lips firmly and determinedly. Obviously, Horace had sensed the reaction and had decided that he would not bother Halt with another question. Not yet, anyway.

“Wait for it…” Gilan said ominously. Maddie tried, and failed to hide her smile.

Which left Halt in a strange quandary. Because now that the question was unasked, he couldn't help wondering what it would have been. All of a sudden, there was a nagging sense of incompletion about the morning. He tried to ignore the feeling but it would not be pushed aside. And for once, Horace seemed to have conquered his almost irresistible need to ask the question that had occurred to him.

Halt waited a minute or two but there was no sound except for the jingling of harness and the creaking of leather from their saddles. Finally, the former Ranger could bear it no longer.

"What?"

Halt tried his best to ignore the look his ex-apprentices were giving him.

The question seemed to explode out of him, with a greater degree of violence than he had intended. Taken by surprise, Horace's bay shied in fright and danced several paces sideways.

Horace turned an aggrieved look on his mentor as he calmed the horse and brought it back under control.

“His mentor?” Will said, raised eyebrows and a smile grin on his face. “What exactly is this book implying?”

Horace rolled his, “Obviously Will, you’ve been replaced.”

Will reacted in mock horror, “How could you Halt…How could you?”

Maddie, Sir Rodney, Baron Arald, Gilan and Cassandra just watched with open smiles. Lady Pauline tried to be a little more discrete.

"What?" he asked Halt, and the smaller man made a gesture of exasperation.

"That's what I want to know," he said irritably. " What?"

Horace peered at him. The look was all too obviously the sort of look that you give to someone who seems to have taken leave of his senses. It did little to improve Halt's rapidly rising temper.

"What?" said Horace, now totally puzzled.

"Don't keep parroting at me!" Halt fumed. "Stop repeating what I say! I asked you 'what,' so don't ask me 'what' back, understand?"

Horace considered the question for a second or two, then, in his deliberate way, he replied. "No."

A few people had started cackling, rather loudly.

Halt took a deep breath, his eyebrows contracted into a deep V, and beneath them his eyes sparked with anger. But before he could speak, Horace forestalled him.

"What 'what' are you asking me?" he said. Then, thinking how to make his question clearer, he added, "Or to put it another way, why are you asking 'what'?"

Controlling himself with enormous restraint, and making no secret of the fact, Halt said, very precisely. "You were about to ask a question."

Horace frowned. "I was?"

Everyone continued laughing, and Halt jut proceeded to ignored everyone.

Halt nodded. "You were. I saw you take a breath to ask it."

"I see," said Horace. "And what was it about?"

Halt raised an eyebrow at the book. He remembered this conversation vaguely, but it sounded a lot more absurd in this context. He blamed the author.

For just a second or two, Halt was speechless. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally found the strength to speak.

"That is what I was asking you," he said. "When I said 'what,' I was asking you what you were about to ask me."

"I wasn't about to ask you 'what,'" Horace replied, and Halt glared at him suspiciously. It occurred to him that Horace could be indulging himself in a gigantic leg pull, that he was secretly laughing at Halt. This, Halt could have told him, was not a good career move. Rangers were not people who took kindly to being laughed at. He studied the boy's open face and guileless blue eyes and decided that his suspicion was ill-founded.

Will tried to talk, but his laughter continued to interrupt his speech. “D..Did…Did you re…really think?? Horace? Tr...trying to ma…make fun of th…the famous H…Halt?”

Halt just tried to best to ignore the constant laughter at his expense. It was nothing new after all.

"Then what, if I may use that word once more, were you about to ask me?"

Horace drew breath once more, then hesitated. "I forget," he said. "What were we talking about?"

"Never mind," Halt muttered, and nudged Abelard into a canter for a few strides to draw ahead of his companion.

The laughter died down gradually, Halt just continued to read and let the others gather themselves.

Sometimes the Ranger could be confusing, and Horace thought it best to forget the whole conversation. Yet, as happens so often, the moment he stopped trying to consciously remember the thought that had prompted his question, it popped back into his mind again.

"Are there many passes?" he called to Halt.

The Ranger twisted in his saddle to look back at him. "What?" he asked.

That quickly set everyone off again laughing. Halt just raised his eyes to the heavens and hoped this conversation would com to an end, quickly.

Horace wisely chose to ignore the fact that they were heading for dangerous territory with that word again. He gestured to the mountains frowning down upon them.

"Through the mountains. Are there many passes into Skandia through the mountains?"

Halt checked Abelard's stride momentarily, allowing the bay to catch up with them, then resumed his pace.

"Three or four," he said.

"Then don't the Skandians guard them?" Horace asked. It seemed logical to him that they would.

Maddie frowned as she saw Will roll his eyes, grinning madly. She looked to her father who also had a large smile plastered on his face. 

"Of course they do," Halt replied. "The mountains form their principal line of defence."

"So how did you plan for us to get past them?"

The Ranger hesitated. It was a question that had been taxing his mind since they had taken the road from Chateau Montsombre. If he were by himself, he would have no trouble slipping past unseen. With Horace in company, and riding a big, spirited battle horse, it might be a more difficult matter. He had a few ideas but had yet to settle on any one of them.

"I'll think of something," he temporized, and Horace nodded wisely, satisfied that Halt would indeed think of something. In Horace's world, that was what Rangers did best, and the best thing a warrior apprentice could do was let the Ranger get on with thinking while a warrior took care of walloping anyone who needed to be walloped along the way. He settled back in his saddle, contented with his lot in life.

Halt quickly passed the book onto Gilan who took it while still giggling to himself.

Chapter 62: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 3

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 3.

After everyone had finished containing their laughter and giggles, Gilan began reading.

Erak Starfollower, Wolfship captain and one of the senior war jarls of the Skandians, made his way through the low-ceilinged, wood-panelled lodge to the Great Hall. His face was marked with a frown as he went. He had plenty to do, with the spring raiding season coming on. His ship needed repairs and refitting. Most of all, it needed the fine-tuning that only a few days at sea could bring.

Now this summons from Ragnak boded ill for his plans. Particularly since the summons had come through the medium of Borsa, the Oberjarl's hilfmann, or administrator. If Borsa were involved, it usually meant that Ragnak had some little task for Erak to look after. Or some not-so-little task, the wolfship skipper thought wryly.

“What happened to Borsa?” Cassandra asked curiously. She remembered Erak had decided to keep him on as hilfmann, but that had been years ago.

Will shrugged, uncaring. “Does it matter? He’s probably dead or retired by now.”

Breakfast was long since finished, so there were only a few servants cleaning up the Hall when he arrived. At the far end, seated at a rough pine table off to one side of Ragnak's High Seat-a massive pinewood chair that served in place of a throne for the Skandian ruler-sat Ragnak and Borsa, their heads bowed over a pile of parchment scrolls. Erak recognized those scrolls. They were the tax returns for the various towns and shires throughout Skandia. Ragnak was obsessed with them.

Maddie rolled her eyes. Taxes. Of course. She hated the dam things, even though she didn’t have to pay any. Just because they kept the country going, didn’t mean she enjoyed them. After a month or two learning about them as princess from the royal Treasurer, she was done with them.

After a small glance at the queen, Maddie concluded that her mother felt the same way. The current Treasurer had been serving their family since the middle of her grandfather’s reign, but that didn’t mean she was a good teacher. She always use to get distracted and overly excited about the strangest things, but she was fiercely loyal to the crown and Maddie knew for a fact she greatly respected her mother.

As for Borsa, his life was totally dominated by them. He breathed, slept and dreamed the tax returns, and woe betide any local jarl who might try to shortchange Ragnak or claim any deduction that wouldn't pass Borsa's fine-tooth comb inspection.

Maddie would rather do geography and map work than taxes. Any day, every day.

Erak put two and two together and sighed quietly. The most likely conclusion that he could draw from the two facts of his summoning and the pile of tax returns on the table was that he was about to be sent off on another tax-collecting mission.

Tax collecting was not something that Erak enjoyed. He was a raider and a sea wolf, a pirate and a fighter. As such, his inclination was to be more on the side of the tax evaders than the Oberjarl and his eager-fingered hilfmann. Unfortunately, on those previous occasions when Erak had been sent out to collect overdue or unpaid taxes, he had been too successful for his own good. Now, whenever there was the slightest doubt about the amount of tax owing from a village or a shire, Borsa automatically thought of Erak as the solution to the problem.

Halt didn’t wince in sympathy, but he did know what it was like to be the best at the job and always be assigned, no matter the circumstances. It was just like Foldar, an ex-lieutenant of Morgarath whom Halt had been assigned to hunt down and capture, after Morgarath’s defeat and Will’s capture.

Any other time it would have been no problem, but with Will’s life on the line, Halt had no choice. It made the decision even more jarring when he considered that Crowley had forty nine other Rangers capable of capturing the cut-throat criminal. But instead, he insisted to send him.

To make matters worse, Erak's attitude and approach to the job only added to his desirability in Borsa's and Ragnak's eyes. Bored with the task and considering it embarrassing and belittling, he made sure he spent as little time on the job as possible. The tortuous arguments and recalculation of amounts owing after all deductions had been approved and agreed were not for him.

Maddie could imagine no Skandian captain would enjoy doing such a boring and repetitive task.

Erak opted for a more direct course, which consisted of seizing the person under investigation, ramming a double-headed broadaxe up under his chin and threatening mayhem if all taxes, every single one of them, were not paid immediately.

Horace pretended to take notes. He caught Cassandra, Will, Maddie, Baron Arald and Halt giving him sceptical looks and he tried his best to look innocent.

Halt, having done something similar when a certain minor lord tried to insult him and Lady Pauline, the result him being thrown in a lake, was the first to look away.

Erak's reputation as a fighter was well known throughout Skandia. To his annoyance, he was never asked to make good on his threat. Those recalcitrant whom he visited invariably coughed up the due amount, and often a little extra that had never been in contention, without the slightest argument or hesitation.

“I would to, if I was visited by Erak.” Gilan muttered quietly to himself. He had seen first hand what the sea wolf had been capable of back in Arridia and it was safe to say he was definitely impressed.

The two men at the table looked up as he made his way through the benches toward the end of the room. The Great Hall served more than one purpose. It was where Ragnak and his close followers took their meals. It was also the site of all banquets and official gatherings in Skandia's rough and ready social calendar. And the small, open annex where Ragnak and Borsa were currently studying tax returns was also Ragnak's office.

It wasn't particularly private, since any member of the inner or outer council of jarls had access to the hall at any time of day. But then, Ragnak wasn't the sort to need privacy. He ruled openly and made all his policy statements to the world at large.

“Why operate behind closed doors when you can clobber anyone who disagrees with you.” Sir Rodney noted. Baron Arald looked thoughtful for a moment and Horace pretended not to notice.

"Ah, Erak, you're here," said Borsa, and Erak thought, not for the first time, that the hilfmann had a habit of stating the bleeding obvious.

"Who is it this time?" he asked in a resigned tone. He knew there was no use trying to argue his way out of the assignment, so he might as well just get on with it. With luck, it would be one of the small towns down the coast, and at least he might have a chance to work up his crew and wolfship at the same time.

Will’s head shot up. Maddie turned in his direction, she could tell he had just figured out something. His eyes met hers and mouthed, just wait, with no further explanation. The Ranger’s Apprentice tried not to role her eyes, but the self-control utterly failed to no one’s surprise.

"Ostkrag," the Oberjarl told him, and Erak's hopes of salvaging something useful from this assignment faded to nothing. Ostkrag lay far inland, to the east. It was a small settlement on the far side of the mountain range that formed the rugged spine of Skandia and was accessible only by going over the mountains themselves or through one of the half dozen tortuous passes that wound their way through.

At best, it meant an uncomfortable journey there and back by pony, a method of transport that Erak loathed.

Will, Halt and Gilan snickered quietly.

As he thought of the mountain range that reared above Hallasholm, he had a quick memory of the two Araluen slaves he had helped to escape several months ago. He wondered what had become of them, whether they had made it to the small hunting cabin high in the mountains and whether they had survived the last months of winter. He realized abruptly that Borsa and Ragnak were both waiting for his reaction.

"Ostkrag?" he repeated. Ragnak nodded impatiently.

"Their quarterly payment is overdue. I want you to go and shake them up," the Oberjarl said. Erak noticed that Ragnak couldn't quite hide the avaricious gleam that came into his eyes whenever he talked about tax and payments.

“Perhaps it was best that he was…removed from power.” Lady Pauline added tactfully, everyone around the table nodded in agreement.

Erak couldn't help giving vent to an exasperated sigh.

"They can't be overdue by more than a week or so," he temporized, but Ragnak was not to be swayed and shook his head violently.

"Ten days!" he snapped. "And it's not the first time! I've warned them before, haven't I, Borsa?" he said, turning to the hilfmann, who nodded.

"The jarl at Ostkrag is Sten Hammerhand," Borsa said, as if that were explanation enough. Erak stared blankly at him. "He should be called Sten Gluehand," he elaborated with heavy sarcasm. "The tax payments have stuck to his fingers before this, and even when they're paid in full, he always makes us wait long past the overdue date. It's time we taught him a lesson."

Horace rolled his eyes. “I have a feeling there is very little we in this scenario.”

Erak smiled with some irony at the small, sparsely muscled hilfmann. Borsa could be an extremely threatening figure, he thought-when someone else was available to carry out the threats.

"You mean it's time I taught him a lesson?" he suggested, but Borsa didn't notice the sarcasm in his voice.

"Exactly!" he said, with some satisfaction. Ragnak, however, was a little more perceptive.

"It's my money, after all, Erak," he said, and there was an almost petulant note in his voice. Erak met his gaze steadily. For the first time, he realized that Ragnak was growing old. The once flaming red hair was duller and turning grey. It came as a surprise to Erak.

“Ragnak had red hair?” Horace asked. Cassandra nodded in response. “Huh, I never noticed.”

He certainly didn't feel that he was growing older, yet Ragnak didn't have too many years on him. He could notice other changes in the Oberjarl now that he had become aware of the fact. His jowls were heavier and his waistline thickening. He wondered if he was changing too.

"It's been a severe winter," he suggested. "Perhaps the passes are still blocked. There was a lot of late snow."

Will gave a small smile. “Nice to know the weather was on our side.”

He moved to the large-scale map of Skandia that was displayed on the wall behind Ragnak's table. He found Ostkrag and, with one forefinger, traced the way to the closest pass.

"The Serpent Pass," he said, almost to himself. "It's not impossible that all that late-season snow and the sudden thaw could have led to landslides in there." He turned back to Ragnak and Borsa, indicating the position on the map to them.

"Maybe the couriers simply can't get through yet?" he suggested. Ragnak shook his head and again Erak sensed the irritability, the irrational annoyance that seemed to grip Ragnak these days whenever his will was thwarted or his judgment questioned.

"It's Sten, I know it," he said stubbornly. "If it were anyone else, I might agree with you, Erak." Erak nodded, knowing full well that the words were a lie. Ragnak rarely agreed with anyone if it meant changing his own position.

“You might have made it just in time.” Gilan pondered out loud.

Will snorted, “At least Erak actually listens when you have something helpful to say.”

"Get up there and get the money from him. If he argues, arrest him and bring him back. In fact, arrest him even if he doesn't argue. Take twenty men with you. I want him to see a real show of strength. I'm sick of being taken for a fool by these petty jarls."

Erak looked up in some surprise. Arresting a jarl in his own lodge was not something to be lightly contemplated-particularly for such a petty offense as a late tax payment. Among the Skandians, tax evasion was considered to be almost obligatory. It was a form of sport. If you were caught out, you paid up and that was the end of it. Erak could not remember anyone being submitted to the shame of arrest on that count.

“Trust the Skandians to turn tax evasion into a friendly sport.” Halt muttered; however he was infinity glad Ranger’s weren’t sent on similar missions to seek out missing funds. Thankfully that was all covered by the Diplomatic Services.

"That might not be wise," he said quietly, and Ragnak glared up at him, his eyes searching for Erak's over the scattered accounts on the table before him.

"I'll decide what's wise," he grated. "I'm Oberjarl, not you."

“Give it a few years.” Will employed, earning a few nods.

The words were offensive. Erak was a senior jarl and by long-established custom he was entitled to air his opinion, even though it might be contrary to his leader's. He bit back the angry retort that sprang to his lips. There was no point provoking Ragnak any further when he was in this mood.

"I know you're the Oberjarl, Ragnak," he said quietly. "But Sten is a jarl in his own right and he may well have a perfectly valid reason for this late payment. To arrest him in those circumstances would be unnecessarily provocative."

Halt raised an eyebrow in surprise. Once again, he found himself impressed by Erak and his previously thought non-existent diplomatic skills. Perhaps he was better choice than they had first thought.

"I'm telling you he won't have what you call a 'valid reason,' damn it!" Ragnak's eyes were narrowed now and his face was suffused with his anger. "He's a thief and a holdout and he needs to be made an example to others!"

"Ragnak," Erak began, trying to reason one last time. This time it was Borsa who interrupted.

"Jarl Erak, you have your instructions! Now do as you are ordered!" he shouted, and Erak turned angrily to face him.

“Bad idea.” Horace muttered.

"I follow the Oberjarl's orders, hilfmann. Not yours."

Borsa realized his mistake. He backed away a pace or two, making sure the substantial bulk of the table was between him and Erak. His eyes slid away from the other man's and there was an ugly silence. Finally, Ragnak seemed to realize that some form of back-down might be necessary-although not too much.

He said, in an irritated tone. "Look, Erak, just go and get those taxes from Sten. And if he's been holding out on purpose, bring him back here for trial. All right?"

"And if he has a valid reason?" Erak insisted.

The Oberjarl waved a hand in surrender. "If he has a valid reason, you can leave him alone. Does that suit you?"

Erak nodded. "Under those conditions, all right," he agreed.

“Halt? I think you may have underestimated Erak’s negotiation skills.” Will commented, and Halt was willing to agree.

He had the loophole he'd been looking for. As far as he was concerned, the fact that Ragnak was an insufferable pain in the buttocks was a more than valid reason for not paying taxes on time. Mind you, he might have to find another way of phrasing it when he returned without arresting Sten.

Gilan passed the book to Lady Pauline who took it carefully.

Chapter 63: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 4

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 4.

Lady Pauline began reading.

Will came awake with a jerk. He had been sitting on the edge of the porch in the sun and he realized that he must have nodded off. Ruefully, he thought about how much of his time he spent sleeping these days. Evanlyn said it was only to be expected, as he was regaining his strength. He supposed she was right. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

There was also the fact that there was so little to do around the hut where they had spent their time since escaping from the Skandian stronghold. Today he had cleared away and washed their breakfast dishes, then made the beds and straightened the few pieces of furniture in the cabin. That had taken barely half an hour, so he had groomed the pony in the lean-to behind the cabin until its coat shone. The pony looked at him, and at itself, with mild surprise. He guessed nobody had ever spent so much care on its appearance in the past.

Maddie felt a little sad for the pony. Obviously, it was just a pack pony, but she felt all horses deserved some affection. After getting Bumper, she couldn’t think of looking after an animal and not giving it the attention it deserved, no matter what it was used for.

After that, Will had wandered aimlessly around the cabin and the small clearing, inspecting those patches where the damp brown grass was beginning to show through the snow cover. He had idly considered making some more snares, then discarded the idea. They had more than they needed already. Feeling bored and useless, he had sat down on the porch to wait for Evanlyn's return. At some stage, he must have nodded off, affected by the warmth of the sun.

That warmth was long gone now, he realized. The sun had travelled fully across the clearing and the pines were throwing long shadows across the cabin. It must be midafternoon, he estimated.

A frown creased his forehead. Evanlyn had left well before noon to check the snares. Even allowing for the fact that they had moved the trapline farther and farther away from the cabin, she should have had time to reach the line, check the snares and return by now. She must have been gone for at least three hours-possibly more.

Maddie felt her pulse begin to quicken. How long would it take Will to figure out that something was wrong? What could he do to help?

Unless she had already returned and, seeing him sleeping, had decided not to wake him. He stood now, his stiff joints protesting, and checked inside the cabin. There was no sign that she had returned. The game bag and her thick woollen cloak were missing. Will's frown deepened and he began to pace the small clearing, wondering what he should do. He wished he knew exactly how long she had been gone and silently berated himself for falling asleep. Deep down in the pit of his stomach, a vague uneasiness stirred as he wondered what could have become of his companion. He reviewed the possibilities.

After only a year of being a Ranger’s apprentice, Will began to think like one. Halt mused quietly to himself, interested at the prospect of being able to hear some of Will’s thoughts.

She could have lost her way, and be wandering through the thickly growing, snow-covered pines, trying to find her way back to the cabin. Possible, but unlikely. He had blazed the paths leading to their trapline with discreet marks and Evanlyn knew where to look for them.

Perhaps she had been injured? She could have fallen, or twisted an ankle. The paths were rough and steep in places and that was a definite possibility. She might be lying now, injured and unable to walk, stranded in the snow, with the afternoon drawing on toward night.

Cassandra winced. If that had happened, depending on how bad the injury was, she might have slowed down their journey over the border. Then, they would be practically defenceless, with Will still recovering from the effects of the drug, and her being injured. Unless, of course, the events progressed in a similar manner as they did in reality.

The third possibility was the worst: she had encountered someone. Anyone that she ran into on this mountain was likely to be an enemy. Perhaps she had been recaptured by the Skandians. His pulse raced for a moment as he considered the thought. He knew they would show little mercy to an escaped slave. And while Erak had helped them before, he would be unlikely to do so again-even if he had the opportunity.

“I underestimated him.” Will admitted, remembering how Erak had been willing to smuggle them onto a ship and get them out of Skandia at the first opportunity, or how he was willing to stand up to Ragnak in their defence.

As he had been considering these possibilities, he had begun moving around the cabin, collecting his things in preparation for setting out to look for her. He had filled one of their water skins from the bucket of creek water that he brought to the cabin each day, and crammed a few pieces of cold meat into a carry sack. He laced on his thick walking boots, winding the thongs rapidly around his legs, almost up to the knee, and unhooked his sheepskin vest from the peg behind the door.

On the whole, he thought, the second possibility was the most likely. The chances were that Evanlyn was injured somewhere, unable to walk. The chance that she might have been retaken by the Skandians was very slim indeed, he realized. It was still too early in the season for people to be moving around the mountain. The only reason for doing so would be to hunt game. And it was still too scarce to be worth the trouble of fighting through the thick drifts of snow that blocked the way in so many parts of the mountain. No, on the whole, it was most likely that Evanlyn was safe, but incapacitated.

“I mean, he’s not entirely wrong.” Horace suggested and Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

“When Will found me, they were seconds away from murdering me. I don’t think that counts as ‘safe, but incapacitated’.

Which meant his next logical move would be to put a bridle and saddle on the pony and lead him along as he tracked her, so that she could ride back to the cabin once he found her. He had no doubt that he would find her. He was already a skilled tracker, although nowhere near the standard of Halt or Gilan, and tracking the girl through snow-covered territory would be a relatively simple matter.

Gilan grinned at the mention of his name. Though he was good at unseen movement, tracking was a skill he had progressed a lot in after he’d been made a fully-fledged Ranger. By the time he and Halt had ended up in Arridia, Gilan would like to think that his tracking skills had improved a considerable amount.

And yet...he was reluctant to take the pony with him. The little horse would make unnecessary noise and a nagging doubt told Will he should proceed with caution. It was unlikely that Evanlyn had encountered strangers, but it wasn't impossible.

Once again, Maddie thought, a small decision that may have saved the Western World.

It might be wiser to travel unobtrusively until he found out the real state of affairs. As he came to this decision, he stripped the beds of their blankets, tying them into a roll that he slung over his shoulder. It might prove necessary to spend the night in the open and it would be better to be prepared. He picked up a flint and steel from near the fireplace and dropped it into one of his pockets.

Finally, he was ready to go. He stood at the door, taking one last look around the cabin to see if there was anything else he might need. The small hunting bow and a quiver of arrows leaned by the doorjamb. On an impulse, he picked them up, slinging the quiver across his back with the roll of blankets. Then another thought struck him and he crossed back to the fireplace, selecting a half-burned stick from the ashes.

On the outside of the door, he printed in crude letters. "Looking for you. Wait here."

Halt hid his smile. He had seen many apprentices over the years often make errors that would lead to misunderstands or complications which could have been avoided by simple actions.

After all, it was possible that Evanlyn might turn up after he had left and he wanted to make sure she didn't go blundering off, trying to find him while he was trying to find her.

He took a few seconds to string the bow. Halt's voice echoed in his ears: "An unstrung bow is just something extra to carry. A strung bow is a weapon." He looked at it disdainfully. It wasn't much of a weapon, he thought. But that and the small knife in his belt were all that he had. He moved to the edge of the clearing, picking up the clear trail of Evanlyn's footprints in the snow. They were blurred after a morning of spring sunshine, but they still showed up. Maintaining a steady trot, he moved off into the forest.

“Nice to know someone was paying attention half the time.” Halt mumbled and Will shook his head, his eyes alight with laughter.

“Just because I looked like I’m wasn't paying attention, doesn’t mean I was.” He said truthfully. “After all, I learned from the best.”

He followed her trail easily as it wound up into the higher reaches of the mountain. Before too long, his pace had dropped from the steady jog and he was walking, breathing hard as he went. He realized that he was in poor condition. There had been a time when he could have maintained that ground-eating lope for hours. Now, after barely twenty minutes, he was puffing and exhausted. He shook his head in disgust and continued to follow the footprints.

Maddie frowned. Her mentor had been drugged out of his mind, she thought it was reasonable that he hadn’t fully recovered yet, especially since they had little to eat up in the cabin.

Of course, following the trail was made easier by the fact that he already had a good idea of the direction Evanlyn had been heading. He had helped her relocate the snares a few days earlier. At that time, he recalled, they had gone at an easier pace, resting frequently so as not to tire him out.

Evanlyn had been reluctant to allow him to walk so far, but had given in to the inevitable. She had no real idea how to place the snares where they might have the best chance of trapping small game. That was one of Will's areas of expertise. He knew how to look for and recognize the small signs that showed where the rabbits and birds moved, where they were most likely to poke their unsuspecting heads into the looped snares.

“Having a Ranger’s Apprentice around is extremely useful.” Cassandra noted, Horace nodded in agreement.

“They certainly have their moments.”

It had taken Evanlyn about forty minutes to reach the trapline that morning. Will covered the distance in an hour and a quarter, stopping more frequently as the time went on to rest and recover his breath. He resented the stops, knowing they were costing him daylight. But there would be no point pushing himself until he was utterly exhausted. He had to keep himself in condition to give Evanlyn any assistance she might need when he found her.

The sun had dropped over the crest of the mountain by the time he reached the blazed tree that marked the beginning of the trapline. He touched one hand to the cut bark, then turned to head off the track into the pines when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something that froze his heart in midbeat.

There was the clear imprint of a horse's hooves in the snow-and they overlay the tracks that Evanlyn had left. Someone had followed her.

Maddie’s gaze was locked on Lady Pauline as she read calmly, and at an even pace. If she had been reading this chapter, there was no way the panic and worry wouldn’t seep into her voice. It must be some skill diplomats learned she reasoned.

Forgetting his weariness, Will ran, half crouching, through the thick pines to the spot where the first snare had been laid. The snow there was disturbed and scuffed. He fell to his knees, trying to read the story that was written there.

The empty snare first, he could see where Evanlyn had reset the noose, smoothing the snow around it and scattering a few grains of seed. So there had been an animal in the snare when she'd arrived.

Then he cast wider, seeing the other set of footprints moving into position behind her as she had knelt, engrossed in the task of resetting the snare and probably jubilant at the fact that they had caught something. The horse's tracks had stopped some twenty meters away. Obviously, the animal was trained to move silently-much as Ranger horses were.

Maddie shifted at the uncomfortable thought of someone else having horses that could move like Ranger horses could.

He felt an uneasy sense of misgiving at that. He didn't like the idea of an enemy who had those sorts of skills-and by now he knew he was dealing with an enemy of some kind. The signs of the struggle between Evanlyn and the enemy were all too clear to his trained eye. He could almost see the man-he assumed it was a man-moving quietly behind her, grabbing her and dragging her back through the snow.

The wild disturbance of the ground showed how Evanlyn had kicked and struggled. Then, suddenly, the struggling had stopped and two shallow furrows in the snow led back to where the horse waited. Her heels, he realized, as her unconscious body had been dragged away.

He hopes she was unconscious, Maddie thought, terror at the thought of not knowing whether your friend was alive or dead.

Unconscious? Or dead, he thought. And a chill hand seized his heart at the thought. Then he shook it away determinedly.

"No sense in carrying her away if he'd killed her," he told himself. And he almost believed it. But he still had that gnawing uncertainty in the pit of his belly as he followed the horse's tracks back to the main trail, and then in the opposite direction of the trail that led back to the cabin.

Opposite? That would mean they came form the border of Skandia, so not someone trying to reclaim a slave. Who then?

He was glad he'd thought to bring the blankets. It was going to be a cold night, he thought. He was also glad that he'd thought to bring the bow, although he found himself wishing that he still had the powerful recurve bow that he had lost at the bridge in Celtica. It was a far superior weapon to the low-powered Skandian hunting bow. And he had the uncomfortable certainty that he was going to need a weapon in the very near future.

Lady Pauline handed the book to Cassandra.

Chapter 64: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 5

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 5.

Cassandra began the chapter.

The world was upside and bouncing. Gradually, as Evanlyn's eyes came into focus, she realized that she was hanging, head down, her face only centimetres away from the front left shoulder of a horse. The inverted position made the blood pound painfully in her head, a pounding that was accentuated by the steady, bouncing trot that the horse was maintaining. He was a chestnut, she noted, and his coat was long and shaggy and badly in need of grooming. The small area she could see was matted with sweat and dried mud.

Maddie raised her eyebrow. Her mother had just been kidnapped and the first thing she noted was the colour of the horse? She could argue that the strange thoughts were from the blood going to her head, but still, it was a little strange.

Something hard ground into the soft flesh of her belly with every lurching step the horse took. She tried to wriggle to relieve the pressure and was rewarded for her efforts with a sharp blow to the back of her head. She took the hint and stopped wriggling.

Horace clenched his fist. Cassandra, having seen the action, motioned to her daughter. Maddie laid a steadying hand on her father’s arm, trying to be comforting through touch alone.

Turning her head to face toward the rear, she could make out her captor's left leg-clad in a long, skirt-like fur coat and soft hide boots. Below her, the churned snow of the trail passed rapidly by. She realized her unconscious body had been slung unceremoniously across the front of a saddle. That projection stabbing dully into her stomach must be the pommel.

Will winced. That was not a comfortable position to ride a horse. Though he hadn’t tried it himself intentionally, he had been captured before and been in a similar situation.

She remembered now...the slight noise behind her, the blur of movement as she started to turn. A hand, stinking of sweat and smoke and fur, clamped over her mouth to prevent her screaming. Not that there had been anyone within earshot to hear, she thought regretfully.

The struggle had been brief, with her assailant dragging her backward to keep her off balance. She had tried to fight her way free, tried to kick and bite. But the man's thick glove made her attempts at biting useless, and her kicks were ineffective as she was dragged backward. Finally, there had been an instant of blinding pain, just behind her left ear, and then darkness.

Maddie thought her mother had put up a good effort to fight her captors, especially since she didn’t have any weapons or training, not to mention how she’d been a slave, and then only just getting enough food to survive for the last few months.  

As she thought of the blow, she became aware that the area behind her left ear was another source of throbbing, another source of pain. The discomfort of being carried along helplessly like this was bad enough. But the inability to see anything, to get a look at the man who had taken her prisoner, was, if anything, worse. From this doubled-over, facedown position, she couldn't even see any features of the land they were passing through. So if she did eventually escape, she would have no memory of any landmarks that might help her retrace her steps.

“You also don’t know how long you’ve been travelling for.” Maddie pointed out. “For all you know, a day could have passed and you were now kilometres away from anything that might look familiar.”

Unobtrusively, she tried to twist her head to the side, to get a look at the rider mounted behind her. But he obviously felt the movement, minimal as she tried to keep it, and she felt another blow on the back of her head. Just what she needed, she thought ruefully.

Will sat silently. He didn’t want to think about what Cassandra endured when she had been captured. He had been slow when searching for her and he knew it, which meant anything that happened after a certain point could logically be considered his fault.

Of course, he knew Evanlyn wouldn’t consider it, but it still made his heart heavy, listening to what she had to endure. Not knowing where she was and whether anyone would even come for her. It must have been terrifying.

Realizing that there was no future in antagonizing her captor, Evanlyn slumped down, trying to relax her muscles and ride as comfortably as possible. It was a fairly unsuccessful attempt. But at least when she let her head hang down, her cramping neck and shoulder muscles felt some relief.

The ground went by below her, the snow churned up by the horse's front hooves, showing the sodden brown grass that lay underneath. They were making their way downhill, she realized, as the rider reined in the horse to negotiate a steeper than normal part of the trail at a walk. She felt the rider lean back away from her as she slid forward, saw his feet pushing forward against the stirrups as he leaned back to compensate and help the horse balance.

Just ahead of them, visible from her facedown position, was a patch of snow that had melted and refrozen. It was slick and icy and the horse's hooves went onto it before she could sound any warning. Legs braced, the horse slid downward, unable to check its progress. She heard a startled grunt from the rider and he leaned farther back, keeping the reins taut to still the horse's panic. They slid, scrabbled, then checked. Then they were across the icy patch and the rider urged the horse back into its steady trot once more.

Halt narrowed his eyes. It was entirely the rider’s responsibility to watch out for dangers along the path, and it was obvious whoever had captured Cassandra cared little for their mount. Even Halt, a seasoned rider with decades of experience, would be hesitant to ride Abelard into freshly melting snow.

Evanlyn noted the moment. If it happened again, it might give her a chance to escape.

After all, she wasn't tied onto the horse, she realized. She was merely hanging either side like a bundle of old clothes. If the horse fell, she could be off and away before the rider regained his feet. Or so she thought.

Perhaps fortunately for her-for she couldn't see the bow slung over the rider's back, nor the quiver full of arrows that hung at his right side-the horse didn't fall.

Maddie’s heart beat heavily in her chest. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, momentarily glad that she hadn’t tried to escape. There was no doubt she would have been shot down before going five steps, and then Will would have been left to fend for himself in a foreign country, his only friend gone.

There were a few more steep sections, and a couple of other occasions when they slid, legs locked forward and rear hooves scrabbling for purchase, for several meters down the slope. But on none of those occasions did the rider lose control or the horse do more than whinny in alarm and concentration.

Finally, they reached their destination. The first she knew of it was when the horse slid to a stop and she felt a hand on her collar, heaving her up and over, to send her sprawling in the wet snow that covered the ground. She fell awkwardly, winding herself in the process, and it was several seconds before she could regain her presence of mind and take the time to look around her.

They were in a clearing where a small camp had been set up. Now she could see her captor as he swung down from the saddle. He was a short, stocky man, dressed in furs-a long, wide-skirted fur coat covered most of his body. On his head he wore a strange, conical fur hat. Beneath the skirts of the coat he wore shapeless trousers made from a thin kind of felt, with soft hide boots pulled up over them, about knee high.

You would need high boots if you wanted to walk around in the thawing snow and not get frostbite, Maddie noted.

He walked toward her now, rolling slightly with the bowlegged walk of a man who spent most of his time in the saddle. His features were sharp-almond-shaped eyes that slitted to almost nothing from years of looking across long distances into the wind and the glare of a hard land. His skin was dark, almost nut brown from exposure to the sun, and the cheekbones were high. The nose was short and wide, and the lips were thin.

Her first impression was that it was a cruel face. Then she amended the thought. It was simply an uncaring face. The eyes showed no signs of compassion or even interest in her as the rider reached down and grabbed her collar, forcing her to her feet.

Horace’s eyes narrowed and Will looked over to his friend in caution. He knew Horace was extremely protective over Cassandra and hoped that this Temujai wouldn’t do anything too upsetting.

"Stand," he said. The voice was thick and the accent guttural, but she recognized the single word in the Skandian tongue. It was basically similar to the Araluen language and she had spent months with the Skandians in any event. She allowed herself to be raised to her feet. She was nearly as tall as the man, she noticed, with a slight feeling of surprise. But, small as he was, the strength in the arm that dragged her upright was all too obvious.

“Does Erak have a Skandian accent?” Maddie asked, and Cassandra nodded vigorously.

“His is actually quite thick. In the beginning, it was difficult to tell what he was saying. But it gets easier once you get used to it.”

Now she noticed the bow and the quiver, and was instinctively glad that no chance had arisen for her to try to escape. She had no doubt that the man shoving her forward was an expert shot. There was something totally capable about him, she realized. He seemed so confident, so much in control. The bow might have simply marked him as a hunter. The long, curved sword in a brass-mounted scabbard on his left hip said that he was a warrior.

Her study of the man was interrupted by a chorus of voices from the camp. Now that she had the time to look, she saw another five warriors, similarly dressed and armed. Their horses, small and shaggy-coated, were tethered to a rope slung between two trees, and there were three small tents placed around the clearing, made from a material that appeared to be felt. A fire crackled in a small circle of stones set in the centre of the clearing and the other men were grouped around it. They rose to their feet in surprise as she was pushed toward them.

Maddie frowned. This wasn’t a huge party by any means, but her mentor would have a hard time taking down this many people by himself if he wanted to save her mother.

One of them stepped forward, a little apart from the others. That fact, and the commanding tone in his voice, marked him as the leader of the small group. He spoke rapidly to the man who had captured her. She couldn't understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable. He was angry.

While he was obviously the leader of the small party, it was equally obvious that the man who had brought her here was also relatively senior. He refused to be cowed by the other man's angry words, replying in equally strident tones and gesturing toward her. The two of them stood, nose to nose, becoming louder and louder in their disagreement.

Baron Arald thought for a second. Halt had said these warriors were one of the most effective fighting force on the planet, and yet he would never send a party with such a clear annoyance of one and other to scout like they had.

If people worked well together, then they are more likely to stay focused and get better results.

She stole a quick glance at the other four men. They had resumed their seats around the fire now, their initial interest in the captive having subsided. They watched the argument with interest, but with no apparent concern. One of them went back to turning a few green twigs with fresh meat spitted on them over the fire. The fat and juices ran off the meat and sizzled in the coals, sending up a cloud of fragrant smoke.

Evanlyn's stomach growled softly. She hadn't eaten since the meagre breakfast she had shared with Will. From the position of the sun, it must be late afternoon by now. She calculated that they had been traveling some three hours at least.

“Did Will teach you?” Maddie asked her mother. Cassandra nodded.

“There wasn’t a lot to do at the cabin, and it’s a useful skill to have.”

Finally, the argument seemed to be resolved-and in favour of her captor. The leader threw his hands in the air angrily and turned away, walking back to his place by the fire and dropping to a cross-legged position. He looked at her, then waved dismissively to the other man. Her fate, it appeared, was in his hands.

The horseman took a length of rawhide rope from his saddle bow and quickly ran two loops around her neck. Then he dragged her toward a large pine at the edge of the clearing and fastened the rope to it. She had room to move, but not too far in any direction. He turned her around, shoving her roughly, and grabbed her hands, forcing them behind her back and crossing the wrists over each other. She resisted. But the result was another stinging blow across the back of her head.

Horace glared at the book; fists clenched in tight balls of anger.

After that, she allowed her hands to be roughly tied behind her, with a shorter piece of rawhide. She winced and muttered a protest as the knots were drawn painfully tight. It was a mistake. Another blow across the back of her head taught her to remain silent.

Maddie could see her father was getting angry, so she placed an arm on his to calm him and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. He didn’t seem to register the touch, but stopped looking like he was about to commit murder.

She stood uncertainly, hands bound and tied by her neck to the tree. She was considering the best way to sit down when the problem was solved for her. The horseman kicked her feet out from under her and sent her sprawling in the snow. That, at least, brought a couple of low chuckles from the men around the fire.

It was Maddie’s turn to glare at the book. She hoped those soldiers met a deadly, bitter end.

For the next few hours she sat awkwardly, her hands gradually growing numb from the pressure of the bonds. The six men now seemed content to ignore her. They ate and drank, swigging what was obviously a strong spirit from leather bottles. The more they drank, the more boisterous they became. Yet she noticed that, even though they seemed to be drunk, their vigilance didn't relax for a second. One of them was always on guard, standing outside the glare of the small fire and moving constantly to monitor the approaches to the camp from all directions. The guard changed at regular intervals, she noticed, without any dissension or need for persuasion. All of them seemed to take an equal turn too.

Baron Arald took back his original comment. They were disciplined, and even when they were drinking, highly vigilant. Their camp was far more structured and ordered than it had first appeared.  

As it grew to full night, the men began to retire into the small felt tents. They were dome shaped and barely waist high, so their occupants had to crawl into them through a low entrance. But, she thought enviously, they were probably a lot warmer than she would be, sitting out here.

The fire died down and one of the men-not the one who had captured her-walked in that same bandy-legged stride toward Evanlyn and tossed a heavy blanket over her. It was rough and carried the rank smell of their horses, but she was grateful for the warmth. Even so, it was not really enough for comfort. She huddled against the tree, shrugging the blanket higher around her shoulders, and prepared for a supremely uncomfortable night.

Cassandra put down the book and looked around the room. She gave a small smile in Horace’s direction which calmed the knight down quite a bit.

Eventually, she handed the book over to Sir Rodney who took it quickly.

Chapter 65: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 6

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 6.

Notes:

Sorry I'm a little late. Here's the chapter :)

Halt leaned back and surveyed his handiwork with a satisfied sigh.

"There," he said. "That should do the trick."

“Oh Halt, what have you done?” Gilan asked reluctantly. His big cheery grin refused to stay hidden, and ever so slightly peeked out from his schooled expression.

Horace looked at him doubtfully, his eyes moving from Halt's pleased expression to the official-looking document that he had just completed forging.

Cassandra, Horace, Baron Arald, and Gilan winced. Lay Pauline had enough poise to not move too much, but Halt could tell his wife disapproved of his actions.

“Halt, I am hesitant to ask, but how is it you know how to forge official documents of this nature?” Cassandra asked, lifting an eyebrow in the older Ranger’s direction.

Halt shrugged and Gilan slumped down on the desk moaning slightly. “I remember him doing this during my apprenticeship and I asked a similar thing your highness. It might be better not to answer her Halt, and Will, please tell me Halt didn’t give you his forgery kit?”

Will raised an eyebrow at the Ranger Commandant and asked, concerned, “Gilan, how could you accuse me, your friend of such an act?” He sounded offended, but Maddie narrowed her eyes, there was a hint of amusement in his voice, and Gilan obviously picked up on it because he scoffed before turning to the Queen.

“Your Highness, it was necessary evil when I was Halt’s apprentice, but now that I’m commandant, what am I to do? Should I arrest one or both of them for crimes against the crown? I’m at a lost…” Gilan rested his forehead against the table and Maddie could see her mentor struggling to hold in his laughter. She turned to her mother who just rolled her eyes fondly before patting Gilan’s arm in sympathy.

“I am sure we can trust these two fine gentlemen have, or will only use their…unusual skills in benefit of the kingdom, am I correct?” She gave a meaningful look in Will’s direction, and he nodded profusely. Halt just rolled his eyes but nodded once in agreement as well. Cassandra looked to Sir Rodney who had paused in his reading.

“Sir Rodney, could you please continue before I’m forced to confront the fact that some of my closest friends may have impersonated the crown at some point?”

Sir Rodney cleared his throat hurriedly and continued reading. Gilan looked up, a grin on his face.

"Whose seal is that at the bottom?" he asked finally, indicating the impression of a rampant bull that was set in a large splodge of wax in the bottom right-hand corner of the parchment. Halt touched the wax gently, checking to see if it had hardened completely.

"Well, I suppose if it's anyone's it's mine," he admitted. "But I'm hoping that our Skandian friends will think it belongs to King Henri of Gallica."

A few people in the room glanced half-heartedly at each other, they knew the seal definitely wasn’t Halt’s. It made sense he didn’t want the seal that was originally going to be his. Maddie noticed the looks but shrugged it off.

"Is that what his royal seal looks like?" Horace asked, and Halt studied the symbol impressed in the wax a little more critically.

“May I remind people that I grew up in the Ward, not a lot of royal seals lying about.” Horace interrupted, and Maddie refused to show her confusion morph into understanding. Her entire life had been largely dominated by the royal seal in one form or another, but it made sense that her father hadn’t seen it until he’d been over fifteen.

"Pretty much," he replied. "I think the real one may be a trifle leaner in the body, but the forger I bought it from had a pretty indistinct impression to work from."

"But..." Horace began unhappily, then stopped.

Halt looked at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "But?" he repeated, making the word into a question.

Horace mumbled something about answering questions with questions, but not loud enough for Maddie to make out most of the words.

Horace merely shook his head. He knew Halt would probably laugh at his objection if he voiced it. "Oh, never mind," he said at last. Then, realizing that the former Ranger was still waiting for him to speak, he changed the subject.

“Not a bad move.” Lady Pauline commented and Horace grinned.

"I thought you said there was no ruling court in Gallica," he said. Halt shook his head.

"There's no effective ruling court," he told the young man. "King Henri is the hereditary king of the Gallicans, but he has no real power. He maintains a court in the southern part of the country and lets the local warlords do as they please."

"Yes. I noticed some of that," Horace said meaningfully, thinking about the encounter with the warlord Deparnieux that had delayed their progress through Gallica.

Maddie frowned at the mention of the dead warlord.

"So old King Henri is something of a paper tiger," Halt continued. "But he has been known to send envoys into other countries from time to time. Hence this." He gestured at the sheet of parchment that he was waving gently in the air so that the ink might dry and the wax seal might harden. The sight of the seal brought back all of Horace's misgivings.

"It just doesn't seem right!" he blurted out, before he could stop himself. Halt smiled patiently at him, blowing gently on some damp patches of ink.

“For the record, I agree with Horace.” Sir Rodney said, and the Baron nodded alongside him. Horace flushed slightly but Halt just shrugged. Will took note of their opinions and gave a reminder for himself not to mention where he got some information from certain missions, he doubted the two would be pleased to know that he was following in the steps of his mentor.

"It's as right as I can get it," he said mildly. "And I doubt that the average border guard in Skandia will see the difference-particularly if you're dressed in that fine suit of Gallican armour you took from Deparnieux."

Horace grimaced at the thought of using anything from the warlord.

But Horace shook his head doggedly. Now that his concern was out in the open, he was determined to plow on.

"That's not what I meant," he said, then added, "and well you know it."

Halt grinned easily at the young man's troubled expression. "Sometimes your sense of morality amazes me," he said gently. "You do understand that we have to get past the border guards if we're to have any chance of finding Will and the princess?"

"Evanlyn," Horace corrected him automatically. Halt waved the comment aside.

"Whoever." He knew that Horace tended to refer to Princess Cassandra, the daughter of the Araluen King, by the name she had assumed when Will and Horace had first encountered her. He continued: "You do realize that, don't you?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes, “Nice to know you care Halt.”

Horace heaved a deep sigh. "Yes, I suppose so, it's just that it seems so...dishonest, somehow."

Halt's eyebrows rose in a perfect arch. "Dishonest?"

Halt sighed; he remembered this conversation well. At the time, he had been impressed by the boy’s morality, and knew that it had been good for Will to make such an honourable and loyal friend.

Horace went on, awkwardly. "Well, I was always taught that people's seals and crests were sort of...I don't know, sacrosanct. I mean:" He gestured toward the figure of the bull impressed in red wax. "That's a king's signature."

Halt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He's not much of a king," he replied.

"That's not the point. It's a principle, don't you see? It's like..." He paused, trying to think of a reasonable parallel, and finally came up with... "It's like tampering with the mail."

Gilan, Will, and Halt, winced.

In Araluen, the mail was a service controlled by the Crown and there were dire penalties proscribed for anyone who tried to interfere with it. Not that such penalties had ever stopped Halt in the past when he'd needed to do a little tampering in that direction.

Cassandra pretended to put her fingers in her ears and proceed to give Halt another raised eyebrow in response to his past actions. Halt just shrugged it off again, but at least this time looked marginally rueful.

He decided that it wouldn't be wise to mention that to Horace right now. Obviously, the morality code taught in Castle Redmont's Battleschool was a good deal more rigid than the behaviour embraced by the Ranger Corps. Of course, the knights of the realm were entrusted with the protection of the Royal Mail, so it was logical that they should have such an attitude ingrained in them from an early part of their training.

Maddie, noticing her mentor’s response, raised her eyebrows in question, almost perfect imitating what her mother had done a few seconds beforehand. Will shrugged, and Maddie couldn’t help but notice the similarities between Will and Halt, they really were father and son in everything but name.

"So how would you suggest that we deal with the problem?" he asked at last. "How would you get us past the border?"

Horace preferred simple solutions. "We could fight our way in," he suggested with a shrug. Halt raised his eyes to heaven at the thought.

"So it's immoral to bluff our way past with an official document-" he began.

"A false document," Horace corrected. "With a forged seal at the bottom."

Halt conceded the point.

"All right-a forged document if you like. That's reprehensible. But it would be perfectly all right for us to go through the border post hacking and shooting down everyone in sight? Is that the way you see it?"

“I think I prefer the first option, sorry Baron Arald and Sir Rodney.” Maddie said, the two waved her apology aside, both knowing that Ranger’s often had a different way of looking at things.

Horace grinned at his daughter, “No apology for me then?” He asked and she shook her head solemnly.

“You hang around Ranger’s enough to know their ways are usually better, albeit a little more dishonest. I’m sure your use to it.”

Now that Halt put it that way, Horace had to admit there was an anomaly in his thinking. "I didn't say we should kill everyone in sight," he objected. "We could just fight our way through, that's all. It's more honest and above board, and I thought that's what knights were supposed to be."

"Knights may be, but Rangers aren't," Halt muttered. But he said it below his breath so that Horace couldn't hear him. He reminded himself that Horace was very young and idealistic. Knights did live by a strict code of honour and ethics and those factors were emphasized in the first few years of an apprentice knight's training. It was only later in life that they learned to temper their ideals with a little expediency.

Baron Arald narrowed his eyes at the word expediency. He and Sir Rodney still followed the strict code of honour, so did Gilan’s father, and so did half a dozen knights the two knew personally. Perhaps it was because Halt was a Ranger, maybe that was the reason why he encountered so many knights that didn’t treat the code as seriously as many knights did.

"Look," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "Think about it this way...if we just barged on through and headed for Hallasholm, the border guards would send word after us. The element of surprise would be totally lost and we could find ourselves in big trouble. If we decide to fight our way in, the only way to do it is by leaving nobody alive to spread the word. Understand?"

Horace nodded, unhappily. He could see the logic in what Halt was saying. The Ranger continued in the same reasoning tone. "This way, nobody gets hurt. You pose as an emissary from the Gallican court, with a dispatch from King Henri. You wear Deparnieux's black armour-it's obviously Gallican in style-and you keep your nose stuck in the air and leave the talking to me, your servant. That's the sort of behaviour they'd expect from a self-important Gallican noble. There's no reason for any word to be sent informing Ragnak that two outlanders have crossed the border-after all, we're supposed to be going to see him anyway."

"And what's in the dispatch that I'm supposed to be taking?" Horace asked.

Halt couldn't resist a grin. "Sorry, that's confidential. You don't expect me to breach the secrecy of the mail system, do you?" Horace gave him a pained look and he relented. "All right. It's a simple business matter, actually. King Henri is negotiating for the hire of three wolfships from the Skandians, that's all."

Maddie hid her snicker. She caught sight of Gilan and Will doing something similar.

Horace looked surprised. "Isn't that a little unusual?" he asked, and Halt shook his head.

"Not a bit. Skandians are mercenaries. They're always hiring out to one side or another. We're just pretending that Henri wants to subcontract a few ships and crews for a raiding expedition against the Arridi."

"The Arridi?" Horace said, frowning uncertainly.

Will rolled his eyes, “Give it a few years,” He said, “You’ll know a lot more about them soon.”

“Like what the inside of their jail cell looks like…” Horace muttered.

Halt shook his head in mock despair. "You know, it might be more useful if Rodney spent less time teaching you people ethics and a little more time on geography. The Arridi are the desert people to the south." He paused and saw that this made no impression on the young man. Horace continued to look at him with a blank expression. "On the other side of the Constant Sea?" he added, and now Horace showed signs of recognition.

"Oh, them," he said dismissively.

“Oooooo.” Gilan winced in sympathy. “You’ll regret that later.” Horace nodded in agreement, his expression rueful and apologetic.

"Yes, them," Halt replied, mimicking the tone. "But I wouldn't expect you to think about them too much. There are only millions of them."

"But they never bother us, do they?" Horace said comfortably. Halt gave a short laugh.

"Not so far," he agreed. "And just pray they don't decide to."

Horace could sense that Halt was on the verge of delivering a lecture on international strategy and diplomacy.

Will sighed, and Halt shot him a look. Gilan also nodded along and the two had a silent conversation right in front of the Ranger in question who chose to ignore them as best he could when they sat on either side of him.

That sort of thing usually left Horace's head spinning after the first few minutes, while he tried to keep up with who was aligned with whom and who was conspiring against their neighbours and what they hoped to gain from it. He preferred Sir Rodney's type of lecture: right, wrong, black, white, out swords, hack and bash. He thought it might be expedient to head off Halt's incipient harangue. The best way to do that, he had learned from past experience, was to agree with him.

"Well, I suppose you're right about the forgery," he admitted. "After all, it's only the Gallican's seal we're forging, isn't it? It's not as if you're forging a document from King Duncan. Even you wouldn't go as far as that, would you?"

Everyone winced this time. Especially Horace.

"Of course not," Halt replied smoothly. He began to pack away his pens and ink and his other forger's tools. He was glad he'd laid hands on the forged Gallican seal in his pack so easily. It was as well that he hadn't had to tip them all out and risk Horace's seeing the near-perfect copy of King Duncan's seal that he carried, among others. "Now may I suggest that you climb into your elegant tin suit and we'll go and sweet-talk the Skandian border guards."

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Cassandra announced, and Will let out a silent breath of gratitude, seeing as he now had that very same forged seal.

Horace snorted indignantly and turned away. But another thought had occurred to Halt-something that had been on his mind for some time.

"Horace:" he began, and Horace turned back. The Ranger's voice had lost its former light tone and he sensed that Halt was about to say something important.

"Yes, Halt?"

"When we find Will, don't tell him about the...unpleasantry between me and the King, all right?"

Will frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. Halt wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Months ago, denied permission to leave Araluen in search of Will, Halt had devised a desperate plan. He had publicly insulted the King and, as a result, was banished for a period of one year. The subterfuge had caused Halt a great deal of mental anguish in the past months. As a banished person, he was automatically expelled from the Ranger Corps. The loss of his silver oakleaf was possibly the worst punishment of all, yet he bore it willingly for the sake of his missing apprentice.

"Whatever you say, Halt," Horace agreed. But Halt seemed to think, for once, that further explanation was necessary.

"It's just that I'd prefer to find my own way to tell him-and the right time. All right?"

“And look how that turned out…” Will muttered bitterly under his breath.

Horace shrugged. "Whatever you say," he repeated. "Now let's go and talk to these Skandians."

But there was to be no talking. The two riders, trailed by their small string of horses, rode through the pass that zigzagged between the high mountains until the border post finally came into sight. Halt expected to be hailed from the small wooden stockade and tower at any moment, as the guards demanded that they dismount and approach on foot. That would have been normal procedure. But there was no sign of life in the small fortified outpost as they drew nearer.

"Gate's open," Halt muttered as they came closer and could make out more detail.

"How many men usually garrison a place like this?" Horace asked.

The Ranger shrugged. "Half a dozen. A dozen maybe."

"There don't seem to be any of them around," Horace observed, and Halt glanced sideways at him.

"I'd noticed that part myself," he replied, then added, "What's that?"

Maddie leaned forward in anticipation.

There was an indistinct shape apparent now in the shadows just inside the open gate. Acting on the same instinct, they both urged their horses into a canter and closed the distance between them and the fort. Halt already felt certain what the shape was.

It was a dead Skandian, lying in a pool of blood that had soaked into the snow.

Inside there were ten others, all of them killed the same way, with multiple wounds to their torsos and limbs. The two travellers dismounted carefully and moved among the bodies, studying the awful scene.

"Who could have done this?" said Horace in a horrified voice. "They've been stabbed over and over again."

"Not stabbed," Halt told him. "Shot. These are arrow wounds. And then the killers collected their arrows from the bodies. Except for this one." He held up the broken half of an arrow that had been lying concealed under one of the bodies. The Skandian had probably broken it off in an attempt to remove it from the wound. The other half was still buried deeply in his thigh. Halt studied the fletching style and the identification marks painted at the nock end of the arrow. Archers usually identified their own shafts in such ways.

Maddie nodded along without a second thought; eyes glued to Sir Rodney as he read. The room was quiet now, devoted of all the laughter that had come from Halt’s unusual hobbies.

"Can you tell who did this?" Horace asked quietly, and Halt looked up to meet his gaze. Horace saw an expression of deep concern in the Ranger's eyes. That fact alone, more than the carnage around them, sent a wave of uneasiness through him. He knew it took a lot to worry Halt.

"I think so," said the Ranger. "And I don't like it. It looks like the Temujai are on the move again."

Sir Rodney passed the book to Baron Arald.

Chapter 66: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 7

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 7.

Notes:

On time! :)

Baron Arald began reading.

The tracks led to the East. Al least, that was the general direction Will had discerned from them. As the unknown horseman had made his way down the mountain, the track wound and twisted on itself, of necessity, as he followed the narrow, circuitous trails through the thick pine. But always, whenever there was a fork in the trail, the horseman chose the one that would eventually take him eastward once more.

“East, towards the boarder.” Will added.

Exhausted before the first hour was out, Will kept doggedly on, stumbling in the snow from time to time and, on occasions too numerous to count, falling full length to lie groaning.

It would be so easy, he thought, to just stay here. To let the aches in his unfit muscles slowly ease, to let the pounding of the pulse in his temples calm down and to just rest.

Maddie’s heart quickened. If Will rested, there was a chance the riders would be gone by the time he got moving again. Once that happened, her mother would no doubt be lost forever.

But each time the temptation seized him, he thought of Evanlyn...how she had hauled him up the mountain. How she had helped him escape from the stockade where the yard slaves waited for their eventual death. How she had nursed him and cured him of the mind-numbing addiction to warmweed. And as he thought of her and what she'd done for him, somehow, each time, he found a tiny, hidden reservoir of strength and purpose. And somehow he dragged himself to his feet again and staggered on in pursuit of the tracks in the snow.

Cassandra looked to her friend who smiled, knowing that he would do it all again if he had to.

Will kept dragging one foot after another, his eyes cast down to the tracks. He saw nothing else, noticed nothing else. Just the impressions of the hooves in the snow.

Will winced. Not the smartest move on his part. If someone had been going back to cover the tracks,  or if there had been someone else one the mountain, Will wouldn’t have noticed them until it was too late.

The sun dropped behind the mountain and the instant chill that accompanied its disappearance ate through his clothes, damp with the sweat of his exertions, and gnawed deep into his flesh. Dully, he reflected that he was lucky he had thought to bring the blankets with him. When he finally stopped for the night, the damp clothes would become a potential death trap. Without the warmth and dryness of the blankets to cocoon him, he could freeze to death in his damp clothes.

Will shifted slightly, the thought of freezing to death just reminded him of the shifts he had endured on the paddles. The very thing that had led to his warmweed addiction in the first place.

The shadows deepened and he knew nightfall wasn't far away. Still he kept on, keeping going as long as he could distinguish the scuffed hoofmarks in the trail. He was too exhausted to notice the variations in the tracks-the deep troughs dug by the horse's locked-up front legs as it had slid down the steeper sections of the path. Those areas were only remarkable to him for the fact that he fell down them himself, more often than not. He could read none of the subtleties and secret messages that he had been trained to see. It was enough that there was a clear trail to follow.

Without sunlight, it would be nearly impossible to follow the tracks, Maddie thought. Once more, Skandian nights were freezing, even if the Spring was coming.

It was all he was capable of.

It was long after dark and he was beginning to lose sight of the tracks now. But he continued as long as there was no possible deviation, no fork in the trail where he might have to choose one direction over another. When he came to a place where he must choose, he told himself, he would stop and camp for the night. He would wrap himself in the blankets. Perhaps he might even risk a small, well-shielded fire where he could dry his clothes. A fire would bring warmth. And comfort.

And smoke.

And people.

Smoke? He could smell it, even as he thought of a fire. Pine smoke-the all-pervading smell of life in Skandia, the scented fragrance of the burning pine gum as it oozed from the wood and crackled in the flames. He stopped, swaying on his feet. He had thought of fire and, instantly, he could smell smoke. His tired mind tried to correlate the two facts, then realized there was no correlation, only coincidence. He could smell smoke because, somewhere near at hand, there was a fire burning.

“In Skandia, fire means people.” Cassandra said.

He tried to think. A fire meant a camp. And that almost certainly meant that he had caught up with Evanlyn and whoever it was who had abducted her. They were somewhere close by, stopped for the night. Now all he had to do was find them and:

"And what?" he asked himself in a voice thickened by fatigue. He took a long swallow from the water skin that he'd hung from his belt. He shook his head to clear it. For hours now, his entire being had been focused on one task-to catch up with the unseen horseman. Now that he had almost accomplished that, he realized he had no plan as to what to do next. One thing was certain...he wouldn't be able to rescue Evanlyn by brute force. Swaying with fatigue, almost unconscious, he barely had the strength to challenge a sparrow.

A sparrow wouldn’t be dumb enough to be out at night, especially with no shelter. Maddie decided to keep that specific thought to herself. She knew Will was exhausted by the effort tracking, and catching up to her mother, no need to make him feel like an idiot as well.

"What would Halt do?" he wondered. It had become his mantra over the past months whenever he found himself uncertain over a course of action. He would try to imagine his old mentor beside him, eyeing him quizzically, prompting him to solve the problem at hand by himself. To think it through, then to take action. The well-remembered voice seemed to sound in his ear.

Will smiled at his mentor, who had an unreadable expression. All this time Will had been trying to do what Halt would have done in the situation, not something the retired Ranger had been expecting, but maybe he should have.

Look first, Halt had been fond of saying. Then act.

Gilan grinned. He remembered that saying all too fondly from his years as Halt’s apprentice.

Will nodded, content that he had solved the problem for the time being.

"Look first," he repeated thickly. "Then act."

Maddie realised she’d heard Will say the same thing to her. No wonder he was so fond of the saying, it had obviously got him through some interesting times.

He gave himself a few minutes' rest, hunkered down and leaning against the rough bole of a pine, then he stood erect once more, his muscles groaning with stiffness. He continued on the track, moving now with extra caution.

The smell of smoke grew stronger. Now it was mixed with something else and he recognized the smell of meat roasting. A few minutes later, moving carefully, he could discern an orange glow up ahead. The firelight reflected from the whiteness of the snow all around him, bouncing and magnifying in intensity. He realized that it was still some way ahead and continued along the trail. When he judged he was within fifty meters of the source of light, he moved silently off into the trees, fighting his way through the thick snow that came knee deep or higher.

Cassandra hid her grin. Something never changed. Even being exhausted and drained as he was, Will still managed to pull off a feet impossible to most.

The trees began to thin out, revealing a small clearing and the camp set around the fire. He lowered himself to his belly and inched forward, staying concealed in the deep shadows under the pines. He could make out dome-shaped tents now, three of them, arranged in a semicircle around the fire. He could see no sign of movement.

Maddie frowned, weren’t there five of them before? No. Six.

The smell of roasting meat must have hung in the still, clear air long after the meal had been eaten, he realized. He started to edge forward when a movement behind the tents stopped him. He froze, absolutely still, as a man stepped forward into the fringe of the firelight. Stocky, dressed in furs, his face was hidden in the shadow cast by the fur hat he wore. But he was armed. Will could see the curved sword hanging at his waist and the slender lance that he held in his right hand, its butt planted in the snow.

As Will looked, he made out more detail. Horses, six of them, tethered among the trees to one side. He supposed that meant six men. He frowned, wondering how he could possibly get Evanlyn away from here, then realized that, so far, he hadn't seen her. He cast his gaze around the camp, wondering if perhaps she was inside one of the tents.

Cassandra snorted.

Then he saw her.

Huddled under a tree, a blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Peering more closely, he made out the bonds that kept her fastened in place. His eyes ached and he rubbed the back of one hand across them, then pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to force his eyes to stay focused. It was a losing battle. He was exhausted.

He began to wriggle back into the forest, looking for a place where he could hide and rest. They weren't going anywhere this evening, he realized, and he needed to rest and recover his strength before he could accomplish anything. Tired as he was, he couldn't even begin to formulate a coherent plan.

He would rest, finding a spot far enough away to give him concealment, but not so far that he wouldn't hear the camp stirring in the morning. Ruefully, he realized that his earlier plans for a fire were now thwarted. Still, he had the blankets; that was something.

“And still not frostbite.” Horace pipped up.

He found a hollow under the spreading branches of a massive pine and crawled into it. He hoped that the horsemen wouldn't patrol around their camp in the morning and find his tracks, then understood there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He untied the rolled-up blankets and hauled them tight around him, leaning against the bole of the massive tree.

He was never sure that he didn't fall asleep before his eyes actually closed. If not, it was certainly a close-run thing.

Baron Arald paused, giving himself a few seconds to process everything. The events Will and Cassandra had to go through made his fists clench angrily at the unfairness of it all. They had only been children and should have been treated like heroes after single handedly stopped the three-pronged attack. Not taken as slaves, thousands of kilometres from their home, forcefully addicted to drugs, kidnapped, and used as slaves. It wasn’t right.

But as he looked up, he saw that somehow everything had turned out alight in the end. That lone fact was enough to make him keep reading.

Sometime after midnight, Evanlyn woke, groaning in agony. The tight bonds were restricting blood flow and her shoulder muscles were badly cramped. The sentry, annoyed by the noise, loosened the bonds for a few minutes, then refastened her hands in front of her to take the strain off her shoulder muscles. It was a small improvement and she managed to sleep fitfully, until the sound of raised voices woke her.

Evanlyn had sensed the antagonism between the two warriors the night before. But in the morning, it reached crisis point.

Baron Arald muttered under his breath. He took back his earlier statement.

She wasn't to know it, but this was just the latest in a series of arguments between the two men. The small scouting party was one of many that had crossed the border into Skandia. Some weeks previously, Evanlyn had actually seen a member of an earlier party, near the hut where she and Will had spent the winter.

The man who had captured her, Ch'ren, was the son of a high-ranking Temujai family. It was the Temujai custom to have their young nobles serve a year as common soldiers before they were promoted to the officer class. At'lan, the commander of the scouting party, was a long-term soldier, a sergeant with years of experience. But, as a commoner, he knew he would never rise above his present rank. It galled him that the arrogant, headstrong Ch'ren would soon outrank him, just as it galled Ch'ren to take orders from a man he considered to be his social inferior. The day before, he had ridden off into the mountains on his own to spite the sergeant.

Sir Rodney also frowned at this. People really should be promoted because of skill, not because of their birth. One did not always equal the other.

He had taken Evanlyn prisoner on a whim, without any real thought of the consequences. It would have been better had he remained unseen and allowed her to go on her way. The scouting party was under strict orders to avoid discovery and they had no orders to take prisoners. Nor was there any provision for holding or guarding them.

The simplest solution, At'lan had decided, was that the girl must be killed.

Maddie pressed her lips together unhappily and Horace clenched his fists. Will kept a cool expression on his face, but his cold eyes said otherwise.

As long as she was alive, there was the chance that she would escape and spread the word of their presence. If that happened, At'lan knew he would pay with his own life. He felt no sympathy for the girl. Nor did he feel any antagonism. His feelings about her were neutral. She was not of the People and so barely qualified as a human being.

Gilan scoffed.

Now, he ordered Ch'ren to kill her. Ch'ren refused-not out of any regard for Evanlyn, but simply to infuriate the sergeant.

Evanlyn watched anxiously as they argued. Like the previous night, it was obvious to her that she was the reason for their disagreement. It was equally obvious, as their argument became more and more heated, that her position was becoming increasingly precarious.

Finally, the older of the two drew back his hand and slapped the younger man across the face, sending him staggering a few paces. Then he turned and strode toward Evanlyn, drawing his curved sabre as he came.

Maddie’s breath hitched as she listened to the Baron’s calm reading.

She looked from the sword in his hand to the totally matter-of-fact expression on his face. There was no malice, no anger, no expression of hatred there. Just the determined gaze of someone who, without the slightest qualm or hesitation, was about to end her life.

Evanlyn opened her mouth to scream. But the horror of the moment froze the sound in her throat and she crouched, open-mouthed, as death approached her. It was odd, she thought, that they had dragged her here, left her overnight and then decided to kill her.

It seemed such a pointless way to die.

Baron Arald trailed off. He passed the book to Halt after skimming the first page. The retired Ranger took the book and glanced around before he began the chapter.

Chapter 67: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 8

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 8.

Halt cast around, examining the confused mass of tracks in the soft snow, frowning to himself as he tried to make sense of the clues there. Horace waited, bursting with curiosity.

Will snickered slightly.

Finally, Halt stood up from where he had been kneeling, examining a particularly torn-up patch of ground.

"Thirty of them at least," he muttered. "Maybe more."

“I thought there were only a group of six? Where did the other twenty-four go?”

"Halt?" Horace asked experimentally. He didn't know if there were more details that Halt was about to reveal, but he couldn't wait any longer. The Ranger was moving away from the small stockade now, though, following another set of tracks that led into the mountains beyond the pass.

"A small party, maybe five or six, went on into Skandia. The rest of them went back the way they'd come."

Well, at least we know what happened to the smaller party, Maddie thought. She pursed her lips, surprised that Halt and her father hadn’t see any signs of the larger party. A group that large moving through the snow would be easy to spot.

He traced the directions with the tip of his longbow. He was speaking more to himself than to Horace, confirming in his own mind what the signs on the ground had told him.

"Who are they, Halt?" Horace asked quickly, hoping to break through the Ranger's single-minded concentration. Halt moved a few paces further in the direction taken by the smaller party.

"Temujai," he said briefly, over his shoulder.

Gilan rolled his eyes, “Very helpful Halt, as always.”

Horace rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You already said that," he pointed out. "But who exactly are the Temujai?"

Halt stopped and turned to look back at him. For a moment, Horace was sure he was about to hear another comment on the sad state of his education. Then a thoughtful look crossed the Ranger's face and he said, in a milder tone than usual, "Yes, I suppose there's no reason why you should have ever heard of them, is there?"

“I don’t think they are much of a worry, unless someone’s trying to invade.” Baron Arald mused.

Horace, loath to interrupt, merely shook his head.

"They're the Riders from the Eastern Steppes," the Ranger said. Horace frowned, not understanding.

Horace muffled his groan. He couldn’t believe how clueless he’d been back then.

"Steps?" he repeated, and Halt allowed a slight smile to show through.

"Not steps that you walk up and down," he told him. "Steppes-the plains and grasslands to the east. Nobody knows exactly where the Temujai originated. At one stage, they were simply a disorganized rabble of smaller tribes until Tem'gal welded them into one band and became the first Sha'shan."

Maddie rolled the word over in her mind. Sha'shan. She’d never heard it before, and it was obviously in some foreign language.

"Sha'shan?" Horace interrupted hesitantly, totally unaware of what the word might mean. Halt nodded and went on to explain.

"The leader of each band was known as the Shan. When Tem'gal became the overlord, he created the title Sha'shan-the Shan of Shans, or the leader of leaders."

Horace nodded slowly. "But who was Tem'gal?" he asked, adding hastily, "I mean, where did he spring from?"

This time Halt shrugged. "Nobody really knows. Legend is that he was a simple herd boy. But somehow he became leader of one tribe, then united them with another, and another. The upshot was, he turned the Temujai into a nation of warriors-probably the best light cavalry in the world. They're fearless, highly organized and absolutely pitiless when it comes to battle. They've never been defeated, to my knowledge."

Maddie’s eyebrows shot up. Never been defeated?

"So what are they doing here?" Horace asked, and Halt regarded him gravely, gnawing at his lower lip as he considered a possible answer.

"That's the question, isn't it?" he asked. "Perhaps we should follow this smaller group and see what we can find out. At least as long as they're heading in the direction we want to go."

Maddie breathed in internal sigh of relief. For a moment she was worried that Halt would go off to pursue the larger group so he could figure out their reason for being so far West.

And slinging his bow over his left shoulder, he walked to where Abelard stood patiently, reins trailing loosely on the ground. Horace hurried after him, swinging up astride the black battle horse he had been riding to impress the border guards. All at once, the finery that he had donned to play the role of a Gallican courier seemed a little incongruous. He nudged the black with his heel and set out after Halt.

The other two horses followed, the battle horse on its lead rein, and Tug trotting quietly along without any need for urging or direction.

Will grinned at the mention of his horse.

Halt leaned down from the saddle, studying the ground.

"Look who's back," he said, indicating a trail in the snow. Horace nudged his horse closer and peered at the ground. To him there was nothing evident, other than a confusion of hoofprints, rapidly losing definition in the soft, wet snow.

"What is it?" he asked finally.

Halt replied without looking up from the track. "The single rider who went off on his own has come back."

Cassandra scowled automatically, that rider had been the one to kidnap her for no reason.

Some way back, the trail had split, with one rider leaving the group and heading deeper into Skandia, while the main party had circled to the north, maintaining the same distance from the border. Now, apparently, that single rider had rejoined the group.

"Well, that makes it easier. Now we don't have to worry about his coming up behind us while we're trailing the others," Halt said. He started Abelard forward, then stopped, his eyes slitted in concentration.

"That's odd," he said, and slid down from the saddle to crouch on one knee in the snow. He studied the ground closely, then peered back in the direction from which the single rider had rejoined the group. He grunted, then straightened up, dusting wet snow from his knees.

“Will is that you?” Gilan whispered loudly to his friend and Will gave an exaggerated shrug.

“I think so.”

"What is it?" Horace asked. Halt screwed his face into a grimace. He wasn't totally sure of what he was seeing, and that bothered him. He didn't like uncertainties in situations like this.

"The single rider didn't rejoin the group here. They went this way at least a day before he did," he eventually said. Horace shrugged. There was a logical reason for that, he thought.

"So he was heading after them to a rendezvous," he suggested. Halt nodded agreement.

"More than likely. They're obviously a reconnaissance group and he may have gone scouting by himself. The question is, who followed him when he came back?"

Will poked his head over Halt’s shoulder, reading the book along side him. Halt gave his ex-apprentice a side eye and placed the book on the table so that Will had an easier time to read the words, but the sceptical, unimpressed expression never left his face.

That raised Horace's eyebrows. "Someone followed him?" he asked. Halt let go a deep breath in frustration.

"Can't be sure," he said briefly. "But it looks that way. The snow's melting quickly and the tracks aren't totally clear. It's easy enough to read the horse's tracks, but this new player is on foot...if he's really there," he added uncertainly.

“I’m here.” Will announced cheerfully and Gilan gave him a big thumbs up as Halt glared at him.

"So:," Horace began. "What should we do?"

Halt came to a decision. "We'll follow them," he said, mounting once more. "I won't sleep comfortably until I find out what's going on here. I don't like puzzles."

The puzzle deepened an hour later when Tug, following quietly behind the two riders, suddenly threw back his head and let go a loud whinny. It was so unexpected that both Halt and Horace spun in their saddles and stared at the little horse in amazement. Tug whinnied again, a long, rising tone that had a note of anxiety in it. Horace's spare battle horse jerked at its lead rope and whinnied in alarm as well. Horace was able to quell an incipient response from the black that he was riding, while Abelard, naturally, remained still.

Will grinned, “Sounds like Tug figured it out before you guys did, eh?”

Halt sighed softly, “That horse has always been a little too clever.”

Angrily, Halt made the Ranger hand signal for silence and Tug's whinny cut off in mid-note. The others gradually quieted as well.

But Tug continued to stand in the trail, forelegs braced wide apart, head up and nostrils flaring as he sniffed the frigid air around them. His body trembled. He was on the brink of giving vent to another of those anguished cries and only the discipline and superb training of all Ranger horses was preventing him from doing so.

"What the devil," Halt began, then, sliding down from the saddle, he moved quietly back to the distressed horse, patting Tug's neck gently.

"Hush now, boy," he murmured. "Settle now. What's the trouble with you then?"

“He’s probably thinking you guys are way to slow.” Cassandra grumbled.

The quiet voice and the gentle hands seemed to soothe the little horse. He put his head down and rubbed his forehead against Halt's chest. The Ranger gently fondled the little horse's ears, still speaking to him in a soft croon.

"There you are...if only you could talk, eh? You know something. You sense something, isn't that right?"

Will snorted, “If Tug could talk, you wouldn’t need a Ranger at Redmont, you could just have the resident Ranger Horse.”

Horace watched curiously as the trembling gradually eased. But he noticed the little horse's ears were still pricked and alert. He might have been quieted, but he wasn't at ease, the apprentice realized.

"I've never seen a Ranger horse behave like that before," he said softly, and Halt looked up at him, his eyes troubled.

"Neither have I," he admitted. "That's what has me worried."

Will frowned, Halt worried? Over Tug?

Horace studied Tug carefully. "He seems to have calmed down a little now," he ventured, and Halt laid a hand across the horse's flank.

"He's still taut as a bowstring, but I think we can keep going. There's only an hour or so till dark and I want to see where our friends are camped for the night."

Maddie groaned when Halt put down the book. “They really are stretching it out, aren’t they?”

The retired Ranger gave the book to Will, before nodding in agreement with Maddie .

Chapter 68: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 9

Summary:

Will reads chapter 9.

Notes:

Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments, they are greatly appreciated :)

Hope you enjoy...

Will began reading.

Deep in the shelter of the pine tree, wrapped in the inadequate warmth of the two blankets, Will spent a fitful night, dozing for short periods, then being woken by the cold and his racing thoughts.

Foremost in his mind was his sense of utter inadequacy. Faced with the need to rescue Evanlyn from her captors, he had absolutely no idea how he might accomplish the task. They were six men, well armed and capable-looking. He was a boy, armed only with a small hunting bow and a short dagger.

Maddie winced in sympathy; the odds didn’t look good.

His arrows were good only for small game-with points made by hardening the end of the wood in a fire and then sharpening them. They were nothing like the razor-sharp broadheads that he had carried in his quiver as an apprentice Ranger. "A Ranger wears the lives of two dozen men on his belt," went the old Araluen saying.

“Plus a few extras, just encase.” Gilan added seriously. If there wasn’t enough space to travel with another bundle of arrows, then adding a few extra to your quiver could save your life.

He racked his brain again and again throughout the long periods of sleeplessness. He thought bitterly that he was supposed to have a reputation as a thinker and a planner. He felt that he was letting Evanlyn down with his inability to come up with an idea. And letting down others too. In his mind's eye, half asleep and dozing, he saw Halt's bearded face, smiling at him and urging him to come up with a plan. Then the smile would fade, first to a look of anger, then, finally, of disappointment.

Will intentionally didn’t look at Halt as he described this thought process. Over the years he had gained a lot more confidence in his ability, however back then, he had desperately needed a father-figure to cling to. Thankfully, fate had given him exactly the right person.

He thought of Horace, his companion on the journey through Celtica to Morgarath's bridge. The heavily built warrior apprentice had always been content to let Will do the thinking for the two of them. Will sighed unhappily as he thought how misplaced that trust had become.

Horace frowned, watching Will read about his past insecurities and hardships. There was nothing in this world that could make him lose faith in his friend, not after everything they’d been through together.

Perhaps it was an aftereffect of the warmweed to which he had been addicted. Perhaps the drug rotted a user's brain, making him incapable of original thought.

Time and again through that unhappy night, he asked himself the question, "What would Halt do?" But the device, so useful in the past for providing an answer to his problems, was ineffectual. He heard no answering voice deep within his subconscious, bringing him counsel and advice.

Maddie listened in eagerly to her mentor. Though she wouldn’t admit it, over the past few years Will’s own voice had been a constant presence in her mind, giving her advice ,guiding her. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one who relied on the guidance of their mentor in tough situations.

The truth was, of course, that given the situation and the circumstance, there was no practical action that Will could take. Virtually unarmed, outnumbered, on unfamiliar ground and sadly out of condition, all he could do would be to keep watching the strangers' encampment and hope for some change in the circumstances, some eventuality that might provide him with an opportunity to reach Evanlyn and get her away into the trees.

Cassandra scoffed, “Give it a few hours.”  

Finally abandoning the attempt to rest, he crawled out from under the pine tree and gathered his meagre equipment together. The position of the stars in the heavens told him that it was a little over an hour before he could expect to see the first light of dawn filtering through the treetops.

"At least that's one skill I've remembered," he said miserably, speaking the words aloud, as had become his custom during the night.

“Doesn’t seem like the best habits  for a Ranger.” Sir Rodney muttered and Will paused, giving the Battle master a tight grin.

“Don’t worry, I quickly grew out of it.”

He hesitated, then came to a decision and moved off through the trees toward the campsite. There was always a chance that something might have changed. The sentry might have fallen asleep or gone off into the forest to investigate a suspicious noise, leaving the way clear to rescue Evanlyn.

It wasn't likely but it was possible. And if such an opportunity arose, it was essential that Will be present to take advantage of it. At least it was a definite course of action for him to follow, so he moved as quietly as possible, keeping one of the blankets draped around his shoulders as a cloak.

Maddie frowned, “What happened to your Ranger cloak?”

“I believe Erak took it for safe keeping.” Will replied.

It took him ten minutes to find his way back to the small camp. When he did, his hopes were dashed. There was still a sentry patrolling and, as Will observed, the watch had changed, with a fresh man taking over the post, wide-awake and rested. He moved around the perimeter of the camp on a regular patrol, coming within twenty meters of the spot where the boy crouched hidden behind a tree. There was no sign of slackness or inattention. The man kept his point of vision moving, continually searching the surrounding forest for any sign of unusual movement.

Will looked enviously at the recurve bow slung, ready strung, over the man's right shoulder. It was very similar to the one Halt had given him when he had first taken up his apprenticeship with the grim-faced Ranger. Vaguely, he recalled Halt had said something about learning how to make such a bow from the warriors of the Eastern Steppes. He wondered now if these men were some of those warriors.

“And you think you aren’t clever.” Horace mused with a smile, shaking his head at the thought.

The sentry's bow was a real weapon, he thought, unlike the virtual toy that he carried. Now, if he had a bow like that in his hands, and a few of the arrows that showed their feathered tips in the sentry's back quiver, he might be able to accomplish something. For a while, he played with the idea of overpowering the sentry and taking his bow, but he was forced to reject the idea.

Thank god, Maddie thought.

There was no way he would get within reach of the man without being seen or heard. And, even if he could accomplish that, there was little chance of his being able to overpower an armed warrior. Pitting the small dagger he carried against the man's sabre would be suicide. He could chance a throw of the knife, of course, but it was a poorly balanced weapon and ill suited for throwing, without sufficient weight in the hilt to drive the blade home into the target.

And so he huddled in the snow at the base of the tree, watching and waiting for an opportunity that never came. He could see Evanlyn's crumpled shape to one side of the camp. The tree she was tied to was surrounded by clear space. There was no way he could approach her without the sentry seeing him. It all seemed hopeless.

He must have dozed off, lulled by the cold and by the restless night he had spent, for he was awoken by the sound of voices.

Maddie sat up straighter, hoping this would be the moment her mother was rescued.

It was just after dawn and the early morning light struck obliquely through the gaps in the trees, throwing long shadows across the clearing. Two of the group of warriors were standing, a little apart from the others, arguing. The words were indecipherable to Will, but the subject of their debate was obvious, as one of them kept gesturing toward Evanlyn, still tied to the tree, huddled in the blanket she had been given, and now wide-awake and watchful.

Maddie’s heart sank, this was the conversation her mother had been listening to in a previous chapter.

As the discussion progressed, the men became increasingly angrier, their voices louder. Finally, the older man seemed goaded beyond restraint. He slapped the other man, sending him staggering. He nodded once, as if satisfied, then turned toward Evanlyn, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.

For a moment, Will remained frozen. The warrior's manner was so casual as he drew the sword and approached the girl that it seemed impossible to believe that he meant her any harm. There was a callousness about the entire scenario that seemed to belie any hostile intent. Yet it was that same callousness and casualness that created a growing sense of horror in Will. The man raised the sword above the girl. Evanlyn's mouth opened but no sound came and Will realized that killing her meant nothing, absolutely nothing at all, to the small, bowlegged warrior.

Everyone leaned in, anticipation building as they all pictured the scene.

Acting under their own volition, Will's hands had drawn and nocked an arrow as the warrior dropped his hand to the sword hilt. The curved blade went up and Evanlyn crouched in the snow, one hand raised in a futile attempt to ward off the killing stroke. Will stepped out clear of the tree, bringing the bow to full draw as his mind rapidly weighed the situation.

His arrow wouldn't kill. It was little more than a pointed stick, even though that point had been hardened in a fire. The chances were that, if he aimed at the warrior's body, the thick furs and leather jerkin that he wore would stop the arrow before it even broke the skin. There was only one vulnerable point where the man was unprotected and that was, coincidentally, one that gave Will's shot the best chance of stopping the sword stroke.

No one spoke as Will read, his voice awfully calm, contrasting the events unfolding on the pages of the book.

The man's wrist was exposed as his arm went up, the bare flesh showing at the end of the thick fur sleeve. All of this Will registered in the time it took him to bring the arrow's crude fletching back to touch his cheek. His aim shifted smoothly to the man's wrist, the tip of the arrow rising slightly to allow for drop. He checked his breath automatically, then released.

Maddie could see the arrow in her minds eyes as she watched. Will’s voice was the narrator to the story playing out in her mind. It was terrifying.

The bow gave a slight twang and the light arrow leapt away, arcing swiftly across the intervening space and burying its point into the soft flesh of the warrior's wrist.

Will heard the strangled shout of pain as his hands moved in the well-remembered sequence, nocking another arrow and sending it after the first. The sword had dropped from the man's grasp, falling noiselessly into the thick snow and causing Evanlyn to shrink back as its razor-sharp blade just missed her arm. The second arrow slapped against the man's thick sleeve and hung there harmlessly as he grasped his right wrist, blood pouring down over his hand.

Shocked and caught unaware as he was, the man had still turned instinctively in the direction from which the arrow had come and now, seeing the movement as Will fired the second time, he made out the small figure across the clearing. With a snarl of anger, he released his injured wrist and clawed a long dagger from his belt with his left hand. For a moment, Evanlyn was forgotten as he pointed in Will's direction to his men, shouting for them to follow him, then began to run toward his attacker.

Maddie’s heart pounded deafeningly in her chest, praying for her mentor to be alright and her mother to be rescued. Halt listened to the tale; eyes narrowed. If he and Horace had been a second slower…he didn’t know what would have happened.

Will's third arrow slowed the man down as it flashed past his face, causing him to jerk to one side to avoid it. But then he was coming again and two of his men were following. At the same time, Will saw a fourth man heading toward Evanlyn and his heart sank as he realized he had failed. He sent another shaft zipping toward him, knowing the effort was in vain. Turning to face the oncoming warrior, Will dropped the useless bow and reached for the knife in his own belt.

And then he heard a sound from the past, a sound eerily familiar from hours spent in the forest around Castle Redmont.

Maddie held her back from shouting in relief and beside her, Gilan let out a long, drawn-out breath before noisily flopping down onto the table.

Finally.

A deep thrum came from somewhere behind him, then the air-splitting hiss of a heavy shaft traveling at incredible speed, with enormous force behind it. Finally, Will heard the solid smack as it struck home.

The arrow, black-shafted, grey-feathered, seemed to appear in the centre of the approaching warrior's chest. He fell backward in the snow. Another thrum-hiss-smack and the second man went down as well. The third turned and ran for the horses tethered on the far side of the camp. Galloping hoofbeats told Will that the remaining two men had already made their escape, unwilling to face the uncanny accuracy of the longbow.

Maddie frowned; she had no doubt those two who escaped would come back later. But for now, she was content, as her mother and mentor were finally safe.

Will hesitated, his mind in a turmoil. Instinctively, he knew what had happened. Logically, he had no idea how it had come about. He turned and saw the barely visible, grey-cloaked figure some thirty meters behind him, the huge longbow still held at the ready, another arrow already drawn.

Lay Pauline hid her smile, she knew what was coming next.

"Halt?" he cried, his voice breaking. He started to run toward the figure, then remembered. Evanlyn! She was still in danger. As he turned, he heard the scrape of steel on steel and saw that she had managed to grab the fallen sabre and ward off the first attack.

But it could only be a momentary respite as her hands were still tied in front of her and she was tethered firmly to the tree. He pointed toward her and yelled inarticulately, desperately urging Halt to shoot, then realized that the Ranger's view of the scene was blocked by the trees.

A wave of anxiety flooded through Maddie, her mother was still in danger!

Then another figure was bounding toward the struggling girl and her attacker. A tall, well-built figure who looked strangely familiar, wearing chain mail and a white surcoat with a strange emblem that resembled a stylized oakleaf.

This time it was Maddie’s turn to flop onto the table in relief. Her mother and father were reunited, and Will was back with Halt.

His long, straight sword intercepted the curved blade as it swung down. Then he had interposed himself between Evanlyn and the man who was trying to kill her and, in a series of flashing sword strokes that bewildered the eye, he drove the other man back away from the girl. He obviously had the better of the exchange and his opponent retreated before him, his parries and strokes growing more desperate as he realized that he was totally outmatched. The man lunged clumsily with his curved blade and it was deflected easily so that his momentum carried him forward, off balance, wide open to the retaliatory backhanded cut that was already on its way-

"Don't kill him!" Halt shouted, just in time, and Horace twisted his wrist so that the flat of his blade, not the razor edge, slammed into the side of the man's head. The man's eyes rolled up and he sagged to the ground, unconscious.

And very lucky.

Someone sniggered.

"We want a prisoner," the Ranger finished mildly. Then he was driven back by the impact of a small body running headlong into him, and a pair of arms that wrapped around his waist, and Will was sobbing and babbling mindlessly as he embraced his teacher and mentor and friend. Halt patted his shoulder gently, and was surprised to find a single tear sliding down his own cheek.

There were smiles on every face at the table, each one glad that the band was finally reunited.

Horace sliced through Evanlyn's bonds with the edge of his sword and gently assisted her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, then, satisfied that she was, he couldn't help a huge grin of relief breaking out across his face.

"Oh, Horace, thank God you're here!" the girl sobbed, and throwing her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his chest. For a moment, Horace was nonplussed. He went to embrace her in return, realized he was still holding his sword, and hesitated awkwardly. Then, coming to a decision, he planted it firmly, point first in the ground, and put his arms around her, feeling the softness of her and smelling the fragrance of her hair and skin.

Maddie rolled her eyes. So, this is where That began.

His grin grew wider, which he wouldn't have thought was possible. He decided there were definite advantages to being a hero.

Will passed the book to Maddie who took it eagerly.

Chapter 69: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 10

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 10.

Maddie began reading.

"You really mean Horace is some kind of hero in Gallica?" Will asked incredulously, not totally sure that Halt and Horace weren't pulling off some kind of enormous practical joke. But the grizzled Ranger was nodding his head emphatically.

Gilan turned to Will with one eyebrow raised, “Will. Do you seriously Horace would do that to you? Halt, I wouldn’t put it past, but Horace?”

Maddie pretended not to choke on her surprise, quickly smothering down her giggles as she looked up to see her father make a shocked face at Will.

Her mentor gave Horace a scrutinising look before smiling, “No. He wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.”

"A regular figure of respect," he said. Evanlyn turned to the muscular young warrior and leaned forward to touch his hand lightly.

Maddie held herself back from groaning and just rolled her eyes at the interaction.

"I can believe it," she said. "Did you see the way he took care of that Temujai soldier who was trying to kill me?" Her eyes were alight with an unusual warmth and Will, noticing it, felt a sudden stab of jealousy for his old friend. Then he pushed the unworthy thought aside.

Will groaned at his past self. He had been a fool as a teenager. Cassandra just rolled her eyes, and Horace looked up in surprise, almost like he never knew Will was capable of such a thought.

Halt had been unwilling to remain too close to the Temujai campsite. There was no telling how far away the main force might be and there was always the possibility that the two men who had escaped might lead others back to the spot.

They had retraced the path Halt and Horace had followed, moving back toward the border crossing where they had discovered the first evidence of the Temujai assault. Around the middle of the day, they found a spot on a hilltop with a good view of the surrounding terrain and a saucer-shaped depression that would keep them hidden from sight. Here, they could see without being seen, and Halt decided to camp there while he made up his mind as to their next move.

They had built a small fire, screened by a grove of young pines, and prepared a meal.

Will tried not to frown, jealous that neither his past self, nor Cassandra had that luxury until the two had found them.

Evanlyn and Will fell ravenously on the savory stew that the Ranger had prepared and for a while there was silence, broken only by the sound of dedicated eating.

Horace’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food, and he flushed, embarrassment. It had been a while since they had any food, and Maddie made a note to go get some at the end of the chapter.

Then the old friends began to catch up on the events that had taken place since the final confrontation with the Wargal army on the Plains of Uthal. Will's jaw had dropped with amazement as Halt described how Horace had defeated the terrifying Lord Morgarath in single combat.

“Trust me, I could hardly believe it myself and I was there.” Baron Arald commented ideally.  

Horace looked suitably embarrassed and Halt, sensing this, described the combat in a light-hearted tone, jokingly implying that the boy had stumbled clumsily and fallen under the oncoming hooves of Morgarath's battlehorse, rather than choosing to do so as a deliberate last throw of the dice to unseat his opponent.

Horace winced; those bruises had hurt like hell.

The apprentice warrior blushed and pointed out that his final ploy-the double knife defence-had been taught to him by Gilan and that he and Will had spent hours practicing the skill on their trip through Celtica. He made it sound as if, somehow, Will deserved some share of the credit for his victory. As he spoke, Will leaned back comfortably against a log and thought how much Horace had changed. Once his sworn enemy when they were both growing up as castle wards, Horace had since become his closest friend.

Both Will and Horace smiled.

Well, one of his closest friends, he thought, as he felt a shaggy head butt insistently against his shoulder. He twisted around, reaching out one hand to stroke Tug's ears and scratch the spot between them the way the little horse enjoyed. Tug let go a low snuffle of pleasure at the touch of his master's hand. Since they had been reunited, the horse had refused to stray more than a meter or two from Will's presence.

Gilan snorted in amusement, and Halt rolled his eyes.

Halt looked at the two of them now, across the campfire, and smiled inwardly. He felt an enormous sense of relief now that he had finally found his apprentice. A weight of self-blame had lifted from him, for he had suffered greatly in the long months since he had watched the wolfship sailing away from the Araluen coast with Will on board.

Will’s smile faded as he listened.

He felt he had failed the youngster, that he had somehow betrayed him. Now that the boy was safely back in his care, he was filled with a deep sense of well-being. Admittedly, the events of the past day had also left a new worry gnawing at the back of his mind, but for the moment, that could wait while he enjoyed the reunion.

"Do you think you could persuade that horse of yours to stay with the other horses for a minute or two?" he said with mock severity. "Otherwise he'll wind up believing that he's one of us."

Will gasped in shock, “Halt! How could you?!”

Halt ignored him.

"He's been driving Halt crazy since we first found your tracks," Horace put in. "He must have picked up your scent and known it was you we were following, although Halt didn't realize it."

At that, Halt raised an eyebrow. "Halt didn't realize it?" he repeated. "And I suppose you did?"

Horace shrugged. "I'm just a warrior," he replied. "I'm not supposed to be a thinker. I leave that to you Rangers."

Will shrugged, grinning, “Honestly Horace, you’re not too bad yourself.”

"I must admit it had me puzzled," Halt said. "I've never seen a Ranger horse behave like that. Even when I ordered him to calm down and be silent, I could tell there was something on his mind. When you first stepped out of the trees to shoot, I thought he was going to take off after you."

Will continued to rub the shaggy head as it leaned down to him. He smiled broadly around the campsite. Now that Halt was here and he was surrounded by his closest friends, he felt safe and secure once more-a sensation he hadn't enjoyed in over a year. He smiled at the Ranger, relieved that Halt had been pleased with his actions. Evanlyn had described their journey across the Stormwhite Sea, and the series of events that had led to their arrival at Hallasholm.

Gilan sighed heavily, “Sounded like no one got any sleep that night.”

“Nope!” Will confirmed gleefully.

Horace had looked at Will with open admiration as she described the way he had humbled the wolfship captain Slagor in the drafty, smoky cabin on the barren island where they had sheltered from the Stormwhite's worst excesses. Halt had merely studied his apprentice with a keen glance and nodded once. That single movement meant more to Will than volumes of praise from anyone else-particularly since he wasn't terribly proud of the way things had turned out at Hallasholm, and his subsequent addiction to warmweed. He had been fearful that Halt would disapprove, but when Evanlyn had spoken of her near despair when she had found him in the yard slaves' compound, mindless and unthinking, the Ranger had merely nodded once more and uttered a curse under his breath at people who would inflict such a substance on others. His eyes had met Will's anxious gaze across the fire and Will had seen a deep, deep sadness there.

Will looked at Halt who was focused on Maddie’s reading. A small frown crossed his lips, but he put a hand on his mentor’s shoulder for support either way.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," his master said softly, and Will knew that everything would be all right.

Eventually, they had talked their fill. There would be details that could be filled in over the coming weeks, and there were items that they had forgotten. But in general terms, they were up to date with one another.

There was, however, one aspect of Halt's story that hadn't been revealed. Neither Will nor Evanlyn had learned of Halt's banishment, or his expulsion from the Ranger Corps.

“That fact I had to learn from someone else.” Will muttered bitterly, and Halt winced.

As the shadows lengthened, Halt moved once more to the spot where their captive was tied hand and foot. He loosened the bonds for a few minutes, first the hands, then the feet, retying the hands before he released the second set of bonds. The Temujai warrior grunted a brief appreciation of the temporary relief. Halt had already done this several times during the afternoon, ensuring that the man wasn't permanently disabled by the restriction of the flow of blood to his hands and feet.

Maddie didn’t particular feel like the man deserved it but mentally shrugged. He was their captive.

It also gave him an opportunity to make sure the man's bonds were tight and that he hadn't managed to loosen them or wriggle free. Knowing he would receive no reply, Halt asked the man for his name and his military unit. Although he spoke the Temujai tongue with reasonable fluency, having spent several years among the People, as they called themselves, he saw no reason to apprise the prisoner of that fact. As a consequence, Halt used the trader's language common to all the people of the Hemisphere-a melange of Gallic, Teuton and Temujai words in a simple, pidgin-language structure that took no notice of grammar or syntax.

Maddie tried not to roll her eyes, of course Halt spoke Temujai. And Gallican, Hibernian, and English.

As he had expected, the Tem'uj simply ignored his overtures. Halt shrugged and moved away, deep in thought. Horace was sitting by the fireplace, carefully cleaning and oiling his sword. Evanlyn was in the sentry position at the brow of the hilltop, keeping watch over the hillside below them. She would be due to be relieved in another half hour, he thought idly.

As Halt paced back and forth, turning over the problem that taxed his mind, he became aware of another presence beside him. He glanced around and smiled to see Will pacing with him, wrapped in the grey mottled Ranger cloak that Halt had carried with him, along with the bow he'd made and a saxe knife. The double-knife scabbards were a Ranger-issued item of equipment and Halt, expelled from the Corps, had been unable to find one for the boy. As yet, Will hadn't remarked on the fact.

“I was waiting for the right time to bring it up.” Will muttered.

"What's the problem, Halt?" the young man asked now.

Halt stopped pacing to face him, his eyebrow arcing in an expression that was familiar to Will.

"Problem?" he repeated. Will grinned at him, refusing to be put off, refusing to be diverted. He's grown up a lot in the past year, Halt thought, remembering how that response would once have left the boy confused and disconcerted.

“This is where the fun banter begins.” Gilan smiled, knowing this from his own apprenticeship.

"When you pace back and forth like a caged tiger, it usually means you're trying to think through a problem of some kind," Will said. Halt pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"And I suppose you've seen so many tigers in your time?" he asked. "Caged and otherwise?"

Will's grin widened a little. "And when you try to distract me from my question by asking a question back, I know you're thinking over some problem," he added. Halt finally gave in. He had no idea that his habits had become so easy to interpret. He made a mental note to change things, then wondered if he wasn't getting too old to do so.

Will just rolled his eyes in mock despair. “Maddie, you’ll tell me if I ever become too predictable, right?”

Maddie just ignored her mentor and kept reading, but couldn’t keep the small smile off her face; no definitely not.

"Well, yes," he replied. "I must admit I do have something on my mind. Nothing major. Don't let it worry you."

"What is it?" said his apprentice bluntly, and Halt cocked his head sideways.

"You see," he explained, "when I say 'don't let it worry you,' I mean, there's no real need for us to discuss it."

"I know that," said his apprentice. "But what is it anyway?"

“You did say you liked my curiosity.” Will pipped up and Halt groaned.

“I think by that stage I was starting to regret it.”

Halt drew a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "I seem to remember that I once had much more authority than I seem to have these days," he said to no one in particular. Then, realizing that Will was still waiting expectantly, he relented.

"It's these Temujai," he said. "I'd like to know what they're up to." He glanced across their campsite to where the Tem'uj was sitting, securely bound. "And I've got a snowball's chance in a forest fire of finding out from our friend there."

Will shrugged. "Is it really any of our concern?" he asked. "After all, surely we can leave them and the Skandians to fight it out."

“We did.” Horace added, “In a way…”

Halt considered this, scratching at his chin with forefinger and thumb. "I take it you're thinking along the lines of the old saying 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?" he said. Will shrugged once again.

"I wasn't thinking of it in those words exactly," he said. "But it does sum the situation up pretty well, don't you think? If the Skandians are kept busy fighting these Temujai, then they won't be able to bother us with their coastal raids, will they?"

Maddie tried to imagine a universe where that had happened. For a few months, the results would have been the same as they were in their universe, no raids. But eventually, invasion would have come.

"That's true, up to a point," Halt admitted. "But there is another old saying, 'Rather the devil you know.' Have you ever heard that one?"

"Yes. So you're saying that these Temujai could be a lot more of a problem than the Skandians?"

"Oh yes indeed. If they defeat the Skandians, there's nothing to stop them from moving on Teutlandt, Gallica, and finally Araluen."

Maddie frowned at the thought.

"But they'd have to beat the Skandians first, wouldn't they?" Will said. He knew, from firsthand experience, that the Skandians were fierce, fearless warriors. He could see them forming an effective buffer between the invading Temujai and the other western nations, with both sides ending up severely weakened by the war and neither presenting a threat in the near future. It was a perfect strategic position, he told himself comfortably. Halt's next words made him feel considerably less comfortable.

"Oh, they'll defeat them, all right. Make no mistake about that. It will be a savage, bloody war, but the Temujai will win."

“Unless a, let’s say, small group of a princess, a knight-to-be, a grizzly old tactician, and a youthful Ranger’s Apprentice were to step in, do you think they’d be able to help?” Gailn asked innocently.

Maddie’s mentor rolled her eyes. She placed the book down, “Let’s go get some food and see what Halt comes up with in the next chapter.”

Chapter 70: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 11

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 11.

Once every had gathered around the table again, Maddie passed the book to her mother. Cassandra promptly began reading.

After the evening meal, Halt called the small group together. The wind had risen with the onset of night and it whistled eerily through the branches of the pines. It was a clear night, and the half-moon shone brilliantly above them as they huddled in their cloaks around the remnants of the fire.

“You were right, no one’s getting any sleep.” Maddie joked with a smile.

"Will and I were talking earlier," he told them. "And I've decided that, since our discussion concerns all of us, it's only fair to tell you what I've been thinking."

Gilan made a shocked face, “Even Halt was an apprentice at some point.”

Horace and Evanlyn exchanged puzzled looks. They had both simply assumed that the master and the apprentice were catching up on lost time together. Now, it appeared, there was something else to consider.

“Trust me,” Will groaned softly, “You get used to it.”

Cassandra huffed half-heartedly. Easy for him to say, he’s not the reigning monarch.

"First and foremost," Halt continued, seeing he had their undivided attention, "my aim is to get you, Will, and the Pr-" He hesitated, stopping before he used Evanlyn's title. They had all agreed that it would be safer for her to continue under her assumed name until they returned home. He corrected himself. "Will and Evanlyn, and Horace, of course, across the border and out of Skandia. As escaped prisoners, you're in considerable danger if the Skandians recapture you. And, as we all know, that danger is even greater for Evanlyn."

Maddie listened in closely, she was surprised they had managed to make it through the night without someone suggesting they flee right now this second.

The three listeners nodded. Will had told Halt and Horace about the risk to Evanlyn should Ragnak ever discover her real identity as King Duncan's daughter. The Oberjarl had sworn a blood vow to the Vallas, the trio of savage gods who ruled the Skandian religion, in which he promised death to any relative of the Araluen King.

Maddie narrowed her eyes, that if that king had still been alive, she would be a target.

"On the other hand," Halt said, "I am deeply worried about the presence of the Temujai here on the borders of Skandia. They haven't come this far west in twenty years-and the last time they did, they put the entire western world at risk."

Gilam whistled in a lowering tone, and Halt gave him a look.

Now he really had their attention, he saw. Horace and Evanlyn sat up straighter and leaned a little closer to him. He saw the puzzled look on the young warrior's face in the firelight.

"Surely, Halt, you're exaggerating?" Horace asked.

“Have you ever known Halt to exaggerate?” Cassandra asked, and Horace shook his head.

“I was a young and sometimes foolish apprentice; I wasn’t prepared to think.”

Will looked sideways at his friend. "That's what I thought too," he said quietly, "but apparently not."

Halt shook his head firmly. "I wish I were," he said. "But if the Temujai are moving in force, it's a threat to all our countries, Araluen included."

“Did the other countries help the last time?” Will asked, and Halt shook his head slowly.

“Not really, no one thought them much as a threat, even when they were moving through the continent with ease, taking over land in a matter of months.”

"What happened last time, Halt?" It was Evanlyn who spoke now, her voice uncertain, the concern obvious in it. "Were you there? Did you fight them?"

"I fought with them and, eventually, against them," he said flatly. "There were things we wanted to learn from them and I was sent to do so."

Horace frowned. "Such as?" he asked. "What could the Rangers hope to learn from a bunch of wild horsemen?" Horace, it must be admitted, had a somewhat inflated idea of the extent of the Ranger Corps' knowledge. To put it simply, he thought they knew just about everything that was worth knowing.

Gilan snorted, “If only Horace, if only…”

"You wanted to learn how they made their bows, didn't you?" said Will suddenly. He remembered seeing the bows carried by the horsemen and thinking how similar they were to his own. Halt looked at him and nodded.

"That was part of it. But there was something more important. I was sent to trade with them for some of their stallions and mares. The Ranger horses we ride today were originally bred from the Temujai herds," he explained. "We found their recurve bows interesting, but when you consider how difficult and time-consuming they are to make, they offered no significant improvement in performance over the longbow. But the horses were a different matter."

Maddie thought to Bumper, her wonderful Ranger Horse, and could picture the similarities in her mind’s eye. From what she heard about the Temujai horses; they would seem pretty similar to Bumper.

"And they were happy to trade?" asked Will. As he spoke, he turned to study the shaggy little horse standing a few paces behind him. Tug, seeing him turn to look, nickered a soft greeting. Now that Halt mentioned it, there was a distinct resemblance to the horses he had seen in the Temujai camp.

"They were not!" Halt replied with a heartfelt shake of the head. "They guarded their breeding stock jealously. I'm probably still wanted among the Temujai nation as a horse thief."

“Add it to the list…” Will grumbled softly. He, Horace, Cassandra, and Halt were probably all known to the Temujai, especially since they were one of the main reasons why their invasion had to be stopped.

"You stole them?" Horace asked, in a mildly disapproving tone.

Halt huffed and Will rolled his eyes at his past friend’s sense of morality. Gilan giggled slightly and Horace himself just sighed.

Halt hid a smile as he replied.

"I left what I considered a fair price," he told them. "The Temujai had other ideas about the matter. They weren't keen to sell at any price."

“You stole them…” Maddie looked to Halt, she couldn’t imagine him as a horse thief, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

"Anyway," Will said impatiently, dismissing the matter of whether the horses had been bought or stolen, "what happened when their army invaded? How far did they come?"

Halt stirred the small pile of embers between them with the end of a charred stick until a few tongues of flame flickered in the red coals. "They were heading farther south that time," he said. "They overran the Ursali nation and the Middle Kingdoms in no time at all. There was no stopping them. They were the ultimate warriors-fast moving, incredibly brave, but most of all, highly disciplined. They fought as a large unit, always, whereas the armies facing them almost always ended up fighting in small groups of perhaps a dozen at a time."

Maddie listened in eagerly, curious about the tactics of such a highly spoken and formidable force.

"How could they do that?" Evanlyn asked. She had been around her father's armies enough to know that the biggest problem facing any commander once battle started was staying in effective control and maintaining communication with the troops under him. Halt looked at her, sensing the professional interest behind her question.

Baron Arald nodded in his head approvingly, he and Sir Rodney were both curious about the different tactics.

"They've developed a signalling system that lets their central commander direct all his troops in concerted manoeuvres," he told her. "It's a very complex system relying on coloured flags in different combinations. They can even operate at night," he added. "They simply substitute coloured lanterns for the flags. Quite frankly, there was no army capable of stopping them as they drove on toward the sea.

Maddie felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought of such an unstoppable army.

"They'd cut through the northeast corner of Teutlandt, then on through Gallica. Every army that faced them, they defeated. Their superior tactics and discipline made them unbeatable. They were only three days' riding from the Gallican coast when they finally stopped."

"What stopped them?" Will asked. A noticeable chill had fallen over the three young listeners as Halt had described the inexorable advance of the Temujai army. At the question, the Ranger gave a short laugh.

Maddie raised an eyebrow in question.

"Politics," he said. "And a dish of bad freshwater clams."

There was silence as everyone processed the words. Maddie wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or confused.

"Politics?" Horace snorted in disgust. As a warrior, he had a healthy contempt for politics and politicians.

Baron Arald and Sir Rodney nodded. Lady Pauline kept her expression blank, but even for her, a professional diplomat, politics could be a bit…foolish and long winded.

"That's right. This was when Mat'lik was the Sha'shan, or supreme leader. Now, among people like the Temujai, that's a highly unstable position. It's taken by the strongest contender and very few Sha'shans have died in their beds. Although Mat'lik did, as it turned out," he added as an afterthought, before continuing.

Assassins, Maddie presumed.

"As a result, it's normal practice for anyone who might contest the position to be assigned tasks that keep them a long way from home. In this case, Mat'lik's brother, nephew and second cousin were the most likely candidates, so he made sure they were kept busy with the army. That way, not only could they not get up to mischief around him, but they could all keep an eye on one another as well. Naturally, they distrusted each other totally."

Maddie was thankful the line of succession was clear in Araluen, she and her parents already had to deal with the occasional death threat, however this seemed a lot more severe.

"Wasn't it dangerous to give them control over the army?" Will asked. Halt signified that the question was a good one.

"Normally, it might be. But the command structure was designed so that none of them had absolute control. Mat'lik's brother Twu'lik was the strategic commander. But his nephew was the paymaster and his cousin was the quartermaster. So, one led them, one fed them and one paid them. They all had pretty equal claims on the loyalty of the soldiers. That way, they could keep one another in check."

Cassandra nodded as she listened in. She had heard of some of her predecessor doing similar things to keep the Barons in order when at war, however that hasn’t happened under the last three rulers.

"So where did the clams come in?" Horace asked. Food was always a matter of interest to him. Halt resettled himself by the fire, leaning back against a log.

"Mat'lik was partial to freshwater clams," he told them. "So much so that he very unwisely had his wife prepare him a big dish when they were out of season. It seems that some of them were tainted and he was taken by a terrible fit while eating. He screamed, tore at his throat, fell down and went into a deep coma. It was obvious that he was very close to death.”

"Naturally, when news reached the army, the three main contenders for the top job couldn't get back to the Sha'shan's court fast enough. The succession would be decided by an election among the senior Shans and they knew if they weren't back there to hand out the bribes and buy votes, someone else would get the prize."

Maddie snorted, of course the reason why a massive invasion of the West failed was because three power hungry idiots had to scuttle back home before their leader died.

"So they simply abandoned the invasion?" Will asked. "After they'd come so far?"

Halt made a dismissive gesture. "They were a pragmatic bunch," he said. "Gallica wasn't going to go away. They'd fought their way through there once, they could always do it again. But there was only going to be one chance to get the top job."

“Not like that’s going to last for long…” Horace muttered.

"So the western hemisphere was saved by a dish of bad clams?" Evanlyn said. The grizzled Ranger smiled grimly.

"It's surprising how often history is decided by something as trivial as bad shellfish," he told her.

"Where were you while this was all going on, Halt?" Will asked his master.

“Stealing horses I’d imagine.” Gilan said absently, leaning back in his chair.

Halt smiled again at the memory. "I suppose it's one of those moments you never forget," he said. "I was hightailing it for the coast, with a small herd of:" He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Horace. ":fairly purchased horses, and a Temujai fighting patrol was right behind me. They were gaining on me too. Suddenly, one morning, they reined in and watched me gallop away. Then they simply turned around and started trotting back east-all the way to their homeland."

There was a brief silence as he finished the tale. Halt could have wagered that it would be Will who would come up with the next question, and he was not disappointed.

Cassandra snorted, “As if that was a hard conclusion to make.”

"So who became the Sha'shan?" he asked. "The brother, the nephew or the cousin?"

"None of them," Halt replied. "The election went to a dark horse candidate who had designs on the countries to the east of the Temujai homelands. The other three were executed for abandoning their mission in the west." He stirred the fire again, thinking back to that well-remembered day when the pursuing riders had suddenly given up the chase and left him to escape.

"And now they're back again," he said thoughtfully.

“I wonder what happened to the previous Sha’shan’s wife.” Maddie said and Halt shrugged.

“Probably also executed for serving her husband bad shellfish.”

Maddie winced and handed the book to Gilan.

Chapter 71: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 12

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 12.

Gilan began reading.

They broke camp early the following morning and started down toward the pass that would take them across the border once more. Horace had offered Evanlyn the black battlehorse that had belonged to Deparnieux. When she had protested that this was a far superior animal to the bay he rode, he smiled shyly.

Maddie tried not to role her eyes. Honestly, she hadn’t realised when she had stated reading these books that she would have to deal with her parents’ antics. But, with foresight, she should have probably seen it coming.

"Maybe so. But I'm used to Kicker. He knows my ways." And that was the end of the matter. The prisoner rode one of the horses they had taken from the Temujai camp. A second was carrying the packs and supplies that, up until now, had been carried by Tug. Naturally, the little Ranger horse was now the proud bearer of his long-lost master.

Will grinned at the description of Tug. He remembered how happy he had been to see the little horse again.

As they came closer to the treeline at the bottom of the hill, Tug showed his happiness once more, tossing his head and whinnying. Halt turned in the saddle and smiled.

Maddie frowned. She wasn’t sure what it was, but that gesture seemed familiar.

"I'm glad he's happy," he said. "But I do hope he's not planning on keeping that up all the way home."

Will grinned in reply and leaned forward to pat the little horse's shaggy neck.

"He'll settle down soon enough," he said. At the touch, Tug danced a few paces and tossed his head again. Surprisingly, Abelard copied the actions.

Will sighed loudly, “We were fools.” He announced openly, and Maddie looked at him curiously.

"Now he's got my horse doing it too," Halt said, more than a little surprised. He calmed Abelard with a quiet word, then turned to Will again. "You seem to be popular among the horses of this world, anyway. I thought:" His voice trailed away and he didn't finish the sentence. Will saw his body stiffen to attention and the grey-cloaked Ranger twisted in his saddle, peering into the trees, which were now close on either side.

Maddie’s eyes widened. Tossing the head back, that’s the signal from Ranger horses that something or someone was approaching. And both Halt and Will missed it!

"Damn!" he muttered quietly. He turned to Horace and Evanlyn, riding behind them and leading the prisoner's horse, but before he could speak, there was a scuffle of movement in the trees and a party of armed warriors stepped out into the open behind them, blocking their retreat.

Maddie took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She knew that the situation ended up alright, however that didn’t mean the journey might not be painful. She just had to put faith in her knowledge that everything would turn out alright in the end.

Halt swung quickly to the front once more, as a second group emerged from the trees, fanning out to the sides and moving to cut them off in all directions.

"Skandians!" exclaimed Will, as he recognized the horned helmets and round wooden shields carried by the silent warriors. Halt's shoulder slumped in a gesture of disgust with himself.

“Neither did I Halt.” Will said quietly.

"Yes. The horses have been trying to warn us, only I didn't realize it."

A burly figure, wearing an enormous horned helmet and with a double-bladed battle-ax laid negligently over his right shoulder, stepped forward. Behind them, Halt heard the sinister whisper of steel on leather as Horace drew his sword. Without turning, he said:

"Put it away, Horace. I think there are too many of them, even for you."

“Smart move.” Gilan commented.

As Horace had moved, the huge ax had risen instantly to the ready position. The Skandian wielded it as if it were a toy. Now he spoke, and Will started at the familiar voice.

"I think we'll have you down from those horses, if you don't mind."

Maddie had a sneaky suspicion who this individual was.

Unable to stop himself, Will blurted out. "Erak!" and the man took a pace closer, peering at the second cloaked figure in front of him. The cowl had obscured Will's face so that the jarl hadn't recognized him. Now he could make out the boy's features and he frowned as he realized that there was something familiar about another of the riders. He hadn't recognized Evanlyn, swathed in a cloak against the cold. Now, however, he was sure that it must be she. He cursed quietly under his breath, then recovered.

"Down!" he commanded. "All of you."

“What about the Temujai prisoner?” Cassandra inquired, “Wasn’t he tied to his horse?”

He motioned the circle of men back as the four riders dismounted. The fifth, he noticed with some interest, was tied to his horse and couldn't comply. He gestured for two of his men to get the prisoner down from his saddle.

“Let’s hope they didn’t untie him.” Baron Arald muttered.

Halt threw back the hood on his cloak and Erak studied the grim, bearded face. Now that he was dismounted, the man looked surprisingly small, particularly measured against Erak's own burly form. Will went to throw back his own cowl, but Erak stopped him with a hand gesture.

"Leave it for the moment," he said in a lowered voice. He didn't know how many of his men might recognize the former slave who had escaped from Hallasholm months ago, but for now, something told him that the fewer who made the connection, the better it would be. He looked warningly at Evanlyn.

“Told you.” Will said with a grin, “Far smarter than he looks.”

"You too," he ordered, and she inclined her head in agreement. Erak turned his gaze back to Halt.

"I've seen you before," he said. Halt nodded.

"If you're Jarl Erak, we saw each other briefly on the beach by the fens," he said, and recognition dawned in the jarl's eyes. It wasn't the man's face that had struck a chord of memory, rather his bearing-the way he held himself and the massive longbow that he carried still. Halt continued. "There was quite a distance between us, as I recall."

Maddie winced.

Erak grunted. "I seem to remember that we were well within bowshot," he said. Halt nodded, acknowledging the point. The Skandian's face darkened with anger as he looked once more at the bow and the quiver of arrows slung at Halt's belt.

The Ranger’s apprentice looked puzzled for a moment, before realisation dawned on her. Erak probably thinks that Halt had something to do with the border crossing. Since he wouldn’t be familiar with the Temujai, one of the only skilled arches in the country must have been an easy deduction.

"And now you've been up to the same foul business," he said. "Although what these two have to do with it is beyond me." He added the last in a puzzled tone, jerking a thumb at Will and Evanlyn.

“Everything and nothing.”

Now it was Halt's turn to look puzzled. "What foul business?"

Erak gave a disgusted snort. "I've seen you with that bow, remember? I know what you can do. And I've just seen more of your handiwork at Serpent Pass."

“I bet he also noticed the lack of sword inflicted injuries.” Horace noted, “Or does he think Halt made me just stand back and watch?”

Understanding dawned on Halt. He remembered the forlorn sight of the bodies at the small fort on the border. That must be the pass this Skandian was referring to. Since the garrison had been killed by archers and Erak knew Halt's skill with a bow, he had jumped to a rapid, if not too logical, conclusion.

"Not our work," he said, shaking his head. Erak stepped closer to him.

"No? I saw them there. All shot. And we followed your tracks from there."

Horace winced. It was pretty incriminating if you thought of it like that.

"So you may have," Halt said calmly, "but if you're any sort of tracker, you'd know that there were only two of us. We found the garrison at the pass dead. And we followed the tracks of a larger party-the ones who killed them."

Erak hesitated. He wasn't a tracker. He was a sea captain. But one of the men who had come with him was an occasional hunter. While he didn't have the uncanny skills that the Rangers had developed in interpreting tracks, Erak now remembered that his man had said something about the possibility of there being two groups.

Maddie gave a silent cheer for the Skandian sea captain and his tracker.

"Then," he said, bewildered by this turn of events, "if you didn't do it, who did?"

Halt jerked a thumb at the bound prisoner. "Him-and his friends," he said. "He was in a Temujai scouting party we ran into yesterday. There was a larger band who attacked the border garrison, then six of them came on into Skandia."

"Temujai, you say?" Erak asked him. He knew of the warlike people from the east, of course, but it had been decades since they had come this way in any numbers.

I wonder how the Skandians fared against them the first time? Maddie thought to herself.

"We killed a couple of them," Halt told him. "Two got away and we captured this one."

Erak stepped to where the prisoner stood, hands tied in front of him, glaring fiercely at the big northerners who surrounded him. He studied the flat-featured, brown-skinned face and the furs the man wore.

"He's a Tem'uj, all right:but what were they doing here?" he asked, almost to himself.

"That's the question I was asking," Halt replied.

“Halt, I don’t think he was asking you.” Gilan pointed up helpfully.

Erak glanced at him with a flash of anger. He hated being confused. He preferred a simple, straightforward problem-the kind he could solve with his broadax. "For that matter," he snapped, "what are you doing here?"

Halt faced him evenly, uncowed. "I came for the boy," he said quietly. Erak looked at him, then at the smaller figure beside him, his face still largely concealed by the grey mottled hood. His anger faded as quickly as it had flared.

"Yes," he said, in a calmer tone. "He said you would."

Halt nodded to himself, Erak had been the right choice for Oberjarl. Quick to anger perhaps, but also quick to see reason and logic, as well as empathy. A stark contrast to Ragnak.  

Like most Skandians, Erak valued loyalty and courage. Another thought struck him-something he'd wondered about for some time.

"At the beach," he said. "How did you know to find us there?"

"You left one of your men behind," Halt said. "He told me."

Maddie thought back to the dying Skandian. His death was sad, however she was glad that he had told Halt about the ship.

The disbelief was plain on Erak's face.

"Nordal? He'd have spat in your eye before he told you anything."

"I think he thought he owed me," Halt said quietly. "He was dying and he'd lost his sword, so I gave it back to him."

Erak went to speak, then hesitated. Skandians believed that if a man died without a weapon in his hand, his soul was lost forever. It seemed the Ranger knew about the belief.

Erak was also not impulsive. He could make decisions quickly when needed, but he also knew how to deep a deep breath and have a nice long think about his decisions.

"Then I'm in your debt," he said finally. Then, after another pause..."I'm not sure how that affects this current situation, however." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, looking at the fierce little Temujai warrior, for all the world like a tethered hawk. "And I'd still like to know what this lad and his bunch are up to."

Maddie snored, “Maybe Halt and Erak cold team up for a solo mission together.”

"That's what I had in mind," Halt told him. "I was planning to get my companions here across the border into Teutlandt. Then I thought I might come back with our friend here and find the rest of the Temujai-and see how many of them there are."

Maddie’s heart sunk. Now that Halt was banished, technically there was no where for him to go after he’d gotten his apprentice, Evanlyn and Horace to safety.

Erak snorted. "You think he'll tell you?" he asked. "I don't know too much about the Temujai, but I know this much...you can torture them to death and they'll never tell you anything they don't want to."

"Yes. I've heard that too," Halt said. "But there might be a way."

"Oh, might there?" the jarl asked scornfully. "And what might 'that way' be?"

“Not talking about your plans to get information about him right in front of said person for starters.” Will muttered. He knew that the Temujai may not be able to understand, but it still felt like a bad idea.

Halt glanced at the horse warrior. He was following their discussion with some interest. Halt knew he spoke the trading language but he had no idea how much of the common tongue he might understand. As a member of a scouting party, it was probable that he had some command of the language. He took the jarl's arm and led him a few paces away, out of earshot.

Will made a quick relief gesture.

"I rather thought I might let him escape," he said mildly.

Sir Rodney grinned, “Oldest trick in the book.”

Gilan passed the book to Lady Pauline.

Chapter 72: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 13

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 13.

Lady Pauline began to read.

The two men stood over the tangle of discarded ropes lying in the snow. Erak pursed his lips, then turned to Halt. "Well, so far, you're right," he said. "The little beggar escaped once Olak pretended to fall asleep on guard duty." He glanced sideways at the large Skandian who had been assigned to the last watch. "You did pretend to fall asleep, didn't you?" he added, with a touch of sarcasm.

“That’s a very important question to ask.” Gilan noted, and Will nodded in agreement.

The warrior grinned easily at him. "I was wonderful, Jarl Erak," he said. "You've never seen such a lifelike impersonation of a sleeping man. I should have been a traveling player."

Maddie snorted at the thought of any Skandian performing in a show. They weren’t exactly none for their acting skills, nor their showmanship.

Erak grunted sceptically. "So what now?" he asked Halt.

"Now, I follow him while he leads me to the main body of Temujai," the Ranger said. "As we discussed last night."

"I've been thinking about that," Erak replied. "And I've decided we're going to make a change. I'm going with you."

Will raised an eyebrow in surprise. Erak wasn’t exactly known for his stealth. Most Skandians weren’t.

Halt had been walking toward the spot where the horses were tethered. He stopped and turned to face the Skandian leader, a determined look on his face. "We discussed this last night. We agreed that I would be quicker and less noticeable if I went alone."

He was right, Maddie thought at Erak, as if the Skandian leader could hear her. You weren’t exactly subtle on that beach before.

"No. We didn't agree that. You agreed that," Erak corrected him. "And even if you're right, you're just going to have to settle for being slower and noisier, and make allowances for the fact."

Halt drew in breath to begin a protest, but Erak forestalled him.

"Be reasonable," he said. "We've agreed that circumstances seem to make us temporary allies-"

Horace grinned in her mentor’s direction, “I really didn’t notice how much these two bickered.”

Will raised an incredulous eyebrow, “What rock were you living under?”

"Which is why you'll keep my three companions here as hostages," Halt put in sarcastically, and Erak simply shrugged.

"Of course. They're my surety that you'll come back. But put yourself in my shoes. If there is a Temujai army out there somewhere, I don't want to take a second-hand report to my Oberjarl. I want to see it for myself. So I'm coming with you. I may need you to track the prisoner, but I can do my own looking."

Maddie was inclined to agree with him, except for the fact that he was holding her mother, father, and mentor hostage.

He paused, waiting to see Halt's reaction. The Ranger said nothing, so Erak continued. "After all, the hostages might ensure that you come back. But they're no guarantee that you'll give me an accurate report-or even an honest one."

“See, even Erak knows a devious Ranger when he sees one.” Gilan adds, and Will smirked. Maddie just sighed, but she couldn’t help but agree with them while Halt just glared at his two ex-apprentices.

Halt seemed to weigh the statement for a few seconds. Then he saw a possible advantage.

"All right," he agreed. "But if you're coming with me, there's no need to keep my companions as hostages to guarantee my return. Let them go back across the border while you and I go find the Temujai."

Will frowned. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily.” He muttered.

Erak smiled at him and shook his head slowly. "I don't think so," he replied. "I'd like to think that I can trust you, but there's really no reason why I should, is there? If you know my men are holding your friends, it might make you less likely to stick one of those knives in me the minute we're out of sight over the hill there."

Maddie winced. After being allies for close to twenty years, it was foreign for her to hear such distrust between Skandians and Araluens. 

Halt spread his hands in a an innocent gesture. "Do you really think an undersized little runt like me could get the better of a big, hulking sea wolf like you?"

“Anything over thirty meters and he’d be toast.” Horace added helpfully, and Cassandra poked her husband in the arm at such a thought.

Erak smiled grimly at him. "Not for a moment," he said. "But this way I'll be able to sleep nights and turn my back on you without worrying."

"Fair enough," Halt agreed. "Now, could we get going while these tracks are still fresh, or would you prefer to argue until the snow melts?"

“Or the Temujai invade, since that seems were the immediate danger.” Maddie said, and Will inclined his head to agree with her.

Erak shrugged. "You're the one who's doing all the arguing," he told him. "Let's go."

Halt glanced over his shoulder as Abelard set his hooves more securely against the steep slope. Behind him, Erak was swaying insecurely on the back of the Temujai horse. The captive had made his escape on foot, and Halt had decided that the small, shaggy and sure-footed steppes pony would be a better mount for Erak than either of Horace's battle horses. The Skandian warriors, as was their custom, had been traveling on foot.

Will and Gilan hid their smiles. Horace frowned at them, and Maddie looked on, puzzled. She had heard that most Skandians couldn’t ride very well, however she wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about.

"I thought you said you could ride," he challenged as the jarl grabbed nervously at his mount's shaggy mane, holding himself in the saddle more by brute strength than any inherent sense of balance.

"I did," Erak replied through gritted teeth. "I just didn't say I could ride well."

Gilan snorted, “That’s certainly an understatement.”

They had been following the escaped Temujai warrior's trail all day. After making their way through the Serpent Pass, their trail had swung back in an arc from the Teutlandt border and they were some thirty kilometres into Skandian territory once more. Halt shook his head, then went back to peering at the ground in front of them, looking for the faint traces that the fleeing Tem'uj had left behind him.

"He's very good," he said quietly.

Maddie’s eyebrows raised a fraction. Halt was a seasoned tracker, but if he was having trouble, then this Temujai certainly knew what he was doing.

"Who's that?" Erak asked, the last word being torn from him as his horse lurched and slid a few steps. Halt indicated the trail he was following. The Skandian looked but couldn't see a thing.

"The Tem'uj," Halt continued. "He's covering his tracks as he goes. I don't think your man would have been able to follow him."

“If he was used to hunting animals, then probably not.” Will noted, “Animals don’t usually lead false trails or try to cover their tracks.”

Which was the crux of the matter. When Halt and Erak had agreed to join forces the previous night, it had been the result of their mutual need. Halt's natural inclination had been to see what the Temujai were up to. Erak had the same need. But he also had need of Halt's tracking skills. He was only too aware of his own men's limitations.

"Well," he said jerkily, "that's why you're here, isn't it?"

Will rolled his eyes.

"Yes." Halt smiled grimly. "The question is, why are you?"

Erak wisely said nothing. He concentrated his efforts into staying astride the shaggy horse as it struggled up the steep slope, under the unaccustomed weight of the bulky Skandian sea captain.

Maddie chuckled to herself at the thought. By the sounds of it, the rumours about the Skandians inability to travel on horseback were indeed based on facts.

They came to the crest with a sudden rush, their horses scrambling the last few meters through the wet snow. They found themselves looking down on a deep, wide valley, and beyond that, another range of hills.

Below them on the vast plain, a mass of campfires sent columns of smoke spiralling into the late-afternoon air, spreading as far as the eye could see-thousands of them, surrounded by more thousands of dome-shaped felt tents. The smell of the smoke reached them now. Not heady and scented, like pine smoke, but acrid and sour smelling. Erak wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Maddie listened carefully. She hadn’t smelt smoke like the one they described, and she was curious.

"What are they burning?" he asked.

"Dried horse dung," Halt replied briefly. "They carry their fuel source with them. Look."

She wrinkled her nose, but it would make sense. If they came from somewhere with large plains, then there wouldn’t be any firewood to burn.

He pointed to where the Temujai horse herd could be seen, a giant, amorphous mass that seemed to flow across the valley floor as the horses sought fresh grazing.

"Gorlog's teeth!" Erak exclaimed, stunned at the numbers. "How many are there?"

"Ten thousand, maybe twelve," Halt replied briefly. The Skandian let out a low whistle.

Maddie blanched, how in the world could they hope to defeat so many?

"Are you sure? How can you tell?" It wasn't a sensible question, but Erak was overwhelmed by the size of the horse herd and he asked the question more for something to say than for any other reason. Halt looked at him dryly.

"It's an old cavalry trick," he said. "You count the legs and divide by four."

Maddie frowned; how long had they been sitting there for so that Halt had been able to count every horse leg? Must have been pretty long if his result was over ten thousand.

Erak returned the look. "I was just making conversation, Ranger," he said. Halt seemed singularly unimpressed by the statement.

“Isn’t he always?” Gilan asked no body in particular, and Will nodded solemnly while Halt glared in his direction.

"Then don't," he replied shortly. There was silence as they studied the enemy camp.

"Are you saying there are ten to twelve thousand warriors down there?" Erak asked finally. The number was a daunting one. At best, Skandia could put a force of fifteen hundred warriors in the field to face them. Perhaps two thousand, at the outside. That meant odds of six or seven to one. But Halt was shaking his head.

Maddie let out a small breath. The odds of six to one was a daunting one, that would no doubt end in tragedy and the loss of hundreds of lives either way.

"More like five to six thousand," he estimated. "Each warrior will have at least two horses. There are probably another four to five thousand personnel in the baggage train and supply columns, but they wouldn't be combatants."

She heard a few other small sighs in relief at the news. Four to one weren’t the worst odds in history. And with a skilled tactician, those numbers would hopefully be cut down before they had to face the main force.

That was a little better, thought Erak. The odds had reduced to around three or four to one. A little better, he thought. Not a lot.

Not a lot by a long way.

Lady Pauline passed the book to Sir Rodney.

Chapter 73: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 14

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 14.

Sir Rodney began reading.

'Wait here," Halt said briefly. "I'm going down for a closer look."

Maddie snorted, like that’s ever going to happen.

"To hell with waiting here," Erak told him. "I'm coming with you."

That’s more like it.

Halt looked at the big Skandian, knowing it would be useless to argue. Still, he made the attempt. "I suppose it will make no difference if I point out I'm going to have to be as inconspicuous as possible?"

Erak shook his head. "Not in the slightest. I'm not taking back a second hand report to my Oberjarl. I want to get a closer look at these people, get some idea of what we're up against."

“Smart, but stubborn. Like all good leaders,” Maddie looked to her mother.

"I can tell you what you're up against," Halt said grimly.

"I'll see for myself," the jarl said stubbornly, and Halt shrugged, finally giving in.

“You made an effort.” Gilan noted, looking to Halt who shrugged.

“Didn’t really help.”

"All right. But move carefully, and try not to make too much noise. The Temujai aren't idiots, you know. They'll have pickets out in the trees around the camp, as well as sentries on the perimeter."

"Well, you just tell me where they are and I'll avoid them," Erak replied, with a little heat. "I can be inconspicuous when I need to."

Will rolled his eyes.

"Just like you can ride, I suppose," Halt muttered to himself. The Skandian ignored the comment, continuing to glare stubbornly at him. Halt shrugged. "Well, let's get on with it."

They tethered their horses on the reverse side of the crest, then began to work their way down through the trees to the valley below them. They had gone a few hundred meters when Halt turned to the Skandian.

"Are there bears in these mountains?" he asked.

Maddie frowned, an odd question to ask. Was Halt scared that they would run into a bear?

His companion nodded. "Of course. But it's a bit early in the year for them to be moving around. Why?"

Halt let go a long breath. "Just a vague hope, really. There's a chance that when the Temujai hear you crashing around in the trees, they might think you're a bear."

Maddie clumped her mouth shut in order to stop the laughter from exploding out of her lips. A few others around the table had no such self-restraint.

Erak smiled, with his mouth only. His eyes were as cold as the snow.

"You're a very amusing fellow," he told Halt. "I'd like to brain you with my axe one of these days."

Will rolled his eyes. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first.”

"If you could manage to do it quietly, I'd almost welcome it," Halt said. Then he turned away and continued to lead the way down the hill, ghosting between the trees, sliding from one patch of shadow to the next, barely disturbing a branch or a twig as he passed.

Erak tried, unsuccessfully, to match the Ranger's silent movement. With each slither of his feet in the snow, each whip of a branch as he passed, Halt's teeth went more and more on edge. He had just determined that he would have to leave the Skandian behind once they got within striking distance of the Temujai camp when he glimpsed something off to their left in the trees. Quickly, he held up his hand for Erak to stop. The big Skandian, not understanding the imperative nature of the gesture, kept moving till he was alongside Halt.

Horace sighed loudly and Maddie winced.

"What is it?" he asked. He kept his voice low, but to Halt it seemed like a bellow that echoed among the trees.

He placed his own mouth next to the Skandian's ear and breathed, in a barely audible voice, "Listening post. In the trees."

Gilan leaned in curiously. There were many among the Rangers, such as Will, who were experts in climbing trees. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to set up posts such as these at the next gathering and see how many people caught on.

It was a familiar Temujai technique: whenever a force camped for the night, they threw out a screen of concealed, two-man listening posts to give early warning of any attempt at a surprise attack. He and Erak had just passed such a post, so that it now lay to their left and slightly behind them. For a moment, Halt toyed with the idea of continuing down the hill, then he discarded it. The screen was usually deployed in depth. Just because they had passed one post didn't mean there weren't others ahead of them.

Baron Arald made note of that technique. Most only expected one layer of sentries, but if the situation was important, then a second, more stealthy layer, may be a good idea.

He decided it might be best to cut their losses and extract themselves as quietly as possible, trusting the gathering darkness to conceal them. It would mean abandoning the idea of getting a closer look at the Temujai force, but it couldn't be helped. Besides, with Erak along, it was unlikely they would get much closer without being seen-or, more likely, heard. He leaned close to the other man and spoke softly once more.

"Follow me. Go slowly. And watch where you put your feet."

Maddie sincerely hoped he had been doing that before.

The snow under the trees was strewn with dead branches and pinecones. Several times as they'd made their way downhill, he had winced as Erak had trod, heavy-footed, on fallen branches, breaking them with seemingly ear-splitting cracks.

Silently, Halt flitted between the trees, moving like a wraith, sliding into cover after he'd gone some fifty paces. He looked back and waved the Skandian on, watched for a moment with mounting apprehension as the big man moved, swaying awkwardly as he placed his feet with exaggerated care. Finally, unable to watch him any longer, Halt looked anxiously to the left, to see if there was any sign that the men in the listening post had seen or heard them.

Will shifted uncomfortably, “He’s even making me nervous.”

And heard a ringingly loud crack, followed by a muffled curse, from the hill below him. Erak was poised in midstride, a rotten branch snapped in half on the snow in front of him.

"Freeze," muttered Halt to himself, in the desperate hope that the big man would have the sense to stay motionless. Instead, Erak made the vital blunder that untrained stalkers nearly always made. He dashed for cover, hoping to substitute speed for stealth, and the sudden movement gave him away to the Temujai in the listening post.

Maddie covered her face with her hands, shielding herself from the amateur blunder.

There was a shout from above them and a flight of arrows slammed into the tree behind which the Skandian had taken cover. Halt peered around his tree. He could see two shapes in the gloom. One was moving away, sounding a horn as he went. The other was poised, an arrow on the string of his bow, eyes riveted on Erak's hiding place.

Waiting for the Skandian to move. Waiting to let the deadly shaft fly at him.

Maddie peeked between her hands and listened.

Somehow, Halt had to give Erak a chance to get clear. He called softly, "I'll step out and distract him. As soon as I do, you make for the next tree."

The Skandian nodded. He crouched a little, preparing to make a run for it. Halt called again.

"Just to the next tree. No farther," he said. "That's all you'll have time for before he's back on you. Believe me."

The room was dead silent as Sir Rodney recalled the escape.

Again, the Skandian nodded. He'd seen the speed and accuracy with which the Temujai sentry got the first shot away. He wondered how he would get any farther than the next tree. Halt's ploy of distracting the sentry would only work once. He hoped that the Ranger had something else in mind. Fading away now, he could hear the braying notes of the horn sounding the alarm as the other sentry raced downhill, calling for reinforcements. Whatever Halt did, he thought, he'd better do it soon.

A few people leaned forward in their seats in anticipation.

Erak saw the dim form of the Ranger as he stepped into the clear from behind the tree. Erak waited a heartbeat, then ran, his legs pumping in the snow, finally diving full length and sliding behind the thick pine trunk as an arrow hissed by, just over his head. His heart was racing, even though he had covered no more than ten meters in his wild, scrambling rush up the hill. He glanced across at Halt and saw the Ranger, back in cover and some five meters farther away. He had his own longbow ready now, an arrow nocked to the string. His face was knotted in a frown of concentration. He felt the Skandian's eyes on him and called across the intervening space.

"Take a look. Carefully-don't give him enough of a target to shoot at. See if he's in the same position."

He's going to shoot from memory, Maddie realised with a start.

Erak nodded and edged one eye around the bole of the tree. The Temujai warrior was still where he had been standing, his bow ready and half drawn. As matters stood, he held the upper hand, standing ready to shoot if either of them moved. Halt, on the other hand, would have to step into the clear, sight the man, aim and then shoot. By the time he had accomplished the first two actions, he would be dead.

“You would be underestimating him.”

"He hasn't moved," Erak called to the Ranger.

"Tell me if he does," Halt called softly in return. Lying belly-down in the snow, with just a fraction of his face protruding around the tree, Erak nodded.

Behind his tree, Halt leaned back against the rough bark and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. This was going to have to be an instinctive shot. He pictured again the dark figure of the Tem'uj, silhouetted against the lighter background of the snow. He remembered the position, setting it in his brain, letting his mind take over the control of his hands, willing the aiming and release to become an instinctive sequence. He forced his breathing to settle into a calm, slow, unhurried rhythm. The secret of speed was not to hurry, he told himself. In his mind's eye, he watched the flight of the arrow as he would fire it. He pictured it over and over again until it seemed to be a part of him-a natural extension of his own being.

Then, in an almost trancelike state, he moved.

Maddie made herself take a breath.

Smoothly. Rhythmically. Stepping out into the clear, turning in a fluid motion so that his left shoulder was toward the target, the right hand pulling back on the string, left hand pushing the bow away until it was at full draw. Aiming and shooting at a memory. Not even seeing the dark figure in the trees until the arrow was already loosed, already splitting the air on its way to the target.

And, when he finally did see the bowman in his conscious vision, knowing that the shot was good.

She breathed out in relief. They weren’t safe yet, but they were closer.

The heavy shaft went home. The Tem'uj fell backward in the snow, his own shot half a second too late, sailing high and harmless into the tops of the pines.

Erak scrambled to his feet, regarding the small, grey-cloaked figure with something close to awe.

Will hid his smile, that’s more like it.

He realized that there was already a second arrow nocked to the longbow's string. He hadn't even seen the Ranger do that.

"By the gods," he muttered, dropping a heavy hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I'm glad you're on my side."

Horace snorted. “You should be.”

Halt shook his head briefly, refocusing his attention. He glared angrily at the big Skandian.

"I thought I told you to watch where you put your feet," he said accusingly. Erak shrugged.

"I did," he replied ruefully. "But while I was busy watching the ground, I hit that branch with my head. Broke it clean in two."

Gilan snorted and Cassandra rolled her eyes. Horace eyed the book with suspicion, “There’s no way…” He muttered, almost to himself. Will looked over at him and grinned.

“If it were anyone, it would be Erak.”

Halt raised his eyebrows. "I assume you're not talking about your head," he muttered. Erak frowned at the suggestion.

"Of course not," he replied.

"More's the pity," Halt told him, then gestured up the hill. "Now let's get out of here."

“Oh come on Halt, I know he grew on you.” Will said, smiling.

Sir Rodney handed the book to Baron Arald who took it quickly and began immediately.

Chapter 74: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 15

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 15.

When they reached the crest of the hill, Halt paused to look back. Erak stopped beside him, but he grabbed the bigger man's arm and shoved him roughly toward the two tethered horses.

"Keep going!" he yelled.

“It’ll take Erak a lot longer to get on his horse and hiding than Halt.” Gilan noted.

In the valley below them, he could hear alarm horns sounding and, faintly, the sound of shouting. Closer to hand, on the slope of the hill below, he could see movement among the trees as those Temujai who had been concealed in listening posts around the hillside now broke cover and headed uphill in pursuit of the two intruders.

Will made a vague note about how easily distracted the sentries were. All you had to do was make them sound the alarm once, before sneaking in after they were in pursuit.

"Damned hornets' nest," he muttered to himself. He estimated that there must be at least half a dozen riders on the hill below him, heading upward. A larger party was obviously forming in the camp itself, with a view to heading around the base of the hill and catching him and Erak between two pursuing forces.

Maddie raised her eyebrows with surprise. All that noise for two men? Surely they would have anticipated being noticed, especially with a camp of such size.

Alone, and mounted on Abelard, he was confident that he could outrun them easily. But burdened by the Skandian, he wasn't so sure. He'd seen the man's skill as a rider-which was virtually non-existent. Erak seemed to stay in the saddle by virtue of an enormous amount of willpower and precious little else. Halt knew that he would have to come up with some kind of delaying tactic, to slow the pursuit down and give him and Erak time to make it back to the larger Skandian force.

Strangely, although they had been nominal enemies up until now, the thought of abandoning the Skandian to the pursuing Temujai riders never occurred to him.

Will grinned happily. It only took the imminent threat of an invading army to get Erak and Halt to work together.

He looked back to where they had tethered Erak's horse-Abelard, of course, needed no tethering. He saw with some slight satisfaction that the wolf ship skipper had managed to clamber into the saddle and was sitting clumsily astride his small, shaggy mount. Halt waved a hand now in an unmistakable gesture to him.

"Get going!" he yelled. "Go! Go! Go!"

“Run Erak! Run!” Horace shouted, staring at the book. As if he could force past-Erak to run faster from will alone.

Erak needed no second bidding. He wheeled the horse to face downhill, swaying dangerously out to one side as he did so and managing to retain his seat only by grabbing at the mane and gripping with his powerful legs around the horse's barrel of a body. Then, half in and half out of the saddle, he drove the former Temujai mount down the slope, skidding and sliding in the soft wet snow, swerving dangerously among the trees. At one stage, Erak neglected to duck as the horse drove under the snow-laden lower branches of a huge pine. There was an explosion of snow and both horse and rider emerged coated in thick white powder.

A few people around the table winced. “He’ll be fine.” Will said dismissively, but he didn’t sound too sure.

Halt swung smoothly into Abelard's saddle and the little horse spun neatly, moving at a dead gallop almost before he could draw breath. Halt sat easily as Abelard slid, checked, skidded and regained his footing, gaining on the other horse and rider with every stride.

Halt held back his praise for his horse, but he knew Abelard’s speed had saved him on multiple occasions and was thankful of his companionship.

He'll be lucky to survive another fifty meters, Halt thought as Erak's mount, half out of control, swerved and skidded and slipped among the trees. It seemed only a matter of time before both horse and rider collided full tilt with one of the large pine trunks.

Maddie winced again, trying not to visualise too deeply into what that would look like.

He urged Abelard to a greater effort and the horse responded instantly. They drew level with the plunging horse and rider and Halt, leaning down to one side, was able to grab the trailing reins. Erak had long since abandoned them and was clinging for dear life to the saddle bow.

Will snorted, “He’s lucky he made it that far.”

Now, at least, Halt could exercise some small control over the headlong plunging of the other horse. Abelard, sure-footed and agile, led them through the trees and Halt left the choice to him entirely. The lead rein jerked and tugged at his arm but he clung to it desperately, forcing the other horse to follow in Abelard's tracks.

Abelard, as he had been trained to do, chose the most direct and, at the same time, the clearest path down the mountain. They were two-thirds of the way down now and Halt was beginning to feel more positive about their chances of escape when he heard shouting and the sound of those damned horns from the hill crest behind them. He glanced quickly back but the thickly growing trees obscured his view. Nonetheless, he knew that the sudden burst of sound heralded the appearance of the pursuing Temujai at the top of the mountain.

“They’ll surely lose a few to the terrain, since their horses won’t be used to the snow.” Cassandra said, but Horace replied grimly.

“They’re not the ones you have to worry about.”

And he knew that it was only a matter of time before they would overhaul him, just as he had overhauled the bulky Skandian on the small horse.

A thin branch whipped across his face, bringing tears to his eyes and punishing him for taking his attention from the direction he was heading. He shook his head to get rid of the accompanying shower of snow that the branch had brought with it, then, seeing the way ahead was clear, he turned briefly again to call encouragement to Erak.

“Go Erak!” Gilan helpfully cheered.

"Keep hanging on!" he yelled and the Skandian promptly did exactly the opposite, releasing his grip with one hand so that he could wave an acknowledgment.

"Don't worry about me!" he yelled. "I'm doing fine!"

Maddie rolled her eyes, and she caught sight of both Will and Halt sighing, one in laughter, the other in annoyance.

Halt shook his head. Frankly, he'd seen sacks of potatoes that could sit a horse better than Erak. He wondered how the Skandian ever managed to keep his feet on the heaving deck of a wolfship. The trees were thinning around them now, he noticed. Then he heard the braying note of one of the Temujai horns out to their left and realized that the first of the parties coming around the base of the mountain from the encampment must be close to heading them off. It would be a near-run thing, he thought grimly.

“When is it not.” Will muttered grimly, echoing his mentor’s previous words.

His slight increase in knee pressure sent Abelard bounding even faster. From behind he heard a startled yell from Erak as he nearly lost his seat again. Another quick glance told him that the Skandian was still mounted, and they broke out onto the level ground between the hills.

He had been right. It was a close-run race. The leading riders of the Temujai party swept into sight on the flat ground between the hills. They were barely two hundred meters away. Halt dragged Erak's horse around brutally, touched Abelard with his heels and set the two horses galloping back along the track they had followed earlier in the day.

Maddie leaned in with anticipation and the tension in the room quickly skyrocketed.

On clearer ground now, he could look behind him more easily. He made out at least a dozen riders chasing them. For a moment, the grizzled Ranger had a distinct sense of deja vu, his mind racing back across the years to the time when he had been driving a herd of stolen horses with another party of Temujai howling for his blood close behind him. He grinned mirthlessly.

Gilan made a shocked face, but everyone ignored him, Halt especially.

Of course the horses had been stolen. He simply couldn't bear to disappoint Horace any further when he had told him of his previous encounter with the eastern horsemen. He'd felt at the time that the boy had been disillusioned enough for one day.

Horace narrowed his eyes at Halt and said scathingly, “Halt, now’s not the time to reminisce.”

Now he eased Abelard fractionally, allowing the other horse to come level with them, and tossed the reins to the Skandian jarl, who bumped and lurched in the saddle beside him. Surprisingly, Erak caught them. There was nothing wrong with his reflexes, at any rate, Halt thought.

"Keep going!" he yelled at the Skandian.

"What:you:got:in:mind?" Erak replied jerkily, the words lurching out of him as he was tossed and bumped in the saddle.

“Obviously Halt doesn’t have the same problem.”

"Going to slow them down," Halt replied briefly. "Don't stop to watch. Just keep going as hard as you can!"

Erak gritted his teeth as he came down heavily on the saddle. "This is as hard:as:I can!" he replied. But Halt was already shaking his head. The Ranger had unslung his longbow from across his shoulders and was brandishing it in his right hand. Erak saw what was coming, a moment too late to do anything about it.

"No!" he began. "Don't you-!"

But then the bow whipped down across his horse's rump with a resounding crack and the beast leapt forward, stung.

Will burst out laughing, Maddie snorted in surprise and Gilan as caught with the most astonished, look on his face.

“Why am I even surprised?” He asked no one in particular.

The profanity that Erak was preparing for Halt was lost in his drawn-out howl as he grabbed at the saddle bow once more to keep his seat. For a second or two he was furious. Then he realized that he was still in the saddle, that he could keep his seat even at this accelerated pace. So, when the horse began to slow down to a more comfortable speed, he slapped his big hand across its backside several times, driving it on.

Halt watched in satisfaction as his companion went on ahead, urging the horse on to greater efforts. In a few seconds, Erak swept around a curve in the trail that was formed between two of the hills and was out of sight.

Maddie internally cheered, they were almost safe.

Then, in response to a well-learned knee signal, Abelard reared and pirouetted on his hind legs, spinning in a half circle so that he came to a stop at right angles to the direction they had been following.

In an instant, the horse had gone from a dead run to a full stop. Now he stood rock steady as his master stood in the stirrups, an arrow nocked to the string of his massive longbow.

He knew that the longbow outranged the smaller, flat-shooting recurve bows of the Temujai. He allowed them to close in a little farther, gauging the pace at which they were eating up the distance between him and them, estimating when he would need to release so as to have the arrow arrive at a given point just as the lead rider did. He did this without thinking, allowing the ingrained instincts and habits of years of endless practice to take over for him. Almost without realizing it, he released and the arrow sped away, sailing in a shallow arc toward the pursuers.

“There goes about ten of them.” Will dismissed the fallen Temujai with a wave of his hands, confident in his master’s ability.

They were one hundred and fifty meters from him when the arrow struck the lead rider from his saddle. He slid sideways to the ground, trying to maintain his hold on the reins and bringing his horse down with him as he did. The rider directly behind him, taken totally by surprise, had no chance to avoid his leader's fallen horse. He and his horse came crashing down as well, adding to the tangle of legs and arms and bodies that rolled in a welter of thrown snow.

The riders behind them were thrown into utter confusion, with riders sawing savagely at the reins to drag their horses away from the tangle ahead of them. Horses plunged and reared, getting in each other's way, sliding stiff-legged to a halt in the snow, heading in all directions to avoid the crash. As they milled in confusion, Halt was already galloping away, rounding the bend and heading after Erak.

Maddie grinned. That should teach them to not peruse so closely next time, she thought. Especially if that person is Halt.

Slowly, the Temujai regained order. The leader's horse had regained its feet and limped in a circle, blowing and snorting wildly. Its rider lay in the snow in the centre of a widening circle of red. Now the others could see the cause of all the trouble...the heavy, black-shafted arrow that had arced down to take him. Accustomed to using the bow themselves with deadly skill, they were unfamiliar with the feeling of being on the receiving end-and at such an extreme range. Perhaps, they realized, a headlong pursuit of the two fleeing riders wasn't such a good idea.

“Huh.” Horace said curiously, “Perhaps they’re starter than they look.”

The Temujai weren't cowards. But they weren't fools either. They had just seen clear evidence of their quarry's uncanny accuracy. They sorted themselves out and set off in pursuit again-but not quite so eagerly this time, and not quite so quickly.

Behind them, the second rider, who had collided with the fallen leader, was left in a vain attempt to catch the leader's horse. His own had broken its neck in the fall. He didn't seem in too much of a hurry to resume the chase.

“Guess they did have some brains after all.” Maddie commented.

Baron Arald handed the book over to Cassandra.

Chapter 75: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 16

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 16.

Cassandra gave a quick glance at Halt before she began reading.

Halt stopped twice more to slow down the riders behind them. Both times, he dismounted, allowing Abelard to trot around the next bend in the trail so that he was out of sight. Then Halt waited, standing in the deep shadows thrown by the pine trees, almost invisible in the grey and green mottled cloak.

Maddie smiled grimly. She bet they didn’t see him coming until they were full of arrows.

When the Temujai riders appeared around a bend in the trail behind him, Halt launched two arrows at maximum range, on a high parabolic flight. Each time, the horsemen weren't even aware that they were being fired on until two of their number threw up their hands and tumbled from their saddles into the snow.

“Thinning their numbers.” Will noted. He looked to his mentor and asked, “Any chance you shot enough of them for the rest to retreat?”

Halt looked at pointedly, “You were there, what do you think?”

Halt chose his ambush positions carefully. He selected places where there was a clear sight of the trail behind him, but he didn't choose every such section. After the third attack, every time the Temujai approached a bend in the trail, they slowed their pursuit, fearing they would be riding into another volley of black-shafted arrows arcing down out of the sky at them.

Gilan snorted, “I bet some of them had nightmares about it for years.”

On the last two occasions they didn't even see Halt before he moved to remount Abelard. They soon began to rationalize, arguing that there was no real need to capture the two men who had been spying on their camp. There was, after all, little that two men could do to harm them and if they alerted the Skandian forces, well, the Temujai had come here prepared to fight anyway.

In most situations, Maddie thought, they would be right. It was unfortunate that the two people they let go would be crucial to their later defeat, but these scouts didn’t know that.

This was the result Halt had been hoping for. After stopping twice, he urged Abelard into a steady gallop, soon overtaking Erak as he lurched and swayed on the saddle of his now cantering horse. Erak heard the muffled pounding of hooves behind him and swung awkwardly in the saddle, half expecting to see a group of Temujai coming up behind. He relaxed as he recognized the grey-cloaked figure of the Ranger. His horse, without anyone to continue urging it on, slackened its pace as Abelard pounded up alongside. Halt checked him for a few strides, matching the Temujai mount's pace.

Horace cheered silently at the prospect of the future Skandian Oberjarl staying on his horse.

"Where have:you been?" Erak asked, in that same jerky manner.

Halt gestured to the trail behind him. "Buying us some time," he replied. "Can't you keep that nag of yours running faster than that?"

Erak looked insulted. He'd thought he was doing rather well.

Gilan snickered.

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent rider," he said stiffly. Halt glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of any pursuit, but there was no knowing how long the Temujai would take to realize that he wasn't waiting for them at every corner. If they continued at this gentle, ambling pace, the riders behind them would make up the lost distance in no time.

"You may believe you're an excellent rider," he called, "but there are a score or so of Temujai back there who actually are. Now get moving!"

Sir Rodney snorted, “Three guesses what happens next.”

Erak saw the longbow rise, and begin to fall on his horse's rump once more. This time, he didn't waste breath or time yelling at Halt not to do it. He grabbed a handful of mane and hung on for dear life as the horse bolted away underneath him. Bouncing and jouncing in exquisite pain, he consoled himself with the thought that, when this was over, he would separate the Ranger from his head.

“Hasn’t followed through yet.” Halt drily informed the group.

They swept on, Halt urging the Temujai horse on to greater efforts whenever he began to flag. The landmarks around them began to take on a familiar appearance, then they had galloped into the head of Serpent Pass, coming up to the deserted border post. There, camped outside the log walls of the small fort, Erak's twenty Skandian warriors and Evanlyn and the two apprentices were waiting for them. The Skandians came to their feet quickly, reaching for their weapons, as the two horses entered the pass at a dead run.

Maddie frowned, how were the other Skandians going to keep up with the horses if they only have a two spare?

Halt brought Abelard skidding to a stop beside his three companions. Erak tried to emulate the action, but his horse pounded on for another twenty meters or so and he had to swing it awkwardly around, swaying and slipping in the saddle as it turned, and inevitably falling in a heap in the snow as the horse finally decided to stop.

Maddie hid her smile politely behind her hand. She looked to Will and Gilan and saw them grinning madly at eat other, eyes alight with laughter. Her father from across the table just rolled his eyes.

Two or three of the Skandians, unwisely, let go short bellows of laughter as Erak picked himself up. The jarl's eyes swept over them, cold as glacier ice, marking them down for later reference. The laughter died as quickly as it had sprung up.

“Whoops.”

Halt threw his leg over the pommel and slid to the ground. He stroked Abelard's neck in gratitude. The little horse was barely breathing hard. He was bred to run all day if necessary. The Ranger saw the inquisitive looks of those around him.

"Did you find the main party?" Will finally asked.

Halt rolled his eyes and muttered just loud enough for his apprentice to hear, “Some things don’t change.”

Halt nodded grimly. "We found them all right."

"Thousands of them," Erak added, and the Skandians reacted with surprise at the news. Erak silenced them with a gesture.

Maddie noted with interest that Erak seemed to have good control over his men. They respected him on the island, and they were willing to follow his orders both now and then.

"There are maybe five or six thousand of them out there, probably heading this way right now." Once again, there were murmurs of surprise and consternation as he mentioned the numbers. One of the Skandians stepped forward.

"What do they want, Erak?" he asked. "What are they doing here?"

But it was the Ranger who answered the question. "They want what they always want," he said grimly. "They want your land. And they're here to take it from you."

No one around the table looked surprise.

His audience looked from one to the other. Then Erak decided it was time he took command of the situation.

"Well, they'll find we're a tough nut to crack," he declared. He swept his battle-ax in a small arc to indicate the fort behind them. "We'll hold the fort here and delay them while one of us takes word back to Hallasholm," he said. "There may be five thousand of them, but they can only come at us in small numbers through the pass. We should be able to hold them for four or five days at least."

Maddie frowned; she didn’t recall any events like this happening. She leaned forward, curious on how this conversation would play out.

There was a growl of assent from the Skandians, and several of them swept their axes through the air in experimental patterns. The jarl was growing in confidence now that he had a definite plan of action. And it was the sort of plan that appealed to the Skandian mind: simple, uncomplicated, easy to put into effect and with a degree of mayhem involved. He looked at Halt, who was watching him in silence, leaning on the man-high longbow.

All the Rangers at the table turned to look at Halt questioningly. The retired Ranger glared at them all, but Gilan was the first to ask, “Halt, wasn’t that the habit you always punished me for doing?”

Halt remained silent and this time, Will continued carefully, “I think your right Gilan. He always use to say, ‘don’t get lazy, you’ll snap your bow in half’ or ‘careful, you’ll get ambushed leaning on a stick’. Don’t you remember that Halt?”

Halt rolled his eyes and grumbled begrudgingly to Cassandra, “Keep going.” The queen took one look at the hidden grins threatening to spill over Gilan and Will’s face’s before she resumed the story.

"We'll trouble you for the use of the horse again," he said. "I'll send one of my men back to Hallasholm on it to raise the alarm. The rest of us will stay here and fight." Again, there was a savage growl from the Skandians in response. The jarl continued: "As for you, you can stay and fight with us or go on your way. It's of no consequence to me."

Halt shook his head, a look of bitter disappointment on his face.

"It's too late for us to go now," he said simply. He turned to his three young companions and shrugged apologetically. "The Temujai main force lies right across our path back to Teutlandt. We've no choice but to stay here."

Are there not other passes? Maddie couldn’t help but think, but perhaps the Temujai were spread further along the border than first assumed.

Will exchanged glances with Evanlyn and Horace. He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. They had been so close to escaping, so close to going home.

“And so close to defeat.” Will mentioned, adding to his past self’s train of thought.

"It's my fault," Halt continued, addressing his words to the two former captives. "I should have got you out straightaway instead of going to see what the Temujai were up to. I thought, at worst, it would be a reconnaissance in force. I had no idea it was an invasion."

"It's all right, Halt," Will told him. He hated to see his mentor apologizing or blaming himself. In Will's eyes, Halt could do no wrong. Horace hurried to agree with him.

Halt looked up Will and Horace with a raised eyebrow and the two apprentices shrugged. “Can’t blame an apprentice for thinking highly of his master?” Will said earnestly, a soft small on his face.

"We'll stay here and hold them back with the Skandians," he said, and one of the sea wolf warriors close by him slapped him heartily on the back.

"That's the spirit, boy!" he said, and several others chorused their approval of Horace's intentions. But Halt shook his head.

“You would have made for a good Skandian, Horace.” Will said to his friend, and he got a nod in thanks at the compliment.

"Nobody should stay here. There's no point."

Maddie frowned.

That brought howls of anger and derision from the Skandians. Erak silenced them and stepped forward, staring down at the slight figure in the grey cloak.

"Yes, there's a point," he said, in an ominously quiet tone. "We'll hold them here until Ragnak can muster the main force to relieve us. There are twenty of us. That should be more than enough to hold the little beggars off for a while. It won't be like when they slaughtered the garrison here. There were only a dozen men here then. We'll hold them off, or we'll die in the attempt. It's of no consequence to us as long as we delay them for three or four days."

Maddie’s eyes widened in surprise. They were willing to die in order to protect their country and their people. It seemed Skandians were far more noble than people gave them credit for.

"You won't last three or four hours," Halt said flatly, and an ugly silence fell over the small group. The Skandians were too shocked by the enormity of his insult to reply. Erak was the first to recover.

"If you believe that," he said grimly, "then you have never seen Skandians fight, my friend." The last two words carried an enormous weight of sarcasm and dismissal. Now the other Skandians found their voices and an angry chorus grew up. The Ranger waited for the shouting to die down. He was uncowed by the Skandians' anger at his words. Finally they fell silent.

"You know that I have," he said, not taking his eyes from Erak's.

The Skandian leader frowned. He knew Halt's reputation, as a fighting man and a tactician. The man was a Ranger, after all, and Erak knew enough about the mysterious Ranger Corps to know that they weren't prone to issuing pointless insults or making ill-considered remarks.

“They better not.” Gilan said quietly, and Maddie shivered. There was a threatening undertone there, one that Gilan didn’t bring out often, but was terrifying in full force.

"The question is," Halt continued, "have you seen the Temujai fight?"

He allowed the question to hang in the cold air between them. There was a moment of silence from the Skandians. None of them had, of course. Seeing that he had their attention, Halt continued.

"Because I have. And I'll tell you what I'd do if I were the Temujai general."

“The Western world would be gone.” Will helpfully finished for him and received a glare from Cassandra at his interruption.

He swept his arm up to encompass the steep sides of the pass where they towered above the little fort. Pines grew there, clinging to the almost vertical sides of the pass, managing to find some foothold in the rocks and the snow.

"I'd send a party of men up onto the walls of the pass there above us. Say, two hundred or so. And from there, I'd have them direct a killing fire on anyone foolhardy enough to show his face in the open inside the fort."

Maddie made a face. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

The eyes of the group followed the direction of his pointing arm. One of the Skandians snorted scornfully.

"They'd never get up there. Those walls are impassable!"

“We’ve heard that before.” Baron Arald said grimly.

Halt turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye, willing the man to understand and believe what he was saying by the sheer force of his conviction.

"Not impassable. Very difficult. But they will do it. Believe me, I've seen these men and what they can achieve. It may cost them fifty or so lives in the attempt, but they'll count the cost cheap."

The Temujai were so willing to throw away lives, Maddie thought. It was honestly quite sad.

Erak studied the cliffs above the fort, squinting to see more clearly in the rapidly fading light of the late afternoon. Maybe, he thought, the Ranger was right. He figured he might be able to scramble around up there, with ropes and tackle and a small group of hand-picked sailors-the ones who tended the big square sails on the wolfships, who could slip up and down the mast as easy as walking. But the Temujai were cavalry, he thought. He voiced the objection.

"They'll never get their horses up there."

"They won't need their horses up there," Halt countered. "They'll simply sit up there and direct a plunging fire on you. The fort may command the pass, but the heights there command the fort."

How many good climbers did they bring? Maddie wondered, since these were men who lived on the steppes, not a lot of mountains or trees to climb there.

Erak was silent for a long moment. He looked again up at the walls of the pass. If the trees could find footholds there, he reasoned, so could men-determined men. And he was ready to believe that these Temujai were determined.

"Face it," Halt continued, "this fort was never meant as a real defensive position. It's a checkpoint for people crossing the border, that's all. It's simply not designed or placed to hold an invading army at bay."

Where was? Maddie questioned, but then corrected herself. Three Step Pass.

Erak studied the Ranger. The more he thought about it, the more sense Halt was making. He could picture the dangers of being caught inside the fort with a hundred or so archers perched on the cliffs above him-and no way to reply to their attack.

"I think you may be right," he said slowly. He was honest enough to admit that Halt's experience of these eastern riders was far greater than his own. Reluctantly, he made the final decision-to pass control over to Halt.

“Thank goodness Erak had enough sense to listen to Halt.” Horace said, relived. If it had just been Ragnak, they would have never been able to help.

"What do you suggest we do?" he asked. His men looked at him in surprise and he glared them to silence. Halt nodded once, acknowledging the difficulty of the decision the jarl had just reached.

"You were right about one thing," he said. "Ragnak has to be warned. There's no point in our wasting any more time here. It'll take the Temujai at least half a day to get the whole army on the move. Longer for them to come through this narrow pass. Let's use the time we have. We'll ride-and run-like hell back to Hallasholm."

Cassandra passed the book to Maddie.

Chapter 76: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 17

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 17.

She turned the page and began reading.

Full night fell shorty after they had set out on their way back to Hallasholm. But they continued to move, their way lit by a brilliant three-quarter moon that sailed above them in the clear sky.

Maddie wondered how the party was able to see where they were going. She had heard that the Winters of Skandia were darker than the depths of the ocean.

Halt, Evanlyn and the two apprentices rode, while the Skandians maintained a steady jog, led by the jarl. Halt had suggested that Erak ride the captured Temujai horse again, but he had declined the offer, with a certain amount of alacrity. It seemed now that he had his feet firmly back on the ground, he was determined to keep them that way. His thighs and calves ached from the hours he had spent in the saddle that day, and his backside seemed to be one massive bruise. He was glad of the chance to walk the cramps out of his muscles.

Gilan winced at the mention of running at the pace of horses. It was something they rarely had to do, and no one ever enjoyed it.

Even allowing for the fact that the Skandians were traveling afoot, Halt was content with the pace they were maintaining. The sea wolves were in superb condition. They could keep up their steady jog all night, with only brief rest periods every hour.

Horace urged Kicker up beside Halt.

Halt rolled his eyes and Horace winced. “I was a bit of a fool back then.” He admitted, but Halt shook his head.

“You weren’t a fool, you just didn’t have the life experience to know when chivalry can be useful, and when it can be a hinderance.”

"Shouldn't we walk as well?" he suggested. Halt raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?" he asked. The big youth shrugged, not quite sure how to articulate his thought.

"As a gesture of comradeship," he said finally. "It will give them a feeling of camaraderie."

Maddie paused to also raise an eyebrow at her father. She said drily, “You wanted to run all the way down the mountain when you had a horse?”

He just shrugged in response, if a little sheepishly.

Camaraderie, Halt knew, was something that was stressed in the early years of Battleschool training. It was part of that inconvenient knightly code. Sometimes he wished that Sir Rodney, the head of Castle Redmont's Battleschool, would give his charges a short course in practicality as well.

The battle master gave Halt a look, before sighing. Perhaps a lesson in practically may go a long way in the future.

"Well, it will give me a feeling of sore legs," he replied at last. "There's no point to it, Horace. The Skandians don't care whether we walk or ride. And when there's no point to something, the best idea is not to do it."

Horace nodded several times. Truth be told, he was relieved that Halt had rejected his suggestion. He was far more at home in the saddle than tramping through the snow. And, now that he thought about it, the Skandians didn't seem to resent the fact that the four Araluens were riding while they walked.

“I don’t think Cassandra or Will were in any condition to run either.” Gilan noted and Horace inclined his head in acknowledgement.

During one of the brief rest stops, Halt caught Will's eye and made an almost imperceptible gesture for the boy to follow him. They walked a short distance from the rest of the party, who were sprawled at ease in the snow. A few of the Skandians watched them with mild interest, but most ignored them.

When he judged that there was no one within earshot, Halt drew Will closer to him, his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"This fellow Erak," he said. "What do you make of him?"

“He would make an excellent Oberjarl.” Will said to his past self, but of course there was no reply.

Will frowned. He thought back over how Erak had treated them since he had captured them at the bridge in Celtica. In the first place, he had shielded them from Morgarath, refusing to hand them over to the rebel warlord. Then, on the trip across the Stormwhite Sea, and during their stay on Skorghijl, he had shown a certain rough kindness, and even a regard, toward him and Evanlyn. Finally, of course, he had been instrumental in their escape from Hallasholm, providing clothes, food and a pony, and giving them directions to the hunting cabin in the mountains.

There was only one possible answer.

"I like him," he replied. Halt nodded.

“Good answer.”

"Yes," he said. "So do I. But do you trust him? That's a different matter to liking."

This time, Will opened his mouth immediately to reply, then paused, wondering if his response might not be too impulsive. Then he realized that trust was always impulsive, and went ahead.

Halt rolled his eyes and Will looked at him sharply, “Hasn’t let me down yet.”

"Yes," he said. "I do."

Halt rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. "I must say, I agree with you."

Maddie narrowed her eyes, surprised that her mentor already seemed to be getting a very Halt-like judgement on people. Their time spent together must have really impacted his life.

"Well, he did help us to escape, you know, Halt," Will pointed out, and the Ranger nodded his recognition of that point.

"I know," he said. "That's what I was thinking about."

He was conscious of the boy's curious glance, but he said no more.

“Classic Halt.” Gilan said, grinning wildly.

As the members of the small party resumed their progress toward the coast, Halt struggled with the problem of how to protect Will and Evanlyn when they returned to Hallasholm. They might be regarded as allies for the moment, merely from force of circumstance. But once they were back in the Skandians' stronghold, things could go badly for the two escaped slaves. Things could become even worse for Evanlyn should her real identity become known to the Skandian Oberjarl.

Cassandra shivered at the memory. The fear she had been living with those months will never not haunt her nightmares.

Yet, try as he might, the grey-haired Ranger could think of no possible alternative to their present course. The way south was barred by thousands of Temujai warriors and there was no chance that he could make it through their lines with the three young people. He and Will might manage it. But it was a big might. And he knew enough about the Temujai to know that with Horace and Evanlyn along, they would never avoid detection.

Again, Ranger’s being unable to get out of situations because of the people they with.

So, for the time being, at least, they had no choice but to head toward Hallasholm. In the back of his mind there was a partly formed idea that they might be able to steal a boat. Or even prevail upon Erak to transport them down the coast to the south, leapfrogging the line of advance of the Temujai army. Somehow, sometime, he would have to reach some kind of an accommodation with the Skandian jarl, he knew.

The opportunity came at the next rest stop. And it came from the jarl himself. As the Skandians allowed themselves to sprawl on the ground under the pines, Erak, seemingly casually, approached the spot where Halt was pouring water from his canteen into a collapsible canvas bucket for Abelard. The horse drank noisily as the wolfship commander stood by and watched. Fully aware of his presence, Halt continued with what he was doing.

“Halt, you aren’t being helpful.” Horace pointed out.

Then, when the horse stopped drinking, he said, without looking up..."Something on your mind?"

The jarl shifted awkwardly from one foot to another.

"We need to talk," he said finally, and Halt shrugged.

Gilana and Will both immediately winced at that reply. Too many times. Both of them knew never to give Halt an opening like that.

"We seem to be doing that." He kept his voice neutral. He could sense that the Skandian leader wanted something from him and he felt this might be his opportunity to gain some kind of bargaining advantage.

Erak glanced around, making sure that none of his men was in earshot. He knew they wouldn't like the idea he was about to propose. But, all the same, he knew that the idea was a good one. And a necessary one.

“Erak for Oberjarl, can I get a vote?” Everyone in the room raised their hand.

"It was you, wasn't it, at the battle of the Thorntree?" he said at last. Halt turned to face him.

"I was there," he said. "And so were a couple of hundred others."

The Skandian made an impatient gesture. "Yes, yes," he said. "But you were the leader-the tactician-weren't you?"

“How do you think they won?”

Halt shrugged diffidently.

"That's right, I suppose," he said carefully. The battle at Thorntree forest had been a defeat for the Skandians. He wondered now if Erak might be looking for some kind of revenge over the man who had led the Araluen forces. It didn't seem in character with what he knew of the Skandian, but you never could tell.

Erak, however, was nodding thoughtfully to himself. He hunkered down in the snow, picking up a pine twig and making random marks on the ground with it.

“I’m hoping the snow melts enough to cover your tracks.”

"And you know these Temujai, don't you?" he said. "You know how they fight-how they organize their army?"

It was Halt's turn to nod. "I told you. I lived among them for a while."

“Did they get sick of your humour as well?” Will asked playfully.

"So:" Erak paused and Halt knew that he was reaching the crucial part of their conversation. "You'd know their strengths, and their weaknesses?"

The Ranger barked a short, humourless laugh. "There aren't many of those," he said, but Erak persisted, stabbing the twig deeper into the snow as he talked.

"But you'd know how to fight them? How to beat them?"

Everyone could see where this was going, and Maddie let out a silent cheer at the thought of the allies she knew finally working to together to face a common enemy.

Now Halt began to have a glimmer of where this conversation was leading. And, with that, he felt a slight surge of hope. He might just be about to be handed the bargaining tool that he would need to protect Will and Evanlyn.

"We fight as individuals," the jarl said softly, seeming to talk almost to himself. "We aren't organized. We have no tactics. No master plan."

"You Skandians have won your share of battles," Halt pointed out mildly. Erak looked up at him and Halt could see how much the sea wolf disliked what he was about to say.

“He swallowed his pride and asked for help when he knew they needed it.” Baron Arald was nodding his head in appreciation. He was glad that Erak turned out as Oberjarl.

"In a straight confrontation. One on one. Or even against odds of two to one. A straightforward conflict with no complications. Just a simple trial of arms. That sort of thing we can handle. But this...this is different."

"The Temujai are probably the most efficient fighting force in the world," Halt told him. "With the possible exception of the Arridi in the southern deserts."

Will grinned, “In the desert, those Temujai wouldn’t stand a chance.”

There was silence between them. Halt willed the Skandian to take that one last step that lay in front of him. He saw the intake of breath, then Erak said:

"You could show us how to beat them."

It was out in the open now-exactly what Halt had begun to hope for. Carefully, like a man playing a trout that was yet to be hooked, he answered, making sure no hint of the eagerness he felt showed in his voice.

“Oh come on Halt, Erak’s not going to notice your acting! Just get to the point!” Gilan wined. Will nodded in agreement and Halt scowled at them.

"Even if I could, I doubt I'd be given that opportunity," he said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible. Erak's head jerked up, a little flare of anger in his eyes.

"I could give it to you," he said. Halt met the other man's gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the anger there.

"You're not the Oberjarl," he said flatly. Erak shook his head, acknowledging the statement.

“Not yet. Wait for it.”

"That's right," he said. "But I am a senior war leader. I carry a certain amount of weight in our War Council."

Halt appeared unconvinced. "Enough to convince the others to accept an outlander as leader?"

Erak shook his head decisively.

"Not as a leader," he said. "Skandians would never follow your direct orders. Nor any other foreigner's. But as a counsellor-a tactician. There are others on the council who know we need tactics. Who will understand that we need to fight as a cohesive unit, not as a thousand individuals. Borsa, for one, will agree with me."

Will snorted in disgust.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Borsa?" He knew some of the Skandian leaders' names. This one was unfamiliar.

"The hilfmann-Ragnak's chamberlain," Erak told him. "He's no warrior himself, but Ragnak respects his opinions, and his brain."

"Let me get this straight," Halt said slowly. "You're asking me to come aboard as a tactical adviser and help you find a way to beat the Temujai. And you think you can convince Ragnak to go along with the idea-and not simply kill me on the spot."

“If he’s smart, he’ll listen.” Maddie said confidently.

Erak looked a question at him. Halt continued.

"I know he has no love for Araluens. His son died at Thorntree, after all."

"You'd be under my protection," Erak said finally. "Ragnak would have to respect that, or fight me. And I don't think he'll be quite ready to do that. Whether I can convince the council or not-and I believe I will be able to-you'll be safe while you're in Hallasholm."

And there, all at once, was the opportunity Halt had been waiting for.

"What about my companions?" he asked. "Will and the girl are escaped slaves."

“And a princess.”

Erak waved the matter aside, dismissively. "That's a small matter compared to the fact that we're about to be invaded," he replied. "Your friends will be safe as well. You have my word."

"No matter what?" Halt insisted. He wanted the Skandian to commit totally. He knew that no jarl would ever go back on a sworn vow of protection.

"No matter what," Erak replied, and held out his hand to the Ranger. They clasped hands firmly, sealing the bargain.

“Wooooo!”

"Now," said Halt, "all I have to do is work out a way of beating these horse-riding devils."

Erak grinned at him. "That should be child's play," he said. "The hard part will be convincing Ragnak about it."

Maddie handed the book off to her father, a large grin plastered all over her face.

Chapter 77: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 18

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 17.

Notes:

Sorry, kinder forgot. Had an extremely busy weekend, but I'm here now! :D

Horace turned the page and began reading.

As it turned out, that task was a lot easier than either Erak or Halt would have thought possible. Ragnak was many things, but he was no fool.

Cassandra cleared her throat loudly; she would be one to disagree.

When the small party returned to Hallasholm, bringing news that an army of close to six thousand Temujai horsemen was in the process of invading his country, he did the same mental arithmetic that Erak had done. He knew as well as Erak that he could muster a force of no more than fifteen hundred warriors-possibly less, considering that some of the outlying settlements close to the border had probably been overrun and defeated already.

Like most Skandians, Ragnak wasn't afraid of dying in battle. But he also didn't believe that one should seek such an end without first trying all other alternatives. If there were a way of defeating the invaders, he would examine it. Consequently, when Erak told him of Halt's knowledge of the Temujai, and his agreement to lend his services, and when Borsa and several other council members welcomed the idea, he accepted their arguments with no more than token resistance. As for the matter of the recaptured slaves, he dismissed the matter entirely.

Maddie breathed an internal sigh of relief. She hadn’t been entirely convinced when Erak had said that the status of her mother and mentor as escape slaves would be quickly dismissed.

In normal times, he might seek to punish runaways, as a way of discouraging further escapes. But these weren't normal times, and with an invading army on his doorstep, the matter of two recaptured slaves was of slight interest to him at best.

He did, however, demand to see Halt in his private quarters, with no one else present.

Everyone turned to look at Halt who kept his expression neutral. This wasn’t the first time these books had mentioned the events that only occurred to one or two people and the group had all accepted that magic was the most likely source. The author, John Flanagan may not even exist in their world, but his stories of their lives were more accurate than most of their memories.

He knew enough about Rangers to respect their abilities and their courage as a group. But he wanted the chance to assess this man as an individual. Ragnak's ability to form such evaluations of men had been one of his principal qualities as leader of the Skandians. Evidence of his skill was the fact that he habitually chose Erak to handle the more difficult tasks that went with ruling a nation of independent-minded, argumentative warriors.

Cassandra nodded to herself, at least he was able to do one thing right.

Halt was shown to the low-ceilinged, timber-lined room where Ragnak spent his private hours-and these days, the Oberjarl noted ruefully, there were precious few of those. The room was like all the senior Skandians' quarters-warmed by a pine log fire, with bearskins furnishing the pinewood-carved furniture, decorated with the polyglot results of years of plundering coastal villages and other ships.

“See anything that needed reclaiming?” Gilan asked and Halt shook his head.

“I was more focused on the upcoming invasion.”

The centrepiece of the room was an immense crystal chandelier, taken from an abbey on the coast of the Constant Sea years ago. With no high ceiling to hang it from, Ragnak had chosen to leave it resting on a rough pine table. It dominated the room and was more than a little awkward in the confined space. Furthermore, in its tabletop position it was totally incapable of performing its designed intention. There was no way that the fifty small oil lamps could be lit and kept burning safely.

“Why don’t they put it in their Great Hall?” Maddie asked. She turned to Will who shrugged.

“Maybe Ragnak just liked it a lot.”

But Ragnak loved the piece. To him, it represented art at its highest. It was an object of rare beauty, incongruous as it might be in this setting, and so he left it there.

Maddie gaped openly and Will snorted in surprise, he couldn’t believe his guess had been accurate.

He looked up from a scroll he was reading as Halt knocked at the door and entered, as he had been told to do. Ragnak frowned. He equated prowess in battle with physical strength and size. The man before him looked wiry enough, but his head would barely come past the Oberjarl's shoulder if both were standing. There were no two ways about it. He was a small man.

Halt rolled his eyes. He had heard that many times in his life.

"So, you're Halt," he said, not sounding too interested in the fact. He saw the little man's right eyebrow rise momentarily.

Then the man repeated, in exactly the same tone... "So, you're Ragnak."

Maddie tried her best to mimic the tone and it sort of worked.

Ragnak's heavy brows came closer together in an expression of anger. But inwardly, he felt a quick flicker of respect for the man in front of him. He liked Halt's instant reply, liked the way the Ranger was showing no sign of being cowed.

"People address me as 'Oberjarl,'" he said in an ominous tone.

“Ominous.” Gilan said in heavy quotation marks.

Halt gave just the slightest suggestion of a shrug.

"Very well, Oberjarl," he replied. "I'll do the same."

Halt studied the Oberjarl with a keen eye. He was huge, but that was fairly normal for Skandians. He didn't have the classic, sculptured musculature that a person such as Horace would achieve in the next few years, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Rather, like all Skandians, he was bulky throughout his entire body, built like a bear.

Will looked to Hal ruefully, “Perhaps you were right. The Temujai might have mistaken Erak for a bear.”

The arms and legs were massively muscled and the face was bearded, with the long beard lovingly separated into two sweeping masses. The hair had been red originally, but now the onset of age was turning it the colour of ashes in a cold fireplace.

There was a faded scar on one cheek, stretching from just under the left eye down to the point of the man's chin. Halt guessed it to be an old injury. Again, there was little to remark on in this. The Skandians chose their leaders from the ranks of warriors, not administrators.

“Except for Borsa.” Cassandra said, annoyed.

Most of all, Halt noted the eyes. He recognized the dislike that he saw there. He had been expecting to see that. But the eyes were deep-set and he could read an intelligence and cunning there as well. For that, he was grateful.

If Ragnak had been a stupid man, Halt's position might well have become untenable here. He knew of the Oberjarl's ingrained dislike for Rangers, and knew the reasons behind it. But an intelligent leader would be aware of Halt's usefulness to him, and might be prepared to set aside his personal dislike for the greater good of his people.

“Like all great leaders should.” Will said confidently and Cassandra snorted.

“Dam right! Why do you think I put up with you?” Will tried to look offended while Maddie hid her laughter.

"I have no love of your kind, Ranger," the Oberjarl said. His mind was obviously running on lines similar to Halt's.

"You have little reason to," Halt agreed. "But you might well find a use for me."

"So I'm told," the Skandian leader replied, once again finding himself admiring the Ranger's forthrightness.

“It seems that every decent leader likes Halt. What’s up with that?” Horace asked and Will replied on behalf of his mentor.

“Because they’d rather fight with him than against him. Like smart individuals.”

When he'd first heard of his son's death at Thorntree, Ragnak had been overcome with grief and rage-at Araluens, Rangers and, in particular, at King Duncan.

But that had been an immediate and spontaneous reaction to his grief. A realist, he knew that his son had risked death by joining the ill-fated adventure with Morgarath's forces and, indeed, death in battle was commonplace among the Skandians, who lived to raid and pillage. As a result, over the intervening months, Ragnak's anger, if not his grief, had faded. His son had died honourably, with a weapon in his hands. That was all any Skandian could ask. That wasn't to say that he felt any affection for Rangers, but he could respect their abilities and their courage, and their worth as opponents.

Or even, possibly, as allies.

Maddie grinned to herself. She was reading history in the making. Perhaps not from an official text book, but this was good enough.

Ragnak's vow against King Duncan and his family was another matter altogether. Chances are, had he waited, his hatred might well have abated and a more reasonable attitude might have prevailed. But, acting on impulse, he had sworn a vow to the Vallas, the triple deity who ruled Skandian religion, and that vow was inviolable.

Ragnak might be able to accept Halt as an ally. He might be able to recognize that those same qualities that made the Ranger a dangerous opponent could also render him a useful confederate in the upcoming battle against the Temujai invaders. That would be his personal choice. But his Vallasvow against Duncan was irrevocable.

Welp, he’s dead, Maddie thought. She knew Erak eventually became Oberjarl, so it wasn’t a hard conclusion to make that Ragnak would have to die, as the position of Skandian leader didn’t sound like one she thought one could step down from.

"So," Ragnak said abruptly. "Can you help us?"

Halt answered without any hesitation. "I'm willing to do whatever I can," he said. "What that might be, I have no idea as yet."

"No idea!" Ragnak repeated scornfully. "I was told that Rangers are always full of ideas."

“Who told him that?” Gilan asked thin air. It didn’t answer.

Halt shook his head. "I need to assess your strengths and weaknesses first. And then I'll need maps of the surrounding countryside," he said. "We'll have to find a spot that will offset their superiority of numbers as far as possible. Then I'm going to ride out for another look at the Temujai. Last time I saw them, I had my hands full keeping your senior jarl alive. Then, after I've done all that, I might be able to answer your question."

Ragnak chewed on one end of his mustache, taking in what the Ranger had said. He was impressed, in spite of himself. His ability to plan for a battle usually amounted to the words "Everyone ready? Follow me!" before he led the way in a frontal assault.

Horace nodded; he often enjoyed those sorts of plans. But after years sent in the company of Rangers, he had learned to appreciate their way of thinking.

Perhaps, he thought, this Ranger might be useful after all.

"Be aware of one thing, however, Oberjarl," Halt continued. Ragnak looked up at him, surprised at the tone of uncompromising command in his voice.

"I'm going to be asking you questions about your establishment, your fighting men, your numbers. They're questions that might give me an advantage in any future disagreement between our two countries."

“You’ll be fine…Trust me.” Will said.

"I see...," said Ragnak slowly. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking.

"You'll be tempted to lie to me. To exaggerate your numbers and your abilities. Don't do it."

Once more, the Oberjarl was taken aback at the peremptory tone of command. But Halt's gaze was unwavering.

“He’s very scary.” Gilan observed and Will nodded vigorous.

"If I am to help you, you'll need to be honest with me. And so will your jarls."

Ragnak considered the statement for a moment or two, then nodded ponderously.

"Agreed," he said. "Mind you," he added, "that ax cuts two ways. You'll also be showing us how you think and plan for a battle."

And once more, that trace of a smile hovered around Halt's mouth as he acknowledged the Oberjarl's point.

"That's true," he said. "I guess if we want to win, we both have to be willing to lose a little."

Maddie frowned. That only applied to a certain extent though. Even if numbers waned and waxed for the Skandians, their total would most likely remain similar.

However the style of a Ranger’s thinking ability was something that varied from individual to individual. So, as long as Halt wasn’t doing the main planning, the Skandians would have been as blind as before coming into a situation.

The two men studied each other once more. Each decided that he liked what he saw in the other's eyes. Abruptly, Ragnak gestured to one of the massive pinewood armchairs.

"Sit down!" he said, indicating a flagon of Gallican wine on the table between them, almost lost in the glittering crystal fittings of the chandelier.

"Have a drink and tell me this. Why do you think these Temujai have chosen to make themselves a nuisance in Skandia? Surely the way would have been easier for them to move south, through Teutlandt and Gallica."

Invasion.

Halt poured himself a glass of the brilliant red wine and drank deeply. He raised an eyebrow in appreciation. Ragnak certainly knew the right wines to steal, he thought.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow in Halt’s direction, and he shrugged innocently. “I know good wine when I taste it.”

"I've been wondering that myself," he said at last. He wished the chair he was sitting on was made for someone smaller than the normal massive Skandian build. His feet barely brushed the floor as he sat there and he felt like a small boy in his father's study. "Even if they win here, they must know that you'll be a tough nut to crack. Certainly tougher than the Teutlanders."

Ragnak snorted in derision at the mention of the unorganized, squabbling race to the immediate south. Riddled by factions and internecine distrust, the Teutlanders were at the mercy of any would-be conquerors. In fact, if Skandian ambitions had lain in that direction, Ragnak would have felt confident that he could have subjugated the country with his small army of warriors.

Maddie ponded on the thought and to be honest, the Skandians were a lot easier to deal with than the Teutlanders.

"And the Gallicans are nearly as bad," Halt continued. "They'd be almost incapable of agreeing on one overall leader to take command. So I wondered what it was that made the Temujai swing north and risk a bloody nose here in Skandia."

"And?" the Oberjarl prompted. Halt took another swallow of wine and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I asked myself what you had that would make the risk worthwhile," he said. "And there was only one thing I could think of."

He paused. It was a theatrical thing to do, he knew, but he couldn't resist it. As he felt sure would happen, the Oberjarl leaned forward.

“Great job on the theatrics Halt.” Will applauded in exaggerated motions and ducked when Halt learned over to hit him.

"What was it? What are they after?"

"Ships," replied Halt. "The Temujai want control of the seas. And that means their ambitions don't stop here. They're planning to invade Araluen as well."

Horace snorted, “Ever seen a Temujai on a ship? They’re worse than Halt.”

Chapter 78: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 19

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 19.

Notes:

I know...I know I'm late again. I'm sorry. Here's the chapter to make up for it. Busy weekend once again.

Horace skim read the first page before handing it over to his wife. Cassandra began reading.

Evanlyn was watching Will practise his shooting. It was something that Halt had insisted on, once they had reached the relative safety of Hallasholm. Will's speed and accuracy had fallen far below the levels that Halt found acceptable and he wasted no time making his apprentice aware of the fact.

Maddie frowned. Not exactly a kind way of doing things, especially since he was heavily under the influence of warm weed and needed a few months to recover.

"Remember the golden rule?" he'd said after he'd watched Will shoot a dozen arrows at different targets set up in a semicircle in front of him, at ranges varying from fifty meters out to two hundred. Most of Will's arrows flew wide of the more distant targets, and it took him far too long to fire the set of twelve shots.

“Practise?” Maddie guessed as she watched her mentor wince at the description of his shooting.

Will had looked up at his mentor, knowing how badly he'd shot. Halt was frowning and shaking his head slightly. It made matters worse that Horace and Evanlyn had chosen that moment to come and watch.

"Practice?" he'd replied glumly, and Halt had nodded.

Gilan sighed with a grin, “It seems that something don’t change.”

"Practice," he affirmed. As they'd walked out to collect the arrows he'd fired, Halt had dropped a consoling arm around the boy's shoulders.

"Don't feel too bad about it," he told him. "Your technique is still good. But you can't expect to spend the winter making snowmen in the mountains and retain your edge."

“Making snowmen? Really Halt? They were up there half starving to death, and you call that making snowmen?” Horace grumbled out, and Maddie couldn’t help but agree.

"Making snowmen?" Will replied indignantly. "I'll have you know things were pretty rough up in the mountains:" He stopped as he realized that Halt had been pulling his leg. He had to admit that the Ranger was right, however. The only way to attain the almost instinctive accuracy and speed with the bow that were the hallmarks of a Ranger was to practice, constantly and assiduously.

All the Rangers, and apprentice, around the table nodded.

Over the following days, he took himself to the practice area and gave himself over to the task of perfecting his skills once more. As his old skill returned, along with his strength and fitness, a small crowd would follow and watch. Even though Will couldn't boast the skill levels of a full-fledged Ranger, his ability was far above that of normal archers and he was regarded by Skandians and some of the slaves with a deal of respect.

“Why is it that everywhere you go people just admire and respect you?” Maddie asked her father and mentor. It seemed they’d both developed a reputation, with Horace it was his skills as the Oakleaf Knight, and with Will, it was with him determination and skill.

Evanlyn and Horace, however, seemed to find plenty of other things to fill their days-riding and hiking in the nearby woods, or sometimes taking a small skiff out on the bay. Of course, they had asked Will to join them, but each time, he had replied that he had to attend to his practice.

Maddie looked to her parents with a raised eyebrow, “It sounds like you two were having a holiday.”

Her father turned a little red in embarrassment, but her mother scowled at her. “We were having fun, and there wasn’t much I could do, now was there?”

There were times when he could have gone. But even on these occasions, his feelings injured, he begged off, claiming the need for extra work sessions.

Now it was Will all three of them looked to, all with equal unimpressed expressions. Will leaned back slightly and shrugged, “You were having fun without me, who was I to spoil the mood?”

“You wouldn’t have.” Horace replied immediately, but Will just shrugged again.

“Maybe.” Was all he said.

The practice sessions were intensified when Erak produced the double knife scabbard that Will had been wearing when he and Evanlyn had been captured by the Skandians. Erak, a true hoarder, had kept the weapons and now saw fit to return them to their rightful owner. A word from Halt let Will know that he would soon be tested for his knife-throwing skills as well.

Experience had taught Will by now that the long months without practice would have eroded his abilities in this area too. So he set about restoring them. The township of Hallasholm soon rang to the repetitive thud of his throwing knife and saxe knife striking point first into a target of soft pinewood.

“I wonder if anyone got annoyed by the sound?” Gilan asked, partially because he was trying to lighten the mood.

As each day passed, his accuracy and speed improved with both the bow and the knives. He was beginning to recapture that smooth, flowing action that Halt had drilled into him over so many hours in the forest outside Castle Redmont.

Now he switched easily from target to target, his arm raising or lowering the bow to adjust for the variations in distance, his eyes wide open, seeing a total sighting picture that included the bow, the arrow and the eventual target. He was pleased that Evanlyn had chosen today to come and watch his practice session. He felt a savage exultation as arrow after arrow thudded into the targets, striking either in the centre or close enough to make no difference.

Will quickly covered his face with his hands, some of his youth was more embarrassing than others.

"So," he said casually as he released two arrows at two widely varying targets in quick succession. "Where's Horace today?"

Maddie looked between her parents and mentor, sensing, not tension exactly. More like the need for this scene to be over as quickly as possible.

The arrows thudded, one after another, into their respective targets and he nodded to himself, turning ninety degrees to loose another at one of the targets set closer in.

Another hit. Another thud.

The girl shrugged. "I think you made him feel guilty," she replied. "He thought he'd better get some practice in. He's working out with some of the Skandians from Erak's crew."

“Is that why every third Skandians from the patrol ship immediately tries to challenge you to a duel?” Cassandra asked her husband, and he nodded guiltily.

"I see," replied Will, then paused to put an arrow into one of the farthest targets, watching it arc smoothly through the air before burying its point in the centre ring.

"And why didn't you go along to watch him?" He felt a little pleased that Evanlyn had chosen, finally, to see how proficient he was becoming and hadn't bothered to watch her constant companion of the past few days. Her next words dashed that small glow of pleasure, however.

Will groaned and folded his head onto the desk. Everyone was staring at him, and he made a gesture for Evanlyn to continue.

"I did," she replied. "But after you've seen two people whack at each other for several minutes, you develop a sense of deja vu. I thought I'd come and see if you'd improved since the other day."

"Oh, really?" Will replied, a little stiffly. "Well, I hope you don't feel you've wasted your time."

Will covered his ears and Cassandra sighed, “Come on Will, you have to listen to this.”

Evanlyn looked up at him. He was facing away from her, firing a sequence of shots at three targets-one at fifty meters, one at seventy-five and one at a hundred. She could hear the stiff tone in his voice and wondered what was bothering him. She decided not to answer the question. Instead, she commented on the three-shot sequence, as all three arrows found their marks.

Will let out a sigh of relief from the change in conversation. He really did not want to listen to himself. 

"How do you do that?" she asked. Will stopped and turned toward her. There was a genuine note of inquiry in her voice.

"Do what?"

She gestured toward the three targets.

“Shoot?”

"How do you know how far to lift the bow for each distance?" she asked. For a moment the question left him nonplussed. Finally, he shrugged.

"I just...feel it," he replied uncertainly. Then, frowning, he tried to elaborate. "It's a matter of practice. When you do it over and over again, it becomes sort of...instinctive, I suppose."

“It’s like you just know how far up to position your bow because you’ve shot that specific distance so any times.” Will elaborated from his past self.

"So, if I took the bow, could you tell me how high to hold it for that middle target, for instance?" she asked, and he cocked his head to one side, thinking the question through.

"Well:it's not just that. I suppose I could, but:there are other factors."

She leaned forward, her face querying, and he continued.

"Like your release:it has to be smooth. You can't snatch at it or the arrow goes off line. And your draw weight would probably vary."

"Draw weight?"

Maddie listened in and was interested to know that apparently, she hadn’t been Will’s first student.

He indicated the tension on the bowstring as he pulled it back to full draw. "The longer your draw, the more weight you put behind the arrow. If you didn't draw exactly the same distance as I did, the result would vary."

She thought about the answer. It seemed logical. She pursed her lips pensively and nodded once or twice.

"I see," she said. There was a slight tone of disappointment in her voice.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Will asked, and she sighed deeply.

"I was kind of hoping that maybe you could show me how to shoot so that I could actually do something when the Temujai turn up here," she replied, a little downcast.

“Learning to shoot would take a lot longer than just a few weeks. Especially to the level that Will and Halt have achieved, even at that stage.” Gilan informed her.

Will laughed. "Well, maybe I could-if we had a year to spare."

"I don't want to be an expert," she said. "I thought maybe you could just show me one or two basic things so I could...you know:" She tailed off uncertainly.

Will shook his head apologetically, regretting the fact that he'd laughed at her.

"I'm afraid the real secret is a whole lot of practice," he said. "Even if I showed you the basics, it's not something you can just learn in a week or two."

She shrugged again.

"I suppose not." She realized that her request had been unrealistic. She felt foolish now and seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Is that when Halt thinks they'll get here-a week or two?"

“Diplomacy at its finest.”

Will fired the last arrow in the set and laid his bow down.

"He said they could be here then. But he thinks they'll take a little longer. After all, they know the Skandians aren't going anywhere." He gestured to her to accompany him as he collected his arrows and they started across the practice field together.

"Did you hear his theory?" she asked him. "About attacking here because they want the Skandians' ships?"

Baron Arald snorted, “With an army like that, they could take over Teutlandt and Gallica whenever they wanted.”

Will nodded. "It makes sense when you think about it. They can overrun Teutlandt and Gallica almost as they choose. But they'd be leaving a dangerous enemy behind them. And the Skandians could raid them anywhere along the coast, hitting them where and when they choose."

The Baron made a there you go gesture. Obviously great minds think alike.

"I can see that," Evanlyn replied, tugging one of the arrows from the fifty-meter target. "But don't you think his theory about invading Araluen is a little far-fetched?"

"Not at all," Will replied. "Hold them closer to the head as you pull them out," he said, indicating the next arrow as she reached for it. "Otherwise you'll break the shaft, or warp it. There's no reason why the Temujai should stop at the Gallican coast. But if they tried to transport their army by ship without taking care of the Skandians first, they could be in big trouble."

“They could even go to other countries after that, like Hibernia or Arrida.”

Evanlyn was silent for a few seconds. "I suppose so," she said eventually.

"It's only a theory, after all," Will replied. "Maybe they're just making sure their flanks are secure before they move into Teutlandt. But Halt says you should always plan for the worst-case scenario. Then you can't be disappointed."

"I guess he's right about that," she replied. "Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around for a few days."

Gilan snorted, “Hanging out with his next best friend.”

Will nodded his head toward the southeast. "He and Erak have gone to scout the Temujai advance," he said. "I think he's looking for a way to slow them down."

He collected the last of his arrows and stowed them in his quiver. Then he stretched and flexed his arms and fingers.

"Well, I guess I'll shoot another set," he said. "Are you staying to watch?"

Maddie frowned, “Isn’t it called an End?” She asked and Will nodded to her.

“Evanlyn didn’t know that.”

Evanlyn considered for a moment, then shook her head. "I might go see how Horace is doing," she said. "I'll try to spread the encouragement around." She smiled at him, waggled her fingers in farewell and strode off across the field, back toward the palisade. Will watched her slim, upright figure as she walked away.

"You do that," he muttered to himself. Once more, he felt a flutter of jealousy as he thought of her watching Horace. Then he shook the feeling off, as a duck shakes water away. Head down, he began to mooch back to the firing line.

Will winced and sent an apologetic glance in his friend’s direction who just waved it away. They had all been fools in their teenage years, no need to hold grudges about it now.

"Women," he muttered to himself. "They're nothing but trouble."

Cassandra, Maddie, and Lady Pauline all gave him a look and Will just shrank in his seat.

A shadow fell across the ground beside him and he glanced up, thinking for a moment that Evanlyn might have changed her mind. After all, the prospect of watching two muscle-bound hulks whacking each other with practice weapons was a little boring, he thought. But it wasn't Evanlyn, it was Tyrelle-blond, pretty, fifteen years old and the niece of Svengal, Erak's first mate. She smiled shyly at him. Her eyes were amazingly blue, he realized.

"Can I carry your arrows back for you, Ranger?" she asked, and he shrugged magnanimously, unclipping the quiver and handing it to her.

Cassandra looked to Wil with a raised eyebrow.

"Why not?" he said, and her smile widened.

After all, he thought, it would have been churlish to refuse.

Maddie gaped at her godfather. “Will!”

And he just groaned.

Cassandra handed the book to Horace.

Chapter 79: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 20

Summary:

Horace reads chapter 20.

Notes:

*Pumps fists in the air

Back on time! :) Hope you enjoy!

Horace turned the page and began reading.

The pine had fallen several years back, finally defeated by the weight of snow in its branches, the insidious rot at the heart of its massive trunk and one too many seasons of gale force winter winds. Even in death, however, its neighbours had tried to support it, keeping it from the ignominy of the ground, holding it in the grip of their tangled branches so that it lay at an angle of thirty degrees to the horizontal, seemingly supported between heaven and earth by its closely packed fellows.

“Since when were we talking about the scenery?” Maddie asked.

Halt leaned now on the rough bark that still coated the dead trunk and peered down into the valley below, where the Temujai column moved slowly past.

Maddie nodded her head and grinned, “That sounds more like it.”

"They're taking their time," Erak said, beside him. The Ranger turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"They're in no hurry," he replied. "It's going to take them some time to get their wagons and supply train through the passes. Their horses don't like confined spaces. They're used to the open plains of the steppes."

“I’m surprised the horses are alright with the Skandian Winter.” Maddie remarked however Halt shook his head with a grim smile.

“You’d be surprised how cold it can get on those open plains. High up with no cloud cover, or trees, nothing to keep the warmth in.”

The cavalry army continued its slow advance. There seemed little order to their march, Halt thought, frowning. There were no outriders, no patrols screening the flanks of the mob of men, horses and wagons as they made their way toward Hallasholm, ninety kilometres to the north.

Baron Arald snorted, “Their cruising through like they’re on a holiday!”

Halt, Erak and a small party of Skandians had come southeast, moving over the mountains along steep, narrow paths where the Temujai cavalry found it more difficult to move, to scout the invaders' progress. Now, as Halt watched them, a thought struck him.

"Mind you, we could make sure they move a little slower," he said softly. Erak shrugged impatiently at the idea.

Halt frowned and Gilan rolled his eyes. “Best friends.” He whispered over to Will who couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

"Why bother?" he asked bluntly. "The sooner we come to grips with them, the sooner we settle this."

A few around the table winced at the remark. It was very Skandian, but it was also always the best tactic in every conflict.

"The longer they take, the more time we have to prepare," Halt told him. "Besides, it bothers me to see them just ambling along, taking no precautions, riding in no order. It's too damned arrogant."

“That sums them up, perfectly.” Horace muttered.

"I thought you said they were smart?" the Skandian queried, and it was Halt's turn to shrug.

"Maybe it's because they expect you to simply come at them head-on when they finally reach Hallasholm," he suggested. The Skandian war leader considered the thought, looking a little offended by it.

"Don't they give us any credit for strategy?"

Will cleared his throat loudly and Maddie pointedly didn’t laugh.

Halt tried to hide a grin. "How would you plan to fight them?"

There was a pause, then Erak replied reluctantly, "I suppose I'd simply wait till they reached our position, then...attack them head-on." He looked carefully at the shorter man, but Halt was being very obvious about not saying anything further. Finally, Erak added, in an injured tone..."But there's no need for them to simply assume that."

“Well…” Gilan trailed off. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time the Skandians had tried that tactic, however it might have been their last.

"Exactly," Halt replied. "So perhaps we should give them something to think about. Something to put them a little off balance-and maybe put a little doubt in their minds."

"Is that good strategy?" Erak asked. The Ranger grinned at him.

"It's good therapy for us," he replied. "And besides, an enemy with a worm of doubt working away at his mind is less likely to make bold and unexpected moves. The more we can dissuade them from doing the unexpected, the better it will be for us."

Maddie nodded; it was all very logical. If an enemy knew what to expect, they could be bolder in their movements. However, if they were surprised repeatedly, then they would be more cautious and on their guard, slowing them down.

Erak thought about the point. It seemed logical. "So what do you want to do?" he asked.

Halt looked around at the twenty warriors who had accompanied them.

"This Olgak," he said, indicating the young leader of the troop. "Is he capable of following orders, or is he a typical Skandian berserker?"

Erak pursed his lips. "All Skandians are berserkers, given the right conditions," he replied. "But Olgak will follow orders if I give them."

Will frowned, he didn’t recognise the name immediately. Maybe this Olgak person died in the battle? Or maybe he just didn’t play a large role.

Halt nodded his understanding. "Let's talk to him then," he said.

Erak beckoned the broad-shouldered younger man to join them. Olgak, seeing the signal, moved forward, his axe swinging easily in his right hand, his large circular shield on his left arm. He looked expectantly at Erak, but the jarl gestured toward Halt.

"Listen to what the Ranger has to say," he ordered, and the young man's eyes turned to Halt. The Ranger studied him for a few moments. His clear blue eyes were guileless and straightforward. But he saw a light of intelligence there. Halt nodded to himself, then gestured to the Temujai army below them.

Maddie also took note that Halt’s ability to judge character was also a very useful skill. It’s a good idea to know who you are dealing with, and who you could trust.

"See that rabble down there?" he asked, and when the younger man nodded, he continued, "They're riding with no formation, with no covering scouts, and with their supply wagons and support personnel mixed up with their warriors. They don't usually travel that way. Do you know why they're doing it now?"

Olgak hesitated, then shook his head, frowning slightly. Not only didn't he know, but he didn't know why it should be important for anyone to know such a thing.

“Give him a second, he usually makes sense in the end.” Will said, as if speaking directly to the past Skandian. Halt side eyed him, but his former apprentice cheerfully ignored him.

"They're doing it because they feel safe," Halt continued. "Because they believe you Skandians are simply going to wait for them and meet them head-on."

Olgak nodded now. They had reached a point that he understood. "We are...aren’t we?"

Halt exchanged a glance with Erak. The jarl shrugged. Skandians took a simple view of things.

"Well, yes, you are," Halt admitted. "Eventually. But for now, it might be nice to make them a little less comfortable, mightn't it?" He paused, then added, with a slight edge in his voice, "Or do you enjoy seeing them swan through your country as if they're on holiday?"

“Ah! See! It all makes sense now!” Gilan announced and Will scoffed under his breath.

“Tell that to my fifteen-year-old self.” He muttered quietly o himself.

Olgak pursed his lips, looking down at the invaders. Now that the Ranger had mentioned it, they did appear to be having an altogether too easy time of things, he thought.

"No," he replied. "I can't say I enjoy seeing that. So what are we going to do about it?"

"Erak and I are going back to Hallasholm," Halt told him, feeling the Skandian leader stiffen beside him as he said it. Obviously the jarl had been looking forward to a little skirmish and he wasn't thrilled to hear he was going to miss it. "But you and your men are going to raid their lines tonight and burn those wagons."

Baron Arald sighed, “You know he’s right. Being leader makes you miss out on all the fun bits.”

Halt raised his eyebrows in the other man’s direction. “Where have you been while I’ve been having ‘fun’ stealing horses, getting banished, killing monsters, and trying to keep my apprentice alive? Or did I miss something?”

He pointed with the end of his longbow to half a dozen supply wagons, trundling carelessly along at the edge of the army. Olgak grinned and nodded his approval of the idea.

"Sounds good to me," he said. Halt reached out and laid a firm grip on his muscular forearm, compelling the younger man to meet his steady gaze.

"But listen to me, Olgak," he said intensely. "You are going to hit and run. Don't get tangled up in an extended fight, understand?"

“Come on Halt! Really nail that information in there!” Gilan cheered from the side lines. He got another long-suffering look which he delightfully ignored.

The young Skandian was less pleased with that command. Halt shook his arm fiercely for emphasis.

"Understand?" he repeated. "We do not want you and these twenty men to go down in a blaze of glory when you burn those wagons. And do you know why?"

Olgak shook his head-a small, reluctant movement. Halt continued.

"Because tomorrow night, I want you to move along the column and burn more wagons-and kill a few more Temujai while you're at it."

The idea was beginning to appeal to the younger man now.

Maddie could see where this plan was headed, and her head was beginning to nod along to Halt’s explanation without her permission.

"And if you're all killed on the first attempt, no matter how glorious it may seem at the time, by tomorrow the Temujai will simply continue on as they are, won't they?" the Ranger asked him. Olgak nodded his understanding.

"Then each night, I want you to hit a different part of the column. Burn their supplies. Set their horses loose. Kill their sentries. Get in and out fast and don't let them trap you into a standing battle. Stay alive and keep harassing them. Got the picture?"

“Those guys must have had a lot of fun.” Sir Rondey noted and Halt gave him a glare. However, it seemed that everyone at the table was immune to Halt’s look, since no one so much as flinched.

Olgak nodded again, now more convinced of the good sense behind the plan. "They'll never know where we're going to hit them next," he said enthusiastically.

"Exactly," Halt said. "Which means they'll have to set guards along the entire column. They'll have to post extra sentries at night. And all of that will slow them down."

"It's like coastal raiding, isn't it?" the young Skandian said, thinking how the wolf ships would appear from over the horizon without warning on an enemy coast and attack unprepared settlements. "Do you only want us to do it at night?" he added.

Halt thought for a minute.

“Good thing he wasn’t an apprentice.”

"For the first couple of days, yes. Then pick a spot where you can withdraw quickly into the trees and uphill-somewhere their horses won't follow easily-and hit them in daylight. Maybe toward the end of the day-or the beginning."

"Keep them guessing?" Olgak said, and Halt patted his arm approvingly.

"You've got the idea," he said, smiling at the younger man. "And remember the golden rule...hit them where they aren't."

Olgak pondered that. "Hit them where they aren't?" he asked finally, sounding uncertain.

“Not exactly the most poetic wording, is it?” Will commented ruefully.

"Attack in those places where their troops are spread thinnest. Make them come to you. Then fade away before they really make contact. Remember that part. It's the most important of all. Survive."

He could see the younger man understood. Olgak repeated the word to himself. "Survive," he said. "I understand."

Halt turned and looked at Erak, raising an eyebrow. "Is there any reason why you should make it an order to Olgak that he's not to get tied down in a fight, Jarl?" he asked. Erak turned the question to the younger man.

"Well, Olgak, is there?" he said, and the troop leader shook his head.

“Sounds like Erak started off with some good people following him.”

"I understand what you have in mind, Ranger," he said. "Trust me. It's a good idea."

"Good man," Halt said quietly, then he turned to face the question he knew was coming from Erak.

"And what will we be doing while Olgak and his men are having all the fun?" the Jarl asked.

Halt rolled his eyes.

"We're going back to Hallasholm to start preparing a reception for our friends down there," Halt told him. "And while we're at it, we might send another half dozen parties out to harass the column the way Olgak will be doing. Everything we can do to slow them down will help us."

Erak shuffled his feet in the snow. He looked, Halt thought, remarkably like a child who has been told he must hand over his favourite toy.

Cassandra, Will, Horace, and Gilan all tried to hide their laughter at the thought of the Skandian Oberjarl looking like a child who’s had their toy confiscated.

"You could do that," he said finally. "Maybe I should stay and give Olgak and his men a hand." But Halt shook his head, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"I need you back with me," he said simply. "I need your authority behind me if I'm going to be able to get things organized."

Erak opened his mouth to reply, but Olgak interrupted.

"The Ranger's right, Jarl," he said. "You'll be more valuable at Hallasholm. And besides, you're getting a little long in the tooth for this sort of work, aren't you?"

Will banged the desk in order to stop himself from laughing, and Cassandra whipped a hand over her mouth. “He does know Erak’s right there, right?”

Erak's eyes widened with anger and he started to say something. Then he noticed that Olgak was grinning broadly and realized that the younger man was joking. He shook his head warningly, glancing at his own broadax.

"One of these days, I might just show you how long in the tooth I am," he said meaningfully. Olgak's grin widened. Halt regarded the two of them for a moment, then, slinging his longbow over his right shoulder, he turned and led the way back to where Abelard was tethered, along with the pony that Erak had reluctantly ridden when they came on this scouting expedition. He gathered Abelard's reins in one hand and turned back to the troop leader.

"I'm sure you'll do a good job, Olgak," he said. Then, glancing sidelong at the still indignant jarl, he added quietly..."You're obviously a very brave young man."

Horace handed the book to Sir Rondey who grimaced as he skim read the page.

Chapter 80: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 21

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 21.

Notes:

Update at the end, sorry for the long wait!

Sir Rodney began reading.

General Haz'kam, commander of the Temujai invasion force, looked up from his meal as his deputy entered the tent. Even though Nit'zak was by no means a tall man, he had to stoop as he came through the low opening. The general gestured to the cushions that were scatted on the felt rug floor and Nit'zak lowered himself to sit on one of them, uttering a sigh of relief. He had been in the saddle the past five hours, checking up and down the length of the Temujai column.

“Aren’t they worried about tracking in dirt and snow?” Maddie asked.

Will proposed, “They probably have some sort of mat they can wipe their feet on before they come fully into the tent. Otherwise, it you would have to clean in their every few days.”

Haz'kam shoved the fragrant bowl of meat stew that he had been eating across to the other man and indicated for him to help himself. Nit'zak nodded his thanks, took a smaller bowl from the rug between them and scooped several handfuls into it, wincing slightly as his hand made contact with the hot food. He selected a large chunk and scooped it into his mouth, chewing heartily and nodding his appreciation.

“Sounds like the Skandians have been keeping them busy.” Horace said with a smirk.

"Good," he said finally. Haz'kam's concubine-the general never brought any of his three wives on campaign with him-was an excellent cook. The general considered that ability of far greater importance during a campaign than any physical beauty. He nodded now, belched softly and pushed his own eating bowl away. The woman moved quickly forward to remove it, then returned to her position against the curved felt wall of the tent.

Maddie frowned but didn’t say anything. Other cultures found it alright to marry to more than one person, but it was generally frowned upon in Araluen for a person to have multiple partners at one time.

"So," the general asked. "What did you find?"

Then something occurred to her, “Did the author translate what they are saying? Since I know for a fact that I don’t speak Temujai.”

The others gave it a thought, and Will reasoned, “If this author is able to see events as they happen, along with our thoughts, it isn’t a far stretch to think he can also translate languages.”

“Maybe he can’t even speak Araluen.”

Nit'zak screwed his face into an expression of distaste-not at the next morsel of food, but at the subject matter he was about to report.

Horace had a large grin on his face and Halt was looking slightly too pleased with himself. It was obvious that they both knew the good news to come.

Well, good news for them, bad news for the Temujai general.

"They hit us again this evening," he replied. "This time in two places. Once at the tail of the column. They stampeded a small herd of horses there. It'll take half the day tomorrow to recover them. Then another group came in from the coastal side and burned half a dozen supply wagons."

Haz'kam looked up in surprise. "From the coast?" he asked, and his deputy nodded confirmation. Up until now, the nuisance raids mounted by the Skandians had been launched from the thickly wooded hills inland from the narrow coastal flatlands. The raiders would dash out, strike an undefended part of the column, then retreat into the cover of the forests and the hills where pursuit would be too risky. This new eventuality complicated things.

Horace snorted, “What did you expect? Their sea raiders, it would only make sense they know how to dock a ship quietly and get out quickly.”

"They seem to have several of their ships at sea," the deputy told him. "They stay out of sight during the day, then steal in after dark and land troops to hit us. Then they retreat to sea once more."

Haz'kam probed with his tongue at a piece of meat wedged between two back teeth. "Where, of course, we can't follow them," he said.

Nit'zak nodded. "It means now that we'll have to cover both sides of the column," he said.

Haz'kam muttered a low curse. "It's slowing us down," he said.

Maddie grinned, “I don’t think these guys are enjoying their holiday as much as they thought they would.”

Each morning, hours were wasted as the massive column formed up in disciplined ranks for the day's march. And, of course, once the march began, the pace was limited by the slowest sections of the column-which were the supply carts and the baggage train. It had been much faster simply moving as one vast mass.

“No longer a quiet stroll.” Her mother agreed.

Nit'zak agreed. "So is the problem of having to screen the camp each night."

Haz'kam took a deep swig of the fermented barley drink that the Temujai favored, then handed the leather drinking skin to Nit'zak.

Maddie wrinkled her nose. Wine was made by fermenting fruits like grape, barley on the other hand, didn’t sound actually appetising.

"It's not what I expected," he said. "They're far more organized than our intelligence had led us to believe."

Nit'zak drank deeply and gratefully. He shrugged. In his experience, intelligence was usually inaccurate at best and dead wrong at worst.

“That’s a pretty large gap.”

"I know," he said. "Everything we'd heard about these people led me to believe that they would simply attack us in a frontal assault, without any overall strategy. I'd half expected that we'd be finished with them by now."

“Bet they didn’t anticipate Araluen’s best tactician coming along for the ride.”

Haz'kam pondered. "Perhaps they're still gathering their main force. I suppose we have no option but to continue as we are. I imagine they'll finally make a stand when we reach their capital. Although now we'll take longer to do that."

Nit'zak hesitated for a moment with the next suggestion. Then he said: "Of course, General, we could simply continue as we were, and accept the losses their raids are causing. They're quite sustainable, you know."

Maddie gaped. They were losing troop on every attack, and yet they were willing to sustain the losses. How has their morale stood so strong if all their men knew they would be sacrificed in a heartbeat?

It was a typically callous Temujai suggestion. If the loss of lives or supplies could be balanced out by greater speed, it might well be worthwhile opting for that course. Haz'kam shook his head. But not through any sense of care for the people under his command.

"If we don't respond, we have no way of knowing that they won't hit us with a major raid," he pointed out. "They could have hundreds of men in those mountains and if they chose to change from pinprick attacks to a major assault, we'd be in big trouble. We're a long way from home, you know."

“Only a few thousand kilometres, it’s nothing.”

Nit'zak nodded his acquiescence. That idea hadn't occurred to him. Still, he demurred slightly.

"That isn't the sort of thing we've been led to believe they're capable of," he pointed out, and Haz'kam's eyes met his and locked onto them.

"Neither is this," he said softly, and when the younger man's eyes dropped from his, he added, "Have the men keep forming into their sixties for each day's march. And I suppose now we'd better put sentries out on the seaward side at night too."

“These guys would be in so much trouble if the Skandians had the ability to sneak attack and kill all the sentries before they suddenly attacked the main column.”

Nit'zak muttered his assent. He hesitated a few seconds, wondering if this were one of those times when his commander wanted to continue to talk and pass the drinking skin back and forth for a few hours. But Haz'kam waved him away with a small hand gesture. Nit'zak thought that the general looked tired.

For a moment, he thought about the years they had spent on campaign together and realized that Haz'kam was no longer a young man. Neither was he, he thought, as the ache in his knees testified. He bowed his head in a perfunctory salute, rose to his feet with another barely suppressed groan and went, crouching, out through the felt hanging that covered the tent doorway.

Halt was uncomfortably reminded of himself and Crowley, however he brushed that thought aside. Not because they were Temujai and were the enemy, but because they were on different sides.

In the distance, he heard men shouting. Looking in the direction from which the noise came, he saw a bright flare of flame against the night sky. He cursed softly. The damned Skandians were raiding again, he thought.

A troop of horsemen clattered by him, heading for the site of the attack. He watched them go, tempted for a moment to join them, but resisting the temptation as he realized that by the time they reached the point of the attack, the enemy would be long gone.

“Nice to know they listened.” Halt said begrudgingly. Sir Rodney passed the book to Halt.

Notes:

Hi guys, sorry for the late update. I got sick around this time last week, and after I got a little better, there was a buys start to the week. To make up for it, I've posted three chapters but sadly, these will be the last chapter for this year.

The series will continue around the end of January next year. So everyone, have a happy break and stay safe. Happy Christmas to all those who celebrate it, and have a Happy New Year. See you in 2024, I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 81: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 22

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 22.

Halt began reading.

The Skandian war council was meeting in the great hall. Will sat to one side, listening as Halt addressed the Skandian leader and his principal advisers. Borsa, Erak and two other senior jarls, Lorak and Ulfak, flanked the Oberjarl as they clustered around the table where Halt had spread an immense map of Skandia. The Ranger tapped a spot on the map with the point of his saxe knife.

“Because wooden pieces are apparently boring.” Gilan muttered.

"As of last night," he said, "the Temujai were here. Maybe sixty kilometres away from Hallasholm. The delaying raids are having exactly the sort of effect we wanted. The advance has gone from thirty kilometres a day to less than twelve."

Baron Arald nodded to himself thoughtfully, not bad at all.

"Shouldn't cavalry move faster than that?" asked Ulfak. Halt perched one leg on the bench beside the table and shook his head.

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t ride horses or has ever needed to organise any large battle.” Halt said grimly.

"They'll move fast enough when they're fighting," he told them. "But right now, they're conserving their horses' strength, letting them feed and move easily. Besides, now that we've reinforced Olgak's men with another half dozen raiding groups, it's taking them half the day to simply form up, then set up camp again in the evening."

He glanced up at Erak as he added: "Your idea of sending a few wolfships to raid their seaward flank was a good one."

The jarl nodded. "It seemed logical," he replied. "It's what we're good at, after all."

“Not to mention taking stuff that doesn’t belong to you.” Cassandra stated dully.

Will grinned at her, “Don’t mention that. They haven’t done that in years.”

Ragnak thumped one massive fist on the pine planks that formed the table.

“That’s how you break a table.” Gilan noted.

"Raids and skirmishes, nuisance attacks! They achieve nothing! It's time we hit them with our main force and settle this once and for all," he declared, and three of his council growled agreement.

Halt rolled his eyes, “This was what the Temujai expected.”

"There'll be plenty of time for that," Halt cautioned. "The most important thing is to engage them in a place that suits us-one that we choose ourselves."

Again, the Oberjarl snarled. He knew he'd agreed to listen to Halt's advice. But these damned invaders had been flaunting themselves in his country now for several weeks. It was an affront to him and to every Skandian and he wanted to wipe the affront out, or die in the attempt. "What's the difference where we fight them?" he said. "A fight is a fight. We win or we lose. But if we do lose, we'll take plenty of them with us!"

Will took a second to consider it, “He’s not wrong. If they got enough of them, along with their supplies, they wouldn’t have enough people to get back to the Eastern Stepps.”

Halt removed his foot from the bench and stood straight, ramming the saxe knife back into its scabbard.

"Oh, don't worry," he said icily. "There's every chance that we'll lose. But let's make sure we take as many of them with us as possible, shall we?" The Skandians, used to bluster and boasting, were taken aback by his cold assessment of their chances for survival-as he had intended them to be.

“He has that effect on people.” Gilan said cheerfully and Will nodded in his in agreement.

"They're cavalry," he continued. "They outnumber us at least four to one. They can outmanoeuvre us, outrun us. And they'll look for the widest possible front to engage us on. That way, all the advantages are with them. They'll flank us, surround us and draw us out if they can." He saw that he had their attention. They weren't happy about the situation, but at least they were prepared to listen.

"How will they do that?" Erak asked. He and Halt had discussed this briefing the day before. Halt wanted certain questions to be asked, and Erak was to ask them if none of the others seemed prepared to do so. The Ranger glanced quickly at Erak, but directed his answer to all of the group.

To Maddie, it sounded like Halt had placed a paid assassinate in the crowd to drive up the bids, but in this case, it was probably a good decision.

"It's a standard tactic of theirs," he said. "They'll attack on a wide front, probing, hitting and retiring. Then they'll appear to become fully engaged at one or two given points. They'll stop their hit-and-run tactics and fight a pitched battle-just the sort of thing that will suit your men," he added, glancing at Ragnak. The Oberjarl nodded.

"Then," Halt continued, "they will begin to lose. Their attack will lose its cohesion and they will try to withdraw."

A few of the people around the table leaned in.

"Good!" said Borsa, and the two other jarls grunted agreement. Ragnak, however, sensed that there was more to come. He didn't comment for the moment, but gestured for Halt to continue. The Ranger obliged.

"They'll give ground. Slowly at first, then faster and faster as panic seems to set in. Somehow they'll never move so fast that your men lose contact with them. Gradually, more and more of your warriors will be drawn out of our line, away from the shield wall, away from our defences. As they pursue the enemy, the Temujai will become more and more desperate. At least, they'll seem to. Then, at the right moment, they'll turn."

"Turn?" said the Oberjarl. "How do you mean?"

“Like…around. In a circle.”

"They'll stop retreating when your men are strung out and in the open-the strongest and fastest well ahead of their comrades. Suddenly, they'll find themselves cut off, surrounded by the Temujai cavalry. And remember, every one of their cavalrymen is an expert archer. They won't bother coming to close quarters. They can pick your men off at their leisure. And the more they kill the leaders, the more enraged those behind will become. They'll stream out to save their friends-or avenge them. They'll be surrounded in turn. And wiped out."

He paused. The five Skandians all looked at him, struck silent. They could imagine the scenario he described. They knew the temper of their men and could see how easily such a stratagem could succeed against them.

Maddie shivered, she was glad that Halt had been able to learn their tactics, otherwise the Skandians would have never stood a chance.

"This is how they fight?" Ragnak asked finally.

"I've seen it, Oberjarl. Time and time again, I've seen it. They aren't concerned with glory in battle. Only efficient killing. They'll challenge our warriors to single combat, then ambush them with ten or twenty warriors at a time. If they can't shoot to kill immediately, they'll shoot to disable. Even your strongest warriors can't continue with ten to fifteen arrow wounds in the legs. Then, when they're helpless, the Temujai will kill them."

The Baron looked on grimly. There was no honour in deception, or archery, or slaughter. The Temujai’s form of war sounded more like a game, where the end was already written.

He swept his gaze around the table. Satisfied that they could all see the danger that faced them, he sat down, straddling the bench. Finally, it was Borsa, the hilfmann, who broke the long silence that had fallen in the room.

"So, where do you want to engage them?" he asked. Halt spread his hands wide in a questioning gesture.

"Why engage them at all?" he asked. "We have time to withdraw before they arrive. We could move into the hills and the forest and keep hitting them as they come farther and farther along the coastal plain here."

Maddie somehow doubted any Skandian would take that option.

"Run away, you mean?" Ragnak asked, his tone angry.

Halt nodded several times. "Yes. Run away. But continue to hit them at twenty or thirty or fifty points along their column. Kill them. Burn their supplies. Harass them. Make their life one long, insufferable misery until they realize that this invasion was a bad idea. Then harass them back to the border until they're gone."

It was a sound strategy, but not one any Skandian would approve of.

He paused. He knew there was little chance of winning this one. But he had to try. It was the best course open to them. His heart sank as Ragnak shook his head. Even Erak's lips were compressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Abandon Hallasholm to them?" asked Ragnak.

Halt shrugged. "If necessary. You can always rebuild."

She looked to Halt and couldn’t help but think it cruel. Leaving your home behind, your entire life. Sure, it could end with less bloodshed, but history was already soaked in death.

But now all the Skandians were shaking their heads and he knew what was behind it.

"Abandon everything in Hallasholm to them?" Ragnak persisted. This time Halt made no answer. He waited for the inevitable.

"Our booty-the results of hundreds of years of raiding-leave that to them?" Ragnak asked.

And that, Halt knew, was the crux of the matter. No Skandian would ever abandon the loot he had stored up over the years-the gold, the armour, the tapestries, the chandeliers, the thousand and one items that they hoarded and kept and gloated over in their storehouses. He caught Will's eye and shrugged slightly. He'd tried. Halt moved to the map once more and indicated the flatlands outside Hallasholm with his knife point.

"Alternatively," he said, "we stop them here, where the coastal plain contracts to its narrowest point."

“A much better suggestion.”

The Skandians craned to look again. They nodded cautious approval, now that Halt had withdrawn the suggestion that they should abandon Hallasholm and its contents to the invaders.

"This way, they can't attack on a wide front. They'll be cramped. And we can conceal men in the trees here-and even in the outbuildings along the shore."

“Do you think a Skandian can climb a tree?” Will asked and Horace shrugged.

“As longs as it’s not called a horse, or moves like one, they’ll be fine.”

Lorak, older of the two jarls, frowned at the suggestion. "Won't that weaken our shield wall?"

Halt shook his head. "Not noticeably. We'll have more than enough men to form a solid defensive position here where the land is narrowest. Then, when the Temujai try their trick of falling back and bringing our men along with them, we'll appear to go along with it."

Erak moved forward to inspect the narrow neck of land that Halt was indicating.

"You mean we'll do as they want?" he asked. Halt pushed out his bottom lip and cocked his head to one side.

"We'll appear to," he admitted. "But once they stop withdrawing to counterattack, we'll bring our ambush forces out of hiding and hit them from behind. If we time it correctly, we could make life very unpleasant for them."

Maddie could picture it and knew Halt’s assumption about it’s affects were correct. The results would be devastating.

The Skandians stood, staring down at the map. Borsa, Lorak and Ulfak had blank looks as they tried to visualize the movement. Erak and Ragnak, Halt was glad to see, were slowly nodding as they understood the idea.

"Our best chance," he continued, "is to force them into the sort of engagement that suits your men best-close quarters, hand to hand, every man for himself. If we can catch them that way, your axmen will take a heavy toll on them. The Temujai rely on speed and movement for protection. They're only lightly armed and armoured. If we had even a small force of archers, it could make an enormous difference," he added. "But I suppose we can't have everything." Halt knew that the bow wasn't a Skandian weapon. It was no use wishing for things that couldn't be. But in his mind's eye, he could see the devastation that an organized party of bowmen could cause. He shrugged, pushing the thought aside.

“Will.” Horace looked to his friend and the Ranger had a grin already plastered all over his face.

“Already on it.”

Erak looked up at the grey-cloaked Ranger. He's small, he thought, but by the gods, he's a warrior to reckon with.

"We have to depend on our men keeping their heads," he said. "Then we have to time it just right when we spring our trap-otherwise the men coming from the forest and the outbuildings will be exposed themselves. It's a risk."

Halt shrugged. "It's war," he replied. "The trick is to know which risks to take."

Baron Arald sighed. He knew this line and had been on the receiving end of it many times.

"And how do you know that?" Borsa asked him, sensing that the small, bearded foreigner had gained the trust and the acceptance of the Oberjarl and his War Council. Halt smiled wolfishly at him.

"You wait till it's over and see who's won," he said. "Then you know those were the right risks to take."

“Thanks Halt, for the wonderful advice.”

Halt handed the book to Will wo took it eagerly.

Chapter 82: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 23

Summary:

Will reads chapter 23.

Will turned the page and began reading.

"Halt," Will said thoughtfully as he walked away from the council with Halt and Erak. "What did you mean when you said that about archers?"

Halt looked sideways at his apprentice and sighed. "It could make a big difference to the outcome," he said. "The Temujai are archers themselves. But they rarely have to face an enemy with any particular skill with the bow."

Gilan snorted, “No wonder they were caught so unaware by Halt.”

Will nodded. The longbow was traditionally an Araluen weapon. Perhaps because of the island kingdom's isolation from the countries on the eastern landmass, it had remained peculiar to Araluen. Other nationalities might use bows for hunting or even sport. But only in the armies of the Araluens would you find the massed groups of archers that could provide a devastating rain of arrows on an attacking force.

“Obviously the Temujai had a similar idea.”

"They understand the value of the bow as a strategic weapon," he said. "But they've never had to cope with facing it themselves. I got some inkling of that when Erak and I were running from them near the border. Once I'd put a few arrows close to them, they were decidedly reluctant to come dashing around any blind corners."

The jarl laughed quietly at the memory. "That's true enough," he agreed. "Once you'd emptied a few saddles, they slowed down remarkably."

"You know, I've been thinking:," said the boy, and hesitated. Halt grinned quietly to himself.

"Always a dangerous pastime," he said gently.

Will rolled his eyes, it seemed that somethings really didn’t change.

But Will continued. "Maybe we should try to put together a force of archers. Even a hundred or so could make a difference, couldn't they?"

Halt shook his head. "We haven't the time, Will," he replied. "They'll be on us within two weeks. You can't train archers in that short a time. After all, the Skandians have no skill with the bow to begin with. You'd have to teach them the very basics-nocking, drawing, releasing. That takes weeks, as you know."

"There are plenty of slaves here," Will persisted. "Some of them would know the basics. Then all we'd have to do is control their range."

Maddie had a vague recollection of something important happening, a faint memory of an event she heard about once. Quickly, it came to her, and she grinned in anticipation.

Halt looked at his apprentice again. The boy was deadly serious, he could see. A small frown creased Will's forehead as he thought through the problem.

"And how would you do that?" the Ranger asked. The frown deepened for a few seconds as Will gathered his thoughts.

"It was something Evanlyn asked me that suggested it," he said. "She was watching me shoot and she was asking how I knew how much elevation to give to a particular shot and I told her it was just experience. Then I thought maybe I could show her and I was thinking, if you created-say-four basic positions:"

Maddie listened along intently and everyone else also leaned in. Gilan, Baron Arald and Sir Rodney in particularly seemed particularly interested.

He stopped walking and raised his left arm as if it were holding a bow, then moved it through four positions-beginning horizontally and ultimately raising it to a maximum forty-five degree angle. "One, two, three, four, like that," he continued. "You could drill a group of archers to assume those positions while someone else judged the range and told them which one to go to. They wouldn't need to be very good shots as long as the person controlling them could judge range," he finished.

"And deflection," Halt said thoughtfully. "If you knew that at the second position your shafts would travel, say, two hundred meters, you could time your release so that the approaching enemy would reach that spot just as the arrow storm did."

Will grinned, remembering the moment vividly. It had been one of his best ideas and he was glad it helped in the battle.

"Well, yes," Will admitted. "I hadn't taken it that far. I was just thinking of setting the range and having everyone release at the same time. They needn't aim for individual targets. They could just fire away into the mass."

"You'd need to anticipate," Halt said.

"Yes. But essentially, it would be the same as if I were firing one arrow myself. It's just that, as I released, I could call a hundred others to do the same."

It was a good idea, and Maddie was impressed that her mentor had come up with it when he was only seventeen. You’d think the big shoes she had to fill would be her mother and being queen, but every now and then, she was reminded that it would also be Will’s legacy that she had to live up to.

Halt rubbed his beard. He glanced at the Skandian. "What do you think, Erak?"

The jarl merely shrugged his massive shoulders. "I haven't understood a word you've been saying," he admitted cheerfully. "Range, defraction:"

"Deflection," Will corrected him, and Erak shrugged.

"Whatever. It's all a puzzle to me. But if the boy thinks it might be possible, well, I'd tend to think he might be right."

“Even when he has no idea bout a situation, Erak knows a good idea when he hears one.”

Will grinned at the big war leader. Erak liked to keep things simple. If he didn't understand a subject, he didn't waste energy wondering about it.

"I tend to think the same way," Halt said quietly, and Will looked at him in surprise. He'd been waiting for his mentor to point out the fundamental flaw in his logic. Now he saw that Halt was considering his proposal seriously. Then he noticed the look of exasperation that grew on Halt's face as he found the flaw.

"Bows," the Ranger said, disappointment in his voice. "Where would we find a hundred bows in time to let people train with them? There probably aren't twenty in all of Skandia."

Maddie’s hope began to deflate. The only reason she didn’t give up immediately was because she knew that this story had some sort of happy ending.

Will's heart sank. Of course. There was the problem. It took weeks to shape and craft a single longbow, trimming the bowstave just so, providing just the right amount of graduated flex along both arms. It was a craftsman's job and there was no way they would have time to make the hundred bows they would need. Disconsolately, he kicked at a rock in his path, then wished he hadn't. He'd forgotten that he was wearing soft-toed boots.

Will winced at the memory. “I’d forgotten about that part” He admitted.

"I could let you have a hundred," Erak said in the depressed silence that followed Halt's statement. Both the others turned to look at him.

"Where would you find a hundred longbows?" Halt asked him. Erak shrugged.

“He stole them. Didn’t he?” Maddie sighed, as her father nodded in conformation. It was no surprise.

"I captured a two-masted cob off the Araluen coast three seasons ago," he told them. He didn't have to explain that when a Skandian said season he meant the raiding season. "She had a hold full of bows. I kept them in my storeroom until I could find a use for them. I was going to use them as fence palings," he continued. "But they seemed a little too flexible for the job."

"Bows tend to be that way," Halt said slowly, and when Erak looked at him, uncomprehending, he added. "More flexible than fence palings. It's one of the qualities we look for in a bow."

Gilan his hid his laughter as Maddie rolled his eyes with a smile.

"Well, I suppose you'd know," Erak said casually. "Anyway, I've still got them. There must be thousands of arrow shafts as well. I thought they'd come in handy one day."

Halt reached up and laid a hand on the massive shoulder. "And how right you were," he said. "Thank the gods for the Skandian habit of hoarding everything."

Horace snorted, “What else would they do with it?”

"Well, of course we hoard," Erak explained. "We risk our lives to take the stuff in the first place. There's no sense in throwing it away. Anyway, do you want to see if you could use them?"

"Lead on, Jarl Erak," Halt said, shaking his head in wonder and lifting an eyebrow at Will.

Erak set out toward the large, barnlike storehouse by the docks where he kept the bulk of his plunder.

"Excellent," he said happily, rubbing his hands together. "If you decide to use them, I'll be able to charge Ragnak."

Maddie immediately frowned. She knew for a fact that Ranger’s could do many things for free because they served the monarch. Shouldn’t a time of war also call for the same? Especially for a major war leader like Erak?

"But this is war," Will protested. "Surely you can't charge Ragnak for doing something that will help defend Hallasholm?"

Erak turned his delighted smile on the young Ranger. "To a Skandian, my boy, all war is business."

Will shook his head in exasperation, “I wonder if he ever got his money from those bows.”

Chapter 83: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 24

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 24.

If this sounds familiar it's because I accidentally named last chapter 24 instead of 23, it only took a few months for me to notice. Anyway just an update I'm so sorry I haven't had time to do any more chapters. This year hit me head on :( , but I promise to at least finish book 4. The updates from now on will be largely sporadic, but I will finish it. Thank you for those who left kudos, I appreciate the gesture.

Just before they continued on with the next chapter, a knock sounded at the door. A few hands shot to their weapons, but Halt waved them down.

“I asked for someone to knock on the door when the sun went down, since I knew once the story got going, not one would be paying attention.”

Everyone quickly relaxed, but Maddie sulked, realising that she and Will had to go back to the cabin for the night. It had been a long couple of days of constant reading, and now they were finally getting to the climactic battle!

“Maddie and I will have to go back on duty soon, and Gilan, Evanlyn, and Horace should also get back to Araluen.” Will said reluctantly, and Maddie whirled around in her seat to face him.

"What about the end!” She cried, panicked at the thought of not finishing the story.

Will made a placating gesture, “We’ll finish Oakleaf Bearers, but the other books may have to wait for another day.”

Maddie huffed but nodded. She knew that most people in the room had a duty to the people, and right now sitting around, reading about an old adventure wasn’t helping them one bit.

The two quickly said their goodbyes before leaving, and they spent the journey in a comfortable silence back down to the cabin. Maddie thoughts quickly wondered to the battle to come, but she shook her head.

Everything that had happened in those books happened over a decade ago, and there was no point worrying about them now. But even so, Maddie couldn’t help but wonder how the battle would turn out.

As she drifted off to bed, it did cross her mind to ask Will about what happened, but he didn’t seem in the talking mood. He had been quiet – well, quieter – since they had got back from the castle, so she didn’t think it was a good subject to bring up.

It seemed she would just have to wait for tomorrow. Which apparently couldn’t arrive soon enough.

But thankfully within no time they were back at Halt and Pauline’s room. Maddie took the initiative. She grabbed the book, skim read the first few pages, before handing it over to her mother.  Cassandra gave her a look but didn’t disagree. Once everyone was comfortable, she began reading.

Evanlyn had been waiting for Halt and Will to leave Ragnak's War Council. As the two grey-cloaked figures, in company with the burly Jarl Erak, emerged from the Great Hall and walked across the open ground that fronted it, she started forward to intercept them. Then she stopped, uncertain how to proceed. She had been hoping that Will might come out by himself. She didn't want to approach him in front of Erak and Halt.

Cassandra winced, and deliberately didn’t look up from the book. She didn’t want to see the confusion, or even worse, understanding, from Will.

Evanlyn was bored and miserable. Worse, she was feeling useless. There was nothing specific she could do to contribute to the defence of Hallasholm, nothing to keep her mind occupied. Will had obviously become part of the inner circle of the Skandian leadership, and even when he wasn't in meetings with Halt and Erak, he was off practicing with his bow. It sometimes seemed that he used his practice sessions to avoid her. She felt a little flare of anger as she recalled his reaction when she asked him to teach her to shoot. He'd laughed at her!

Will winced, “Yeah, sorry about that. Like I said, without your suggestion, I probably wouldn’t have come up with the idea of the archer positions in the first place.”

Cassadra waved the comment aside. Will hadn’t been the only person acting rashly in Skandia.

Horace was no better. Initially, he'd been happy to keep her company. But then, seeing Will constantly practicing, he'd felt guilty and began spending time on the practice field himself, honing his own skills with a small group of Skandian warriors.

It was all Will's fault, she thought.

“Sorry.”

Now, as she watched him talking with his old teacher, and saw the two of them stop as Will made a point, she realized with a sense of sadness that there was a part of Will's life from which she would always be excluded. Young as he was, he was already a part of the mysterious, close-knit Ranger clan. And Rangers, she had been told since she was a small child, kept themselves to themselves.

Maddie looked to her mother, and she realised now that Cassandra must have felt much the same way when her own daughter picked the life of a Ranger. Obviously, she was a bit older now, and a bit wiser, but the feeling probably didn’t sting any less.

Even her father the King had been frustrated from time to time by the closemouthed nature of the Ranger Corps. As the realization hit home, she turned sadly away, leaving the two Rangers, master, and apprentice, to their discussion with the Skandian jarl.

Morosely, she kicked at a stone on the ground in front of her. If only there were something for her to do!

“I would advise not getting lost.” Gilan suggested, but his voice was gentle. He knew Cassandra’s attitude towards the Ranger was well earned. They were a well-known group for their secrecy, and tightly knit. After her best friend, mentor and daughter being involved, it would make sense she would feel some spite.

She stood uncertainly, undecided about where to go next. She turned abruptly to see if Will and Halt were still where she'd last seen them. They had moved on, but her sudden turn brought her into unexpected eye contact with a familiar, though unwelcome, figure.

Maddie held her breath.

Slagor, the thin-lipped, shifty-eyed wolfship captain whom she had first seen on the rocky, windswept island of Skorghijl, had just emerged from one of the smaller buildings that flanked Ragnak's Great Hall. He stood now, staring after her. There was something in his look that made her uncomfortable. Something knowing, something that boded ill for her.

She scowled, Slagor was probably one of the only Skandians that Maddie disliked the most. He reminded her of the scheming politicians or diplomats that sometimes came from other kingdoms. Only this one wanted her mother dead.

Then, as he realized she had seen him, he turned away, walking quickly into the dark-shadowed alleyway between the two buildings. She frowned to herself. There had been something suspicious about the Skandian's manner, she thought. Half because she wanted to know more, and half because she was bored, with nothing constructive to do, she set out after him.

Horace glanced at his wife, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Cassandra just grimaced in response.

There had been something in the way he looked at her that told her it might be better if he didn't know she was following him. She moved to the end of the alley and peered cautiously around, just catching sight of him as he turned right at the rear of the building. She paralleled his path, moving cautiously to the next alley, pausing, then peering around again.

Halt listened on, conscience of previous assessment. Cassandra would have made an extremely good Ranger, and this just seemed to prove it. She had the instinct, and the determination.

Once more, she caught a quick glimpse of Slagor and she guessed from his general direction that he was heading for the quays, where the wolfships docked. Realizing that her own actions might appear highly suspicious, she glanced quickly around to see if anyone might be watching her. Apparently not, she decided. Still, she crossed back to the far side of the street before following in the pursuit of the wolfship skirl.

“Not bad for someone with no Ranger training under their belt.” Maddie grinned at her mother, who gave a small smile in response.

As she slid unobtrusively from building to building, she saw him several more times, confirming her first impression that he was heading for the docks. That was logical. Presumably his ship was among the fleet moored there. Probably Slagor had some ship's business to attend to, she thought. The suspicious manner that she had noticed was probably nothing more than his normal shifty-eyed demeanour.

Maddie had no doubt about her mother’s instinct. The raiding season was over, and their country was about to get invaded. Somehow she doubted Slagor was doing anything innocent. She looked around and noticed that Will, Horace, Halt, and somewhat Gilan were paying close attention to her mother’s movements.

Then she cast the doubts aside. There had been something else...something knowing. Something calculating.

Evanlyn was, naturally, constantly aware of her precarious position here in Hallasholm. Ragnak might have no interest in punishing a recaptured slave. But if her real identity were to become known, his reaction was a foregone conclusion. He had vowed to kill any member of the Araluen royal family. Now it seemed important to her to find out what had been behind Slagor's look. She quickened her pace and hurried down one of the narrow connecting alleys, emerging in the broad waterfront thoroughfare that Slagor had taken.

“Not exactly subtle.” Gilan mocked.

He was twenty meters ahead of her as she peered cautiously around the end of the building. His back was turned and she realized that he had no idea that she had been following him. To the left, the masts of the moored wolfships formed a forest of bare poles, bobbing and swaying with the movement of the water. On the right of the street were a series of waterfront taverns. It was toward one of these that Slagor was hurrying now, she realized.

Some instinct made her ease into a doorway as the skirl reached the tavern entrance. It was as well she did, for he turned and looked back the way he had come, apparently checking to see if anyone had followed him. She frowned to herself as she shrank into the shadows of the doorway. Why should Slagor be nervous, here in the middle of Hallasholm? Certainly he was one of the less popular wolfship captains, but it was unlikely that anyone would actually do him harm.

How did he even manage to stay alive this long? Maddie wondered. He wasn’t even sneaky!

There was obviously something going on, she thought, and she determined to get to the bottom of it. Close by, moored to one of the timber quays, she saw Slagor's ship, Wolf Fang. She recognized it by the distinctive carved figurehead. No two wolfships had the same figurehead and she remembered this one all too well from the day when Wolf Fang had come limping into the anchorage at Skorghijl. With it had come the news of Ragnak's Vallasvow against her father and herself, so she had good reason to remember the grotesquely carved icon.

“I wonder what happened to the ship.” Horace asked, and Will snorted.

“Erak probably gave it to another captain, or it’s long destroyed, striped down to make different ships.”

For a moment, she hesitated in the doorway. Then, the door behind her opened and two Skandian women emerged, shopping baskets in hand. They stared at the stranger on their doorstep and she hurriedly apologized and moved away. Behind her, she heard the angry comments of the women as they headed for the market square.

“They probably thought I was a slave.” Cassandra said, putting the book down for a second. “In hindsight there isn’t another easy explanation as to why I looked foreign.”

She was too obvious here, she realized. Any moment, Slagor might emerge from the tavern and see her. She glanced uncertainly at the ship, then came to a decision and, moving at a half run, she made her way down the waterfront to the quay where Wolf Fang was moored. It was reasonable to assume that Slagor might come here eventually, and then she might get an inkling of what he was up to.

There was an anchor watch aboard, of course. But it was just one man and he was at the stern, leaning on the bulwark and staring at the harbor and the sea beyond. Crouching below the level of the high prow, she approached the ship and vaulted lightly over the railing, her soft-shod feet making virtually no sound as she landed on the planks of the deck.

Gilan nudged Halt, whispering loudly, “I blame you for not convincing Crowley that Cassandra could have been a Ranger.”

Halt just gazed at Gilan, “Who came up with the idea that Maddie should be Will’s apprentice?”

Will rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

She dropped immediately into the rowing well, set below the main deck, where the rowing crew would normally sit to wield their heavy, white oak oars. The area was deserted at the moment, and she was concealed from the sight of the solitary guard at the stern. But it was only a temporary hiding place and she looked now for a better one.

Right at the prow of the ship was a small triangular space, screened by a canvas flap. It was large enough to accommodate her if she crouched, and she moved quickly into it now, letting the canvas screen fall back into place behind her. She found herself sitting on coils of stiff, coarse rope, and something hard jabbed into her side. Shifting to a better position, she realized that it had been the fluke of the anchor, and the coils of heavy rope were the anchor cable.

Horace wrinkled his nose, “I bet that smells of rotten seaweed.”

With the ship moored alongside the quay, they weren't in use. This would be as good a hiding place as any, she thought. Then she wondered if she might not be wasting her time here. Odds were that Slagor had simply come this way to visit the tavern and that after he'd drunk his fill of the harsh spirits the Skandians favoured, he'd probably head on back to his lodge.

She shrugged morosely. She had nothing better to do with her time. She might as well give it an hour or so and see if anything transpired. What that anything might be, she really had no idea. She'd followed Slagor on an impulse. Now, following the same impulse, she was crouched here, waiting to see what she might overhear if and when he came aboard.

“What happens if they actually need the anchor?” Maddie askes. No one replied.

It was warm in the confines of the forepeak and, once she'd moved a few of the coils, the rope made a relatively comfortable resting place. She wriggled herself into a better position and rested her chin on her elbows, peering through a small gap in the canvas to see if anything was happening outside. She felt the footsteps of the sentry as he crossed to the landward side of the ship, giving up his scrutiny of the harbor, and heard him call to someone on the shore.

There was an answering voice but the words were too muffled for her to make out. Probably just a casual greeting to a passing friend, she reasoned. She yawned. The warmth was making her drowsy. She hadn't slept well the night before, thinking about Will and how their friendship seemed to be eroding with every passing day. She tried to dislike Halt, blaming him for the sudden estrangement between them. But she couldn't.

Will snorted, and Cassandra ducked down in embarrassment. Gilan snickered and Horace looked over at his wife with a raised eyebrow.

She liked the small, roughly bearded Ranger. There was a dry sense of humour about him that appealed to her. And after all, he had rescued her from the Temujai reconnaissance party. She sighed. It wasn't Halt's fault. Nor Will's. It was just the way things were, she guessed. Rangers were different to other people. Even princesses.

Especially princesses.

“Sounds like I got the best of both worlds.” Maddie remarked drily.

She woke suddenly, thinking she was falling. She hadn't realized that she'd drifted off to sleep, lying here on the coils of rope. But she knew what had woken her. The deck beneath her had dropped suddenly as Wolf Fang heaved herself into a short head sea. Now she could hear the creak and thump of the oars in their rowlocks and she realized, with a terrible sinking feeling, that Wolf Fang had put to sea and she was trapped on board.

“That, it not good.” Maddie said, unhelpfully. Cassandra passed the book to Gilan who took it, glancing at the small section of the book they had left. They were almost done.

Chapter 84: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 25

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 25.

Notes:

Hi Guys! I'm back. Sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Gilan re-opened the book and continued to read.

Between them, Halt and Will had found a hundred slaves who claimed to have some level of skill with the bow. Finding them had been one matter. Convincing them that they should volunteer to help defend Hallasholm was something else.

“A slave will almost always want freedom.” Maddie commented. Cassandra gave her a small nod.

“Your right, the hard part wasn’t thinking of what we could offer the slaves, it was trying to convince Ragnak.”

As a burly Teutlander forester, who seemed to have assumed the role of spokesman for them, told the two Rangers, "Why should we help the Skandians? They've done nothing except enslave us, beat us and give us too little food to eat."

Horace grimaced, “That to. Some of those slaves had been there for over ten years and most held no love for the Skandians.”

Halt eyed the man's ample girth speculatively. If some of the slaves were underfed, this one could hardly claim to be one of them, he thought. Still, he decided to let that matter pass.

Maddie frowned. She knew that logically some slaves had higher ‘rank’ than others, but often that meant they had power which they used to abuse the other slaves. Just like the ones who were overseeing the yard slaves Will had met and quickly clashed with.

The power the other slaves wielded were really just an illusion, but some quickly forgot their place and let it get to their head.

"You might find it more agreeable to be a slave of the Skandians than to fall into the hands of the Temujai," he told them bluntly.

Another of the assembled men spoke up. This one was a southern Gallican and his outlandish accent made his words almost indecipherable. Will finally pieced the sounds together in sufficient order to know that the man had asked. "What do the Temujai do with their slaves?"

Halt turned a steely gaze on the Gall. "They don't keep slaves," he said evenly, and a buzz of expectation ran through the assembled men. The big Teutlander stepped forward again, grinning.

"Then why would you expect us to fight against them?" he asked. "If they beat the Skandians, they'll set us free."

A few people around the table winced, and Maddie quickly understood. The Temujai didn’t keep slaves, but from what she had heard about them, there was no way they would just let all those people.

There was a loud mumble of consent among the others behind him. Halt held up a hand and waited patiently. Eventually, the hubbub died away and the slaves looked at him expectantly, wondering what further inducement he could offer them-what he would consider to be more attractive to them than the prospect of freedom.

"I said," he intoned clearly, so that everyone could hear him, "they don't keep slaves. I didn't say they set them free." He paused, then added, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "Although the religious ones among you may consider death to be the ultimate freedom."

Gilan snorted, “Nice one Halt.”

This time, the commotion among the slaves was even louder. Finally, the self-appointed spokesman stepped forward again and asked, with a little less assertion, "What do you mean, Araluen? Death?"

“That is what he said.” Will muttered.

Halt made a careless gesture. "The usual, I suppose...the sudden cessation of life. The end of it all. Departure for a happier place. Or oblivion, depending upon your personal beliefs."

Again a buzz ran through the crowd. The Teutlander studied Halt closely, trying to see some indication that the Ranger was bluffing.

“Halt rarely bluffs. If he speaks to you, you listen.” A few people nodded around the table, Maddie included.

"But:" He hesitated, not sure whether to ask the next question, not sure that he wanted to know the answer. Then, urged by his companions, he went on. "Why should these Temujai want to kill us? We've done nothing to them."

“Exactly, if aren’t anything to them alive, you aren’t anything to them dead.”

"The truth of the matter is," Halt told them all, "you mean nothing to them either. The Temujai consider themselves a superior race. They'd kill you out of hand because you can do nothing for them-but left behind their backs, you could constitute a threat."

A nervous silence settled over the crowd now. Halt let them digest what he had said, then he spoke again.

Hopefully they listen to him this time, Maddie thought grumpily.

"Believe me, I've seen what these people are like." He looked into the faces of the crowd. "I can see there are some Araluens among you. I'll give you my word as a Ranger that I'm not bluffing. Your best chance of survival is to fight with the Skandians against these Temujai. I'll leave you for half an hour to consider what I've said. You Araluens might tell the others what a Ranger's word means," he added. Then, beckoning for Will to follow, he turned on his heel and walked some distance away, out of earshot.

“You were offering the word of the Ranger after being kicked out of the corps?” Will asked, curious. He had been learning a lot more about what Halt had been up thanks to these books.

Halt was about to reply but Gilan cut in, “Banished or un-banished, Halt’s word as a Ranger should not be questioned.”

The retired Ranger gave a nod to his ex-apprentice in thanks, “I wasn’t going around adding my word as a Ranger to all my statements, but I think we needed them to trust us in this case.”

Will nodded, honestly he didn’t think his ex-mentor would do that and he completely agreed with Gilan.

"We're going to have to offer them more," he said when the others couldn't hear him. "Reluctant recruits will be almost useless to us. A man's got to have something worth fighting for if he's going to do his best. And that's what we're going to need from this bunch-their best effort."

"So what are you going to do?" Will asked, almost jogging to keep pace with his teacher's urgent stride.

Will sighed, “Still hadn’t had that growth spurt yet.” He was basically the same height as Halt now, maybe even a little taller. The lack of proper food during his time in Skandia certainly had not helped matters.

"We're going to see Ragnak," Halt told him. "He's going to have to promise to free every slave who fights for Hallasholm."

Will shook his head doubtfully. "He won't like that," he said. Halt turned and looked at him, a faint grin touching the corner of his mouth.

"He'll hate it," he agreed.

“And it will mean both Will and Cassandra will no longer be escaped slaves, since they both fought the Temujai on behalf on Skandia.” Horace pointed out.

"Freedom?" Ragnak exploded. "Give them their freedom? A hundred slaves?"

Halt shrugged disdainfully. "Probably closer to three hundred," he replied. "A lot of them will have women and children they'll want to take with them."

A few people hid their smiles. It was obvious Halt held no love for the past Oberjarl, nor his policy on slavery.

The Oberjarl gave an enormous snort of incredulous laughter. "Are you mad?" he asked the Ranger.

Will pretended to think about it, and got an elbow in the ribs and a kick from under the table in response.

"If I give three hundred slaves their freedom, we'll have virtually no slaves left. What will I do then?"

“No longer be slavers I guess, what a pity.” Gilan said, completely deadpan, and Maddie had to smother her giggles.

"If you don't, you may find you have no country left," Halt replied. "As to what you would do next, you could try paying them. Make them servants instead of slaves."

"Pay them? To do the work they're doing now?" Ragnak spluttered indignantly.

"Why not? The gods know you can afford it well enough. And you might find they do a better job if they've got something more than a beating to look forward to at the end of the day."

“And it means they’ll be more people with money who can help grow their economy.” Maddie mused out loud. From what she had heard, Hallasholm had a reasonably small population and could do with some extra paid labour to help stimulate their economy. It would mean they wouldn’t have to reply so heavily on raids to pay the members of their crew.

"To hell with them!" Ragnak said. "And to hell with you, Ranger. I agreed to listen to you, but this is ridiculous. You'll turn me into a beggar if I let you have your way. First you want me to abandon Hallasholm to this rabble of horsemen. Now you want me to send all my slaves off back to where they came from. To hell with you, I say."

He glared at the Ranger for a few seconds, then, with a contemptuous wave of his hand, he turned away, refusing even to make eye contact.

Lady Pauline sighed. Just like a spoiled child who was told to give their favourite toy back, she mused.

Halt waited a few seconds, then spoke to Erak, who was standing by his Oberjarl, an uncomfortable look on his face.

"I'm telling you, we need these men," he said forcefully. "Even with them, we can still lose. But with them fighting willingly for us, we'll have a chance." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the Oberjarl. "Tell him," he said finally, then turned on his heel and left the council room, Will hurrying behind him as he went.

Gilan snorted, “No wonder Erak was picked to be Oberjarl, he was obviously the most sensible one.”

As they left the hall, Halt said, almost to himself, but loud enough for Will to hear, "I wonder if it occurs to them that if the slaves agree unwillingly to fight for them, and if, by some mad mischance, we do win, there's nothing to stop the slaves from turning their weapons on the Skandians."

Maddie grimaced. They didn’t need even more bloodshed.

That thought had occurred to Will. He nodded agreement. "That's why," Halt continued, "we've got to give them something worth fighting for."

They waited at the training field for over an hour. The slaves had come to a decision, agreeing to fight against the Temujai. However, a few shifty eyes among the group told Halt and Will that, once the battle was over, the newly armed men were not going to return meekly into slavery.

Maddie shook her head sadly. She knew that for some of the slaves, death would be better than the life they currently lived, but it still saddened her to know that those live would be wasted nonetheless.

There was a buzz of expectation as Erak arrived. He walked up to Halt and Will, who were standing a little apart from the archers.

"Ragnak agrees," he said quietly. "If they fight, he'll free them."

A wave of relief washed over Maddie. She hadn’t been sure, but it was good to know that not only were they stopping the Temujai, but they were also helping to free hundreds of slaves in the process.

Halt nodded his head gratefully. He knew where the real impetus for Ragnak's decision had come from.

"Thank you," he said simply to Erak. The Skandian shrugged and Halt turned to Will. "They'll be your men. They need to get used to taking orders from you. You tell them."

Will hesitated, surprised. He had assumed that Halt would do the talking.

“It was your idea; those were your men.” Halt said quietly. He was proud that Will had taken up to leading so well.

Then, at an encouraging nod from his master, he stepped forward, raising his voice.

"Men!" he called, and the low murmur of conversation among the group died instantly. He waited a second or two to make sure he had their full attention, then continued.

"Ragnak has decided. If you fight for Skandia, he'll set you free."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Some of these men had been slaves for ten years or more. Now, here was this slightly built youth telling them that the end to their suffering was in sight. Then a mighty roar of triumph and jubilation swept through them, at first wordless and inchoate, but rapidly settling into a rhythmic chant of one word from one hundred throats:

"Free-dom! Free-dom! Free-dom!"

There were smiles all around the table and hope for the battle to come.

Will let them celebrate for a while longer. Then he climbed onto a tree stump where he could be seen by all of them and waved his arms for silence. Gradually, the chant died away and they crowded closer around him, eager to hear what else he had to tell them.

"That's all very well," he said when they had quieted down. "But first, there's the small matter of beating the Temujai. Let's get to work."

Halt and Erak watched as Will supervised the issuing of arrows to the men. Unconsciously, both men nodded their approval of the boy.

Horace snorted and Will turned slightly pink but was smiling anyway. Maddie just grinned at her mentor’s embarrassment.

Then Erak turned to Halt.

"I nearly forgot, Ragnak had a further message for you. He said if we lose this battle and he loses his slaves as well, he's going to kill you for it," he said cheerfully.

Gilan frowned, “If they lose the battle, I guarantee there will be more pressing matters at hand.”

Halt smiled grimly. "If we lose this battle, he may have to get in line to do it. There'll be a few thousand Temujai cavalrymen in front of him."

Notes:

Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos. They mean a lot :)

Chapter 85: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 26

Summary:

Will reads chapter 26

Notes:

Is this another chapter! Already?! The world must be ending...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh......!

Gilan passed the book onto Will. He took it with little hesitation now that his time drugged wasn’t being discussed. He was also curious how the author was going to describe the battle to come.

Will called the last group of ten men forward to the firing line. The preceding group moved to the rear of the waiting ranks and sat down to watch. He was working the men in small groups at this stage. That gave him a manageable group to work with as he tested their ability to follow his orders and shoot at a predetermined elevation.

Gilan nodded along. He had some experience trying to train archers and doing it in a large group – especially at the beginning – was a nightmare.

"Ready!" he called. Each man took an arrow from the bin in front of him and nocked it to the string. They stood ready, their heads turned toward him, waiting for his next order.

"Remember," he said, "don't try to judge the shot yourself. Just go to the position I call, make a full draw and a smooth release when I call it."

Halt hid his smile. He hadn’t been around to see Will do majority of the archer’s training, but he could see that his decision to let Will lead them was a good one.

The men nodded. Initially, they hadn't liked the idea of having their shooting controlled by someone as young as Will. Then, after Halt had encouraged his apprentice to give a demonstration of high-speed pinpoint shooting, they had reluctantly agreed to the system Will had devised.

“Rangers are sometimes used to help train conscripted archers, of course they would know the best system.” Maddie muttered and Will smiled at his apprentice’s attempts to defend his past self.

Will took a deep breath, then called firmly: "Position three! Draw!"

Ten arms holding bows rose to a position approximately forty degrees from the horizontal. Will quickly glanced down the line to see that each man had remembered the correct position. He'd been drilling the four different elevations into them all day. Satisfied, and before the strain of holding the bows at full draw became too great, he called:

"Shoot!"

“How heavy are the bows?” Maddie asked, and Will frowned.

“I don’t know. I think they were around 30 or 40 pounds? They could make it to 100m, but they weren’t as heavy as your bow at the moment.

Almost as one, there was a rapid slither of released bowstrings and a concerted hiss of arrows arcing through the air.

Will watched the small flight of shafts as they arced upward, then nosed over and plunged down to bury themselves up to half their length in the turf. Again he called to the waiting line of men: "Position three, ready!"

As before, the ten men nocked arrows to the strings, waiting for Will's next call.

"Draw…shoot!"

Maddie grinned. It sounded like a slower version of the exercises Will had made her practise over and over again in the clearing.

Again there was the slithering slap of released bowstrings hitting the archers' arm guards, and the sound of the wooden shafts scraping past the bows as they were hurled into the air. This time, as the arrows came down, Will changed his command.

"Position two…ready!"

The line of left arms holding the bows extended and tilted up to a thirty-degree angle.

"Draw…shoot!"

And another ten-shaft volley was on its way. Will nodded to the ten men, who were watching him expectantly.

"All right," he said. "Let's see how you did."

Gilan applauded, and Will flushed.

He began to pace across the open field, followed by the ten men who had just shot. There were markers set out down the middle of the field, marking 100, 150 and 200 meter distances. Position three, with the bow arm elevated forty degrees from the horizontal, should have equated to the 150 meter marker.

As they approached that marker, Will nodded with satisfaction. There were sixteen arrows slanting up from the turf within a ten-meter tolerance of the mark. Two had gone long, he noticed, and two more had dropped short. He studied the long shots. The shafts were numbered so that he could assess how each member of the shooting line had performed. He saw now that the two overshoots belonged to two different archers.

Two people overshot, Maddie thought absently. Which was to be expected. These people had been slaves for who knows how long, and Will had only called for those who knew the basics of archery.

Moving back to the arrows that had undershot the target, he frowned slightly. The arrows were both marked with the same number. That meant the same archer had dropped his shot short of the mark both times. Will took note of the number, then moved back to view the results of the final volley.

The frown deepened as he saw that nine arrows were well grouped, with one falling short by the same margin. He didn't really need to check, but a quick glance showed him that, once again, the same archer had undershot the distance.

He grunted thoughtfully.

"All right!" he called. "Recover your arrows." Then he led the way back to the firing point, the ten men following behind him.

"Who was at number four position?" he asked.

One of the archers stepped forward, hesitantly holding up a hand and looking like a nervous pupil in school. He was a heavyset bearded man of about forty, Will noticed, yet his demeanour showed that he was totally in awe of the young Ranger facing him.

Horace hid behind his hand to cover his laughter, and Will glared at him. “Do I have to remind you about the knights that you complained about in your letters once we got back from Skandia, asking for your advice?”

"That was me, your honor," he said. Will beckoned him closer.

Gilan snickered, “Tell me, your honour, how are you so good with a bow?” He pleaded, looking at Will.

Will just levelled him a look before rolling his eyes.

"Bring your bow and two or three arrows," he said. The man picked up his bow, and selected two arrows from the bin that stood by his firing position. He was nervous at being singled out and promptly dropped the arrows, scrabbling awkwardly to retrieve them.

"Relax," Will told him. "I just want to check your technique."

“Trust me, you would rather it be Will than Halt.” Gilan said seriously. Horace nodded and Will cackled at his mentor’s raised eyebrow.

The man tried to smile in return. He'd seen they were his arrows that had fallen short and he assumed he was about to be punished. That was the way life went for a slave in Hallasholm. If you were told to do something and you didn't do it, you were punished. Now the brown-haired youth who was directing the session was grinning at him and telling him to relax. It was a novel experience.

Maddie felt sorry for the man. She hoped he survived the battle.

"Take a stance," Will told him, and the man stood side-on to the firing range, left foot extended, left hand holding the bow at waist height.

"Position three," Will said quietly, and the man assumed the position that had been drilled into him all the previous day, his left arm holding the bow at forty degrees-almost maximum distance. Will studied him. There seemed to be little wrong with the man's stance.

"All right," he said. "Draw, please."

The man was using too much arm muscle and not enough of his back muscles to draw the bow, Will thought. But that was a minor fault and the result of long habit. There would be no way of changing that in the time they had left.

Maddie let out a long-suffering sigh. Using her back muscles instead of her arms had been one of the first lessons drilled into her by Will. She understood the reason, but that did not make the lesson any less annoying or frustrating.

"And…shoot."

There it was, Will thought. A fraction of a second before the man released his shot, he relaxed the draw length slightly-letting the arrow ease down a little before actually letting his fingers slip from the string. That meant that at the moment of release, the arrow was at something less than full draw, which in turn meant it was receiving less than the full power of the bow behind its flight.

Halt and Will had tested all the bows to make sure they were similar in draw weight and the arrows were all exactly the same length to ensure results were as consistent as possible. The main cause for variation would be little technical errors like this one.

“At least they were easy to spot and fix.” Maddie commented, and Will nodded. He had no idea what they would have done if all the bows had been different draw weights. Although, it made sense they were all the same, Erak had acquired them all from the same place.

He looked down the range to where the coloured flights of the arrow were visible against the brown, sodden grass of the spring thaw. As he had suspected, it was short again.

Will explained the reason for the problem to the man, seeing from the surprised expression that he had no idea that he was relaxing the draw at the crucial moment.

"Work on it," he told him, giving him an encouraging slap on the shoulder. Halt had impressed on him the fact that a little encouragement in matters like these went a great deal further than scathing criticism.

“Learned by experience, I assume Halt?” Cassandra asked with a raised eyebrow. Halt shrugged.

“Learned from these two,” He gestured to Will and Gilan, “but you also have to make sure they don’t get too cocky.”

Will had been surprised when Halt had put him in charge of the archers' training. Even though he knew he'd be directing the archers during the battle, he'd assumed that Halt would supervise their training. But the Ranger had repeated his earlier sentiment.

"You're the one who'll be directing them once we're fighting. It's as well they get used to following your orders from the start."

“And Halt had other things to do.” Will added, he remembered the few expeditions Halt had gone on with the Skandians to supervise.

Will remembered another piece of advice the Ranger had given him. "Men work better when they know what you have in mind," he told the young apprentice. "So make sure you tell them as much as possible."

“Women to.” Cassandra added.

He stepped up onto a raised platform that had been placed here for the purpose of addressing the entire group.

"We'll break for today," he said in a raised voice. "Tomorrow we'll shoot as one group. So if I've picked any technical faults in your shooting today, practice getting rid of them before the evening meal. Then get a good night's rest."

He started to turn away, then turned back, remembering one thing more. "Good work, all of you," he said. "If you keep this up, we're going to give those Temujai a very nasty surprise."

“Trust me, they felt it.” Halt said, recalling how Will’s 100 archers had proven to be invaluable in the battle.

A growl of pleasure rose from the hundred men. Then they broke off, heading back for the warmth of the halls and lodges. Will realized that it was later than he'd thought. The sun was touching the tops of the hills beyond Hallasholm and the shadows were lengthening. The evening breeze was chilly and he shivered, reaching for the cloak that he'd hung from the platform railing as he'd directed the shooting.

A half dozen boys had been assigned to help and without orders from him they gathered the arrow bins and arrows, putting them under cover in one of the store sheds that fronted the practice field. Will couldn't help noticing the admiring glances they cast his way as they went about their work. He was only a few years older than they were, yet here he was, directing a force of one hundred archers. He smiled to himself. He wouldn't have been human if he hadn't enjoyed their hero worship.

Horace snorted, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

"You look pleased with yourself," said a familiar voice. He turned and realized Horace must have approached while he had been talking to the men. He shrugged, trying to act diffident.

Will flushed red with embarrassment, but Horace just grinned in amusement.

"They're coming along quite well," he said. "It's been a good day's work."

Horace nodded. "So I noticed," he said. Then, in a worried tone, he continued, "Evanlyn hasn't been here with you, has she?"

Will looked up at him, instantly on the defensive. "What if she has been?" he asked, an argumentative tone creeping into his voice.

Will let out a long-suffering sigh, and he got a sympathetic pat on the shoulder by Cassandra, who was tyring her best not to laugh at the situation. They all had slightly foolish about their emotions in Skandia. She was just glad they had worked it out eventually.

Instantly, he saw the worried look clear from Horace's face and realized he'd misinterpreted the reason for his friend's question.

"Then she has been here?" Horace said. "That's a relief. Where is she now?"

Now it was Will's turn to frown. "Just a moment," he said, putting a hand on Horace's muscular forearm. "Why is it a relief? Is something wrong?"

"Then she hasn't been here?" Horace asked, and his face fell again as Will shook his head.

"No. I thought you were being…you know…" Will had been about to say jealous, but he couldn't quite manage it. The idea that Horace might have something to be jealous about had too much of a sense of boasting about it. He saw instantly that such thoughts were far from Horace's mind. The apprentice warrior had hardly seemed to notice Will's hesitation.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. Looking back on it, they had all been foolish. Will continued to flush, to the point of putting his chin on the desk and trying to use the book as a shield from his amused family and friends.

"She's missing," he said, in that same worried tone. He cast his hands out and looked around the empty practice field, as if he somehow expected to see her appear there. "Nobody's seen her since midmorning yesterday. I've looked everywhere for her, but there's no sign."

"Missing?" Will repeated, not quite understanding. "Missing where?"

“Really Will?” Gilan asked, and Will spluttered out, “It’s not my fault, I had been worrying about other things! Hallasholm a small place, I didn’t think someone could go missing!”

Horace looked up at him with a sudden flare of asperity. "If we knew that, she wouldn't be missing, would she?"

Will put up his hands in a peacemaking gesture.

"You're right!" he said. "I didn't realize. I've been a little tied up trying to get these archers organized. Surely somebody must have seen her last night. Her room servants, for example?"

“Sorry.” Horace muttered and Will sighed, “Right back at you.”

Horace shook his head miserably. "I've asked them," he said. "I was out on patrol most of yesterday myself, keeping an eye on the Temujai approach. We didn't get back in to Hallasholm till well after supper time, so I didn't realize she wasn't around. It was only this morning when I went to find her that I found out she hadn't been in her room last night and that nobody had seen her today. That's why I was hoping that maybe you'd…" The sentence tailed off and Will shook his head.

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of her," he told his friend.

“Really?” Cassandra asked. “Hide nor hair? That’s what your going with?”

"But it's ridiculous!" he exclaimed after a short silence. "Hallasholm isn't a big enough place for someone to go missing. And there's nowhere else she could have gone. Let's face it, she can't have simply disappeared…can she?"

Horace shrugged. "That's what I keep telling myself," he said morosely. "But somehow, it looks as if she has."

Will remembered vaguely what happened next. He passed the book to Halt who took it.

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed the quick update :D

Chapter 86: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 27

Summary:

Halt reads chapter 27.

Notes:

I'm not dead. Happy Christmas to all those who celebrate it and happy 2025 :)

Halt began reading.

United now in their concern for Evanlyn, the two apprentices headed for Halt's quarters. All of the Araluen party had been assigned rooms in the main hall. As Halt was their leader, he had been given a small suite of three rooms. At the door, Will knocked perfunctorily and heard Halt's gruff reply. "Come."

Will hid his smile, even the book called Halt gruff.

As they entered, he took in the fact that Erak was in the room with Halt. It was hard to miss the bulky Skandian. He seemed to fill most spaces he occupied. He was sprawled in one of the comfortable, carved wood armchairs that decorated the room-doubtless liberated on some wolfship raid down the coast. Halt was standing by the window, framed against the low-angled light of the late afternoon. He looked quizzically at the doorway as the two boys entered hurriedly.

“Liberated.” Gilan made a quotes motion with his hands. “I would be unsurprised to find out half of their furniture was stolen from any costal town they had managed to raid over the past decade.”

"Halt," Will began urgently, "Horace says Evanlyn's disappeared. She's-"

"Safe and sound and back in Hallasholm." A familiar voice finished the sentence for him. Both boys turned to the speaker. Standing a little back, in the shadows of the room, she hadn't been evident as they'd entered.

Cassandra chuffed. “With Erak taking up most of the space, I’m hardly surprised you didn’t notice me.”

"Evanlyn!" Horace exclaimed. "You're all right!"

Maddie smiled, but she caught her mother rolling her eyes as her father blushed.

The girl smiled. Now that his eyes were accustomed to the darker part of the room, Will could make out that her face and clothes were smeared with grease and dirt. Her eyes met his and she smiled at him, a little wistfully. Then she upended the flask of juice that she had in her hand and drank greedily from it.

“Where in Gorlog’s beard did you get juice?” Gilan asked, and Halt shrugged.

“They probably stole or traded for it at some point, then froze it for easy storage.”

"Apparently," she said, setting the flask down. "Although I have a thirst on me that I doubt I'll ever quench. All I've had to drink in the last eighteen hours was a little rainwater that made its way through the canvas covers over the:" She hesitated and looked to Erak to supply the word she was after. The jarl obliged.

"Forepeak," he said, and Evanlyn repeated the word.

"Forepeak, exactly, of Slagor's ship," she said. Will and Horace exchanged puzzled glances.

"What in the devil's name were you doing there?" Will asked. Halt answered for her.

“You certainly have a Ranger’s knack for finding trouble.” Will commented, “I’m sure being a princess didn’t help.”

"The devil's name is right," he said. "It seems our friend Slagor has sold out to the Temujai-and he's planning to betray Hallasholm to them."

Maddie’s expression turned thunderous. She looked around the table and noticed the others looking far less murderer-y. Must be because it was over fifteen years ago for them and only her first time hearing about it. She had never liked Slagor.

"What?" asked Will, his voice cracking with surprise. He looked at Evanlyn. "How do you know?"

Will held back the urge to sigh. Sometimes he wondered whether his past self had any brains. He had been a decade and a half less experienced, but the deduction hadn’t exactly been difficult to make.

The girl shrugged her slim shoulders. "Because I heard him discussing it with the Temujai leader. They were barely two meters away from me."

"It seems," Halt put in, by way of explanation, "that your old friend Slagor sailed down the coast yesterday to a rendezvous with the Temujai Shan-one Haz'kam. And since our traitor obviously didn't trust his new allies too far, he insisted on all negotiations being carried out on board his ship-just to keep Haz'kam's retainers at a distance."

“They must have been docked, since there is no way Haz’kam could negotiate while heavily seasick.” Will muttered. Maddie looked over at her mentor in question, and he just shook his head. Later.

"Which is how I came to hear it," Evanlyn finished. But now Horace was scratching his head in bewilderment.

"But…what were you doing on the ship?" he said.

"I told you," Evanlyn replied. "Eavesdropping on Slagor and the Temujai."

Horace made an impatient gesture. "Yes, yes, so you've said. But why were you there in the first place?"

“Right place, wrong time. Same as Will.” Halt said, sighing.

Evanlyn went to answer, hesitated, then stopped altogether. All eyes in the room were on her now and she realized she didn't really have a logical answer to that question.

"I…don't know," she said finally. "I was bored, I guess. And feeling useless. I was looking for something to do. And besides, Slagor looked sort of…shifty."

“Why do I feel like that’s just what he always looks like.” Maddie asked no one in particular.

"Slagor always looks sort of shifty," Erak put in, helping himself to fruit from a bowl on the table in front of him. Evanlyn thought about it, then conceded the point.

“Fruit, in Winter.” Gilan pointed out.

“At least now they can actually trade or buy the food instead of stealing it.” Will pointed out. Having working relationships with coastal towns instead of being known as invaders certainly had it’s upsides.

"Well, that's true, I suppose. But he looked even shiftier than usual," she said. "So I decided someone had better keep an eye on him and see what he was up to."

Truth be told, Evanlyn was quite enjoying herself now. She had gone from feeling useless and unnecessary to being the bearer of important, even vital news to Halt and Erak. She couldn't help preening, just a little. Horace's next reaction was exactly what she'd hoped for.

Cassandra winced, and Horace looked over at her. “We weren’t trying to ignore you.” He said earnestly.

“I know that now. Back then, there was nothing for me to do, while you guys were training for the invasion. I didn’t even have my sling!” She remembered the frustration of being unable to do anything. The Queen looked to her daughter, and was glad that if conflict ever arose again, her daughter wouldn’t feel the same type of helplessness as she had.

"But…you could have been spotted! What if they'd found you there? They would have killed you," he said, his concern for her evident in the worried tone of his voice.

That thought had occurred to Evanlyn on more than one occasion as she'd crouched in the damp space in the bow of the wolfship. Once she had fully realized the situation she was in, her skin had crawled with the fear of discovery with every second. But now she affected a nonchalant air about the entire episode.

“Really mum?” Maddie asked, and Cassandra just sighed loudly. She had certainly matured a lot since she was a teen and was glad that her daughter recognised how immature she had been.

"I suppose so. But let's face it, someone had to do it."

She was delighted to notice that Horace was looking at her with something approaching awe. She glanced quickly at Will, hoping to see the same look of admiration there. His next words dashed that hope.

"All very well," he said dismissively. "But the important thing is that Slagor is planning to betray us. How is he aiming to do it?"

“Your concern is appreciated Will.” Cassandra said wryly, and Will winced.

“Sorry, my mind was on other things. You seemed alright so…” He trailed off. The Queen just sighed.

"That's the point, of course," Halt agreed. He indicated a chart of the Skandian coast that he and Erak had spread on the table between them. "Apparently, friend Slagor plans to put to sea quietly the day after tomorrow and make for the same rendezvous point down the coast. Only this time, there'll be one hundred and fifty Temujai warriors waiting. He'll take them aboard and ferry them back here to Hallasholm-"

"He'll never fit a hundred and fifty men into one wolfship!" Will interrupted.

Gilan looked sternly at Maddie. “Learn from your mentor’s mistakes. Don’t interrupt.”

Halt nodded. "Apparently, he has another two ships waiting for him out behind this island, halfway to the rendezvous."

"They left a week ago," Erak put in. "Supposedly, they were going to raid behind the Temujai lines. It seems the skirls are in league with Slagor and they're waiting at this prearranged point." He tapped the map with his dagger, with which he'd been peeling fruit. A few spots of apple juice fell onto the parchment. Halt raised an eyebrow at him and wiped them away as the Jarl continued. "With three ships, they'll carry one hundred and fifty men easily."

Maddie’s blood ran cold. One hundred and fifty men would be plenty to surprise and confuse the Skandian forces. It was the oldest trick in the book.

"Then what?" Horace asked. Evanlyn, piqued that attention had been diverted from her and that Will had ignored the danger she'd been in, leapt back into the conversation.

"They'll be able to attack our forces from the rear," she explained. "Think of it, one hundred and fifty men, with the element of surprise, suddenly appearing behind our lines!"

"That could be very nasty indeed," Horace said thoughtfully. "So what do we do?"

Maddie could see why having superior intelligence would help decide many conflicts. If her mother had not overheard the conversation, Araluen may have invaded before she was born.

"We've already taken the first step," Erak told him. "I've sent Svengal with two of my ships out to Fallkork Island here." Again he tapped the juice-stained knife on the map and again Halt raised his eyes at him. "To make sure Slagor's other two ships don't keep any rendezvous."

"Two against two?" Will asked. "Is that enough?"

The jarl cocked his head to one side and smiled at him. "Count yourself lucky that Svengal wasn't here to hear you say that," he replied. "He'd consider his crew alone to be more than a match for two ships full of Slagor's followers. But in fact, Slagor's ships will have only rowing crews. They need all the space they have to cram those Temujai on board with them."

Maddie nodded; it seemed everything was under control.

"But what do we do about Slagor?" Will asked, and this time it was Halt who answered.

"That's the problem. If he gets wind that we know what he's up to, he'll simply abandon the plan. We'll be able to prove nothing. It'll be his word against the word of a former slave-and an escaped one at that." He smiled at Evanlyn to show he meant no insult, but was merely stating the facts. She nodded her understanding.

"But if Slagor finds the other two ships at this island, surely that's proof?" Horace interjected. Halt shook his head.

“They could just claim the ships are there to re-supply, or waiting until night fall so they could raid the Temujai camps.” Gilan pointed out.

"Proof of what? The crews will hardly admit they were waiting to go fetch the Temujai," he said.

Horace sat back, frowning. This was getting too complicated for him.

Baron Arald patted Horace's shoulder in sympathy.

"Then what can we do?" Will asked. But at that moment there was a heavy knock at the door. They all looked at each other in surprise. The clandestine nature of their discussion had made them speak in lowered tones and the sudden interruption had made them all start guiltily, as if discovered.

"Anyone expecting visitors?" Halt asked, and as the others shook their heads, he called once more. "Come."

“That room must be getting pretty crowded.” Gilan noted.

The door opened to admit Hodak, one of Erak's younger followers. He glanced about the room, noting the identities of all present. He looked uncomfortable as he noticed Evanlyn.

"Thought I might find you here," he said to Erak. "Ragnak's calling a special council in the Great Hall. He wants you there, Jarl." He indicated Evanlyn. "And you'd better bring the girl with you."

Maddie felt her stomach drop.

"Evanlyn? Why should she go?" Halt asked. He saw the girl shrink back from the young Skandian. Maybe she had some premonition of what was to come.

"The council's about her," Hodak said awkwardly. "Slagor has invoked Ragnak's Vallasvow. He says the girl is really Princess Cassandra, daughter of King Duncan."

Halt wordlessly handed the book over to Cassandra, who took a deep breath before beginning.

Chapter 87: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 28

Summary:

Cassandra reads chapter 28

Notes:

Thank you all those who have left Kudos, I see you and am extremely thankful to know that you enjoy!

"Bring her forward!" Ragnak’s massive voice, used to dominating the howling gales of the Stormwhite, boomed painfully in the low-ceilinged Hall. Evanlyn shrank back instinctively, then recovered as Halt touched her arm and met her eyes with a reassuring smile. She straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to full height.

Maddie listened intently. Her mother had been so brave to face a hall of Skandians, all of them no doubt waiting her dead because of the oath. She couldn’t help but admire the Queen’s courage, even at such a young age.

Will watched in admiration as she walked down the cleared space in the centre of the hall. Halt, Erak and the two apprentices followed close behind her. Horace, Will noticed, was continually easing his sword in its scabbard, lifting it to free the blade, then allowing it to drop back again. Will's own hand strayed to the hilt of his throwing knife. If things went as badly as they all feared, he decided that knife was for Slagor, who was standing beside and slightly behind Ragnak. Once before, on Skorghijl, Will had demonstrated his skill with the knife to Erak's and Slagor's crews, throwing it across the room and skewering a small wooden keg next to Slagor's hand. This time, there would be no keg.

If things had gone that poorly, Maddie thought to herself, then there was a high probability that all of Skandia, and later Araluen, would have fell to the Temujai.

The room watched in utter silence as Evanlyn stopped before Ragnak's raised dais. She met the Oberjarl's glower with a calm, composed expression on her face. Again, Will found himself almost overwhelmed by her courage and her composure. Slagor signalled to a pair of attendants by a side door.

"Bring in the slave," he called. His voice was soft and silky, totally unlike Ragnak's forceful bellow. He sounded very pleased with the current turn of events, Will thought. The two men, rowers from Slagor's crew, opened the door and dragged in a protesting, weeping figure. She was a middle-aged woman, her hair greying and her face lined before its time with the strain of unending labour, poor food and the threat of constant punishment that was the lot of a slave in Hallasholm. The sailors dragged her forward and cast her down on the floor in front of Evanlyn. She crouched there miserably, her eyes down.

Maddie clenched her fist angrily. No one should be treated like the slaves had been, it was animalistic. She was thankful that the slave trade of Skandia was gone now, otherwise she would have made it her personal mission to burn it to the ground.

"Look up, slave," Slagor told her in that same quiet voice. Her sobbing continued and she shook her head, her eyes still cast down at the floor. Slagor moved quickly, stepping down from the platform and drawing his saxe knife in one smooth movement. He held the razor-sharp blade below the woman's chin, pressing it into the flesh of her neck with not quite sufficient force to break the skin.

A few people shifted uncomfortably. If Slagor wasn’t long since dead, there was no doubt he soon would have been.

"I said, 'look up,'" he repeated, and applied pressure to the knife to raise her eyes until she was gazing at Evanlyn. As she saw the girl, the woman began sobbing even louder.

"Shut up," Slagor told her. "Shut up that noise and tell the Oberjarl what you told me."

There were angry welts across the woman's face. Obviously, she had been recently beaten. Her ragged shift was torn in several spots as well, and more red marks were visible on her body through the gaps. In some places, blood had soaked through the thin material. Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with Evanlyn.

"I'm sorry, my lady," she said, her voice breaking. "They beat me until I told."

“In the grand scheme of things, you were lucky enough to remain unrecognised for so long.” Gilan said quietly. Cassandra had spent months in Skandia, but especially surrounded by Araluen slaves, their luck was bound to run out sooner or later.

Evanlyn took an involuntary step toward her. But Slagor's knife swung up and around to confront her and stop her from coming closer. Beside him, Will heard Horace's quick intake of breath and saw his hand fall to the sword hilt once more. He placed his own hand over Horace's, stopping him from drawing the sword. The heavily built apprentice looked at him, surprised. Will shook his head slightly. He realized that Horace's movement had been a reflex reaction and he knew that in this tinderbox atmosphere, if his friend ever drew that sword it could mean the end of all of them.

Will rolled his eyes, muttering. “How did I not notice before? Rangers were meant to be observant. He was willing to risk an all-out war with the Skandians, even back then.”

"Not yet." He mouthed the words. If the time came, he was willing to join Horace in an attack on Slagor and Ragnak. But first, he thought, they should see if Halt couldn't talk their way out of this situation.

Lady Pauline raised an eyebrow. It seemed the younger Will still had an unfathomable belief in her husband that he had the ability to talk their way out of every situation. She wondered if his ex-apprentice noticed to irony considering that he was one of Cassandra’s must trusted friends and not a bad negotiator himself.

"Leave the talking to me," the Ranger had told them before they left his apartment. "And don't do anything until I tell you. Clear?"

The two boys had nodded. Then Halt had added: "This puts an altogether different slant on our accusing Slagor, of course."

Gilan groaned, “He’s just going to think you’re making up excuses to save Evanlyn. Why does fate seem to hate you?”

It wasn’t entirely clear who Gilan was directing the statement to. Halt, Will, Horace, and Cassandra all looked at each other before shrugging. Baron Arald eyed them all warily, all four of them were quiet closely tied with Redmont, he couldn’t decide whether that was concerning or not.

"But surely you're still going to tell Ragnak?" Will had burst out. Halt shook his head doubtfully.

"The problem is, he's got in first. If we make a counter accusation now, it will look as if we're simply doing it to save Evanlyn. Chances are, Ragnak will ignore it altogether."

"But you can't let him get away with…," Will began, but Halt held up a hand to silence him.

"I'm not letting him get away with anything," he reassured them. "We'll just have to pick the right time to bring the matter up, that's all."

Will sighed heavily. He had been quite impatient as a teen.

Now Slagor turned back to the woman on the floor. "Tell the Oberjarl," he repeated.

The woman said nothing and Slagor turned to Ragnak in exasperation. "My head slave overheard her talking to some of the others," he explained. "She's Araluen originally and she said she recognized this girl here"-he jerked a thumb in Evanlyn's direction - "as the Princess Cassandra - Duncan's daughter."

Ragnak's eyes narrowed and he turned slightly to inspect Evanlyn. Her chin went up and she stood a little taller under his gaze.

"She does have something of the look of Duncan about her," he said suspiciously.

“Has he ever seen King Duncan?” Maddie asked incredulously.

Cassandra shrugged, “He’s probably heard descriptions, and maybe seen a portrait.”

“Still,” Horac interjected, “There are a lot of blond haired, blue eyed young girls who have plenty of courage. It’s not exactly the best evidence to go on.”

"No! No! I was mistaken!" the slave burst out suddenly. On her knees, she stretched her hands out to Slagor in supplication. "Now I see her close to, I realize I was wrong, Lord Slagor. I was mistaken!"

"You called her 'my lady,'" Slagor reminded her.

"It was a mistake, that was all. A mistake. Now I see her properly, I can tell it's not her," the woman insisted.

Maddie felt a swell of sympathy for the women. Even now, she tried to protect her mother.

Slagor regarded her with a pained expression on his face. He turned to Ragnak again. "She's lying, Oberjarl," he said. "I'll have my men beat the truth out of her."

He made a signal to the two men again and one of them came forward, uncoiling a short, thick whip as he came. The woman cringed away from him.

"No! Please, my lord, please!" Her voice was shrill with fear as she tried to crawl away. Slagor's man grabbed a handful of her hair to stop her and she cried out again, in pain as well as fear. He raised the vicious-looking whip over his head, ready to bring it down.

The table’s occupant’s expressions all turned thunderous. It was a very powerful group of people Slagor had managed to unset, even from beyond the grave.

"Leave her alone!" Evanlyn cried, and her voice froze the sailor where he stood. He looked uncertainly to Slagor for direction, but the wolfship captain was watching Evanlyn, waiting for her to say more.

"All right," she said quietly, "There's no need to torture her further. I'm Cassandra."

The silence in the room was almost a physical force. Then an excited buzz broke out among the assembled crowd. Will distinctly heard the word Vallasvow from several different sources.

“That worm.” Sir Rodney’s fists were clenched in anger, and he was itching to carve someone’s head in with his battle axe. Preferably Slagors.

"Silence!" roared Ragnak, and instantly the noise ceased. He rose and moved forward to confront Evanlyn, glaring down at her. "You are Duncan's daughter?"

She hesitated, then replied.

"I am King Duncan's daughter," she said, with a slight emphasis on his title. "Cassandra, Princess of Araluen."

“And you better not forget it.” Horace threatened. Cassandra put a hand on her husband’s arm in comfort, and he relaxed marginally.

"Then you are my enemy," he said, spitting the words out. "And I've sworn that you should die."

Erak stepped forward. "And I've sworn that she will be safe here, Oberjarl," he said. "I gave my word when I asked the Ranger to help us."

Ragnak looked up angrily. Again there was a buzz of conversation through the room. Erak was a popular jarl among the Skandians and Ragnak hadn't reckoned on having to contend with him over this matter. With an invading army only days away from his stronghold, he knew he couldn't afford a split with his senior war leader.

"I am Oberjarl," he said. "My vow is of greater importance."

But if he kills mother, Maddie realised, then the Ranger’s are under no obligation to help him, and there was a very strong chance he would lose.

Erak folded his arms across his chest. "Not to me it isn't," he said, and there was a chorus of agreement from the crowd.

"Erak cannot defy you like this! You are Oberjarl!" Slagor suddenly interjected. "Have him imprisoned! He is defying your vow to the Vallas!"

“He’s also making good on his word to ensure the strategists you employed don’t leave and take the potential victory with them.” Baron Arald pointed out.

"Shut up, Slagor," Erak told him in an ominously calm voice. Then he readdressed himself to Ragnak. "I didn't ask you to take your death vow, Ragnak," he said. "But if you want to carry it out, I'm afraid you'll have to go through me to do it."

Now Ragnak stepped down from his podium and walked closer to where Erak stood. They were of equal height, both massively built. He faced his old companion, the anger burning in his eyes.

"Erak, did you know? Did you know who she was when you brought her here?"

Erak shook his head.

Go Erak, Will thought smugly. Though it was probably a good idea he didn’t say anything. Erak was a good warrior, not so much a liar.

Slagor snorted in disgust. "Of course he knew!" he cried, then stopped suddenly as the point of Erak's dagger appeared under his nose.

"I'll allow that once," Erak told him. "Say it again and you're a dead man."

“Wooo!” Someone called out.

Wordlessly, Slagor backed away from the bigger man, putting a safe distance between himself and the point of the knife. Erak sheathed the dagger and turned back to Ragnak. "I didn't know," he said. "Otherwise I would never have brought her here, knowing of your vow. But the fact remains, I vouched for her safety and my word is all-important to me-as is yours to you."

"Damn and blast it, Erak!" Ragnak shouted. "The Temujai are only three or four days' march from here! We can't afford to be fighting amongst ourselves now!"

"It would be a shame if you had to face the Temujai with at least one, and possibly both, of your best leaders dead," Halt put in mildly, and the Oberjarl rounded on him in a fury.

“Probably not the best time to point that out Halt.” Will stated innocently.

"Shut up, Ranger! I'm of half a mind to believe that this is all your doing! No good ever came of dealing with your kind!"

Halt shrugged, unimpressed by the Skandian's fury. "Be that as it may," he said, "it occurs to me that there might be a solution to your problem-for the time being, at least."

The buzz of conversation through the room was cut short as Ragnak swung his gaze around angrily. He watched Halt with narrowed eyes, expecting some trick or some kind of subterfuge.

“I wonder if fights often break out?” Maddie pondered out loud. Weapons in the hand of politicians like Slagor never ended well.

"What are you talking about? My vow is binding upon me," he said. Halt nodded agreement.

"I understand that. But is there any time factor involved?" he asked. Now Ragnak looked puzzled as well as suspicious.

"Time factor? How do you mean?"

"If we accept that you plan to do your best to kill Evanlyn, knowing that Erak will try to stop you when you do - not to mention the fact that if he doesn't, I most certainly will - have you vowed that you'll do it at any particular time?" Halt continued.

The puzzled expression on Ragnak's face grew more intense.

“What colour do you think his face is?” Will whispered loudly to Maddie, who smothered a giggle.

“Red?” She guessed. Her mentor grinned at her.

“I seem to recall it was some shade of purple personally.”

Horace, who had evidently been listening, chimed in. “I thought it was more a maroon.”

"No. I didn't specify any time. I just made the vow," he said finally, and Halt nodded several times.

"Good. So, as far as these Vallas are concerned, they don't care whether you try to fulfill your vow today or if you choose to wait until, say, after we've sent the Temujai packing?"

Understanding was beginning to dawn on the Oberjarl's face. "That's right," he said slowly. "As long as the intent is there, the Vallas will be satisfied."

“Nice to know someone has a working brain cell.” Gilan sighed, Halt always seemed to hog it.

"No!" A shrill voice cut across them. It was Slagor, the silky, self-satisfied tones gone from his voice now. "Can't you see, Oberjarl, he's trying to trick you? He has something in mind. The girl must die and she must die now! Otherwise your sworn word is worthless!" Slagor's anger and his long-held desire for revenge on Evanlyn for the events that had occurred on Skorghijl had caused him to go too far. Ragnak turned on him now, a flame of anger burning in his eyes.

"Slagor, I would advise you to get rid of this reckless habit of telling your peers that they are liars," he said, and instantly the wolfship captain retracted his accusation.

"Of course, Oberjarl. I didn't mean - "

Maddie snorted. Will physically had to restrain himself from calling out the horse-like trait.

Ragnak cut him off.

"My first concern is for the safety of Skandia. With these Temujai on our doorstep, Erak and I cannot afford to be fighting. If he'll agree to postpone our differences until after we've settled with them, then I will too."

Erak nodded agreement instantly. "It sounds like a good compromise to me."

There was still one thread of suspicion in Ragnak's mind. He turned back to Halt, his heavy brows knitted together in a frown.

"I can't help wondering what's in it for you, Ranger. All you've done is win a postponement."

“A lot can happen in a battle.” Baron Arald said sombrely.

Halt inclined his head slightly to one side as he considered the matter. "True," he replied. "But a lot can happen in the next few days. You might be killed in the battle. Or Erak. Or me. Or all three of us. Besides that, my immediate priority is the same as yours: to see these Temujai driven back. After all, if they win here, it won't be long before they're invading Araluen as well. I have a sworn duty to try to prevent that." He smiled grimly. "That's another of those vows that we all seem to rush around taking. Damned nuisances, aren't they?"

Halt received a few raised eyebrows from Lady Pauline, Cassandra, Sir Rodney and Baron Arald. No one pointed out the obvious, that Halt was technically under no oath. Every person at that table knew the reason why he had committed treason, and everybody knew that it didn’t matter.

Ragnak turned and stepped back up on the dais to his massive council chair.

"We're agreed then," he said. "We'll settle the Temujai question first. Then we'll come back to this problem."

Erak and Halt exchanged glances, then both men nodded. Only Slagor seemed to be in disagreement with the compromise. He muttered a curse under his breath. Halt took Evanlyn's arm and began to guide her from the Great Hall, followed by the two apprentices and Erak. They hadn't gone half a dozen paces when Halt turned back to Ragnak.

Will rolled his eyes, “Talk about a dramatic exit.” 

Halt half-heartedly glared at his ex-apprentice, while Gilan tried to smother his giggles.

"Of course, there is one more question that I'd like to hear Slagor answer," he said. As he hoped, at the mention of his name, everyone in the room involuntarily glanced at Slagor. Then, when all eyes were on him, Halt continued.

"Perhaps he could tell us what his ships are doing at Fallkork Island?"

There was a smug glint in Cassandra’s eye as she handed the book off to Baron Arald.

Notes:

I think I've decided that I'll stop at the end of book 4. Someone else can continue on, but I think I've almost finished my part.

Chapter 88: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 29

Summary:

Baron Arald reads chapter 29

Notes:

I'm still alive, I swear.

Baron Arald turned to the page and began to read.

Everyone saw Slagor’s guilty start of surprise when Halt mentioned the name of the island. Slagor recovered quickly, but the moment had been there and it had been witnessed.

Someone snickered under their breath. Slagor was receiving no sympathy.

"I'm not here to answer to you, Ranger!" he blustered angrily. "You have no authority in this council!"

Erak stepped forward, rocking on his heels, his face only centimetres from Slagor's. "But I have," he told the other man. "And I'd like to hear your answer."

“Here we go.” Maddie grinned devilishly. He deserved it.

"What's this about, Erak?" Ragnak interrupted before Slagor could reply. Erak kept his gaze fixed on Slagor.

"Two of Slagor's ships are currently at Fallkork Island," he replied. "In another day, he plans to rendezvous with them and sail down the coast to Sand Creek Bay."

“Ragnak would have killed him himself if he had the chance.” Will noted, because though their goals hadn’t aligned, Will remembered the old Oberjarl had cared for his people. The fact that he allowed Halt to advise them on the battle was proof enough.  

Erak saw the colour draining from Slagor's face as he realized that his plans had been discovered. He continued inexorably, his voice rising in volume as Slagor attempted to speak, drowning the other man out. "There, he plans to embark one hundred and fifty Temujai warriors and land them behind our lines to attack us from the rear."

Cassandra eyed the book, still smirking. Whoever had written it, this John Flanagan, had captured the atmosphere in the room perfectly.

The room erupted as people began to shout all at once. In vain, Slagor spat abuse at Erak and protested his innocence. His followers in the hall, and there were more than a few, roared their protests, while those who favoured Erak roared back, calling for Slagor's head. The bedlam continued for a full minute until Ragnak rose from his seat.

"Silence!" he bellowed.

In the ensuing quiet, you could almost hear a pin drop.

The Baron quirked an eyebrow in surprise as he read. It is helpful, he mused, to have that effect on people, especially Skandians. Otherwise a full out brawl could have started in the hall, which was the last thing they needed with the Temujai on their doorstep.

"How do you know this?" The Oberjarl asked. He disliked Slagor. Many of the Skandians did. But the concept of such treachery was so absolutely abhorrent to the simple Skandian code of conduct that Ragnak found it impossible to believe it of anyone, even Slagor.

"His plans were overheard, Ragnak," Erak told him.

Instantly Slagor was screaming his innocence. "This is lies! It's a pack of filthy lies! Who heard me? Who claims I'm a traitor? Let them face me now!"

"As a matter of fact, Ragnak," said Halt, raising his voice so that he was heard clearly in every corner of the room, "the informant is here with us."

Will held back a snort. Though it had been over a decade since Skandia, he still remembered how Halt had been able to command a hall full of Skandians with nothing other than his voice. Thinking back, it could have just been his bias memory, but this book was proof enough that Halt had that affect on everyone. The royal blood in his veins had never made more sense.

That piece of news stilled Slagor's protests immediately. Ragnak eyed the Ranger with distaste. Since he had arrived in Hallasholm, the comfortable, established order of things had been continually disturbed.

“Rangers usually do the opposite.” Horace reasoned, but Gilan just grinned at him.

“Well…it does usually get more chaotic before it gets better. So, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, “Especially with Will and Halt there, those two are danger magnets.”

"Then let's hear from him," the Oberjarl said.

Maddie frowned, how sexist, she thought.

"Not him, Ragnak. Her. The informant is Evanlyn. Perhaps that's why Slagor is so keen to have her discredited and killed."

Uproar once again filled the room and Will realized how cleverly Halt had played this hand. In the confusion of the moment, nobody asked the obvious question...how could Slagor have known that Evanlyn had discovered his plan? For if he didn't know, he would have no reason to try to discredit the girl. But now that Halt had planted the seed, the Skandians would all half believe that Slagor's actions were intended to forestall Evanlyn, rather than the other way around. In that light, her accusation could not be dismissed out of hand. It had to be investigated.

“I didn’t even notice that the first time around.” Horace said, rubbing his forehead. Sir Rodney shook his head in sympathy.

“With Rangers, you never do.”

"Proof!" Slagor was shouting now, and some of his followers, realizing their own necks were close to the heads-man's axe, were shouting it too. "Anyone can accuse me! But where's the proof?"

Ragnak silenced the shouting with a gesture. "Well, Ranger," he asked Halt, "can you offer us proof of these accusations?"

Will smiled to himself. He remembered this part rather fondly. Every time he visited Skandia, Erak would tell this story to the teens while Will stood in shadows, stock still and trying to keep in a laugh.

Erak hurriedly stepped into the breach, before Halt had to answer. "Svengal is bringing in the two ships from Fallkork," he said. "He should be in port by tomorrow."

But now Slagor saw the way out, saw there was no concrete evidence of the plan. "So two of my ships are waiting at Fallkork?" he cried, his voice shrill once more. "What does that prove? How does that make me a traitor? It doesn't, does it, Erak?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. Can we get rid of this guy already…

A few of those in the hall started to echo the thought-and not just his own followers. As Halt had pointed out earlier, the mere presence of the ships at the rendezvous was no proof of Slagor's treachery. Emboldened now, Slagor stepped toward the crowd, addressing them and not the Oberjarl.

"They accuse me of treachery! They slander me! They take the word of an enemy of this country, the sworn enemy of our Oberjarl! Yet they can show no way to prove their vile claims! Is this Skandian justice? Let them find a way to prove it, I say."

“Anddddd…now he’s getting the crowd on his side. My god this moron is a pain.” Gilan sighed, slumping down on the table.

A growing chorus of voices agreed with him. Then, as if he were conducting a choir, Slagor signalled for silence and turned back to Halt.

"Can you, Ranger?" he said, spitting the last word out as if it were an insult. "Can you show some kind of proof?"

Halt hesitated, knowing they'd lost the momentum and the sentiment of the crowd. Knowing they'd lost. Then Will pushed forward to stand beside his mentor and friend.

Mentor and friend. Will thought with a smile. Pretty sure he was far more than that by now.

Maddie glanced at the book dubiously, that seems like an understatement.

"There is a way," he said.

It took a lot to silence a noisy crowd of Skandians, but Will's statement managed to do the trick. The voices died away as if cut by a knife and all eyes turned to the small figure, standing now between Halt and Erak. As Will might have guessed, it was Ragnak himself who broke the silence.

"How?" he said simply.

An idea struck Maddie, and she leaned forward in anticipation.

"Well, Slagor's ships at this island, taken on their own, may be no proof of his intention to sell out to the Temujai," Will said carefully, thinking through his words before he spoke them aloud, knowing that all their safety hung by a hairsbreadth on the way he expressed his idea. He saw Ragnak draw breath to speak and hurried on before the Oberjarl could interrupt him. "But…if Erak took Wolfwind to this Sand Creek Bay, and if they happened to find, say, a hundred and fifty Temujai warriors waiting there to embark, it's a fair indication that someone is planning to betray you, isn't it?"

Maddie gave herself a small pat on the back for guessing her mentor’s strategy. Great minds think alike.

There was a murmur of agreement among the assembled crowd. Ragnak frowned as he thought through the idea. Beside Will, Erak muttered..."Good thinking, boy."

“There we go, Will saving our skins. Again.” Horace’s playful remark caused Will to roll his eyes dramatically. They both grinned at each other.

“No more than you have.” His friend remarked back.

"That's true," Ragnak said finally. "It shows there's treachery been planned. But who's to say Slagor's involved?"

Will chewed his lip as he thought over that one. But now Halt spoke up.

"Oberjarl, there's a simple way to find out. Let Erak take not one ship, but three. After all, that's the number the Temujai are expecting to see. Then he can speak with the leader of any Temujai who might happen to be there and tell them that Slagor has been detained and has sent him in his place. If the Temujai leader responds with words along the lines of 'Who the devil is Slagor?,' then our friend here is as innocent as he claims to be." He paused and saw that Ragnak was nodding as he considered the idea. Then he added, more deliberately, "On the other hand…if the name Slagor seems familiar to the enemy, then there is all the proof you need."

Baron Arald was nodding along as Halt laid out his plan. It was a good idea, no wonder the experienced Ranger had come up with it.

"This is ridiculous!" Slagor burst out. "I swear to you, Oberjarl, that I am no traitor to Skandia! This is a plot cooked up by these Araluens." He gestured contemptuously at Halt and Will. "And somehow they seem to have tricked Erak into believing it."

"If you're innocent," Ragnak said heavily, "then you have nothing to fear from all this, do you?" He was gazing steadily at Slagor now, noting the sheen of perspiration on the other man's forehead, noting the shrill tone that pervaded all his statements now. Slagor was scared, he thought. The more he saw that, the more he was prepared to believe that the man was a traitor.

“Woooo!” Gilan cheered.

"I don't see any reason why-" Slagor began, but Ragnak cut him off with a gesture.

"I do!" he snapped. "Erak, take three ships to Sand Creek Bay immediately and do as the Ranger suggests. Once you've established whether or not Slagor is involved in this plot, get back here and report. As for you…" He turned to Slagor, who was beginning to edge toward the side door of the room. "Don't try to go anywhere. I want you where I can see you until Erak returns. Ulfak, see to it!" He addressed this last comment to one of his other senior jarls, who nodded and moved to stand beside Slagor, laying a hand on his arm.

Will startled in surprise. He hadn’t noticed that the first time, too busy thinking about what they could do with the Temujai they were going to collect. It seemed Ragnak put far more faith in them than he originally believed.

"One thing, Oberjarl," Erak said, and the Skandian leader turned to him again. "Once I've established that Slagor is involved, is it all right if we reduce the Temujai numbers a little? That'll be a few less we have to fight here, at least."

"Good idea," Ragnak said. "But don't take any risks. I need to know the traitor's identity and you can't tell me that if the Temujai kill you."

"Why not go ahead with the plan they're expecting?" Will said, before he could stop himself. The Skandian leader regarded him as if he were mad.

“Maybe not the best way to phrase that Will.” Gilan winced on his friends behalf, and Will did look a touch embarrassed.

“In my defence, I was trying to get the idea out before the meeting finished. But you are right, that was definitely the least gracious way to word that.”

"Are you out of your mind?" he said. "Are you suggesting that Erak actually brings the Temujai back here as prisoners? We'd have to subdue them and guard them and that would take men away from our own battle line."

"Not back here," Will said, turning to appeal to Erak. "But couldn't you find some pretext to make them get off the ships at this Fallkork Island-then just leave them there?"

Again a silence, broken this time by a deep, throaty chuckle from Erak. "Oh, what a prize idea!" he said, grinning fondly at Will. "If we take these…horsemen…through the Vulture Narrows, I'm sure we can have them begging to get ashore for a few hours. The seas there are terrible at this time of year-guaranteed to make any inexperienced sailors seasick!"

Halt hid his shudder. He remembered that voyage well.

Ragnak rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I take it these Temujai are unused to sailing?" he asked Halt.

The Ranger nodded. "Totally, Oberjarl."

Ragnak looked from Halt to his young apprentice. "This boy of yours shows a certain talent for the sort of devious thinking we expect from you Rangers."

Gilan grinned wildly, “He is one of the best.”

Halt dropped one hand lightly on Will's shoulder, and said, with a completely straight face, "We're very proud of him, Oberjarl. We think he'll go far."

“And he did.” Will ducked his head in embarrassment, but there was no one at the table who would ever disagree.

Ragnak shook his head wearily. This sort of plot and counterplot was beyond him. He waved one dismissing hand at Erak.

Horace, Sir Rodney and Baron Arald all voiced their agreement. Now they could get back to winning a hopefully very short war.

"Get your ships ready and go," he said. "Then dump these Temujai on Fallkork Island and get back here." The matter was done as far as he was concerned, but Slagor had one last, desperate objection.

"Oberjarl! These are the people who accuse me! They're all in it together! You can't send them to verify their own charges!"

Ragnak hesitated. "Fair point." He turned to his hilfmann. "Borsa, you go with them as an independent witness." Then, returning his gaze to Slagor, he concluded, "As for you, you'd better hope there are no Temujai at Sand Creek Bay."

“Unfortunately for him…”

Baron Arald headed the book off to Gilan, who grinned after skimming the first few lines. Halt had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Notes:

Sorry for the months of silence. Please forgive me :(

Chapter 89: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 30

Summary:

Gilan reads chapter 30. Everyone gets a laugh and Halt's dignity has officially retired.

Erak looked at the figures standing beside him in the at the stern of the wolfship and, for the hundredth time, was unable to prevent a broad grin from breaking out across his face.

Halt groaned internally, he knew what this would be about. No chance the book would spare him any dignity. He glanced at Gilan, who was also grinning wildly. No Chance.

Halt noticed the look, and the grin, and said in a sour tone, "It must lose its fascination after a while, surely?"

“I wish.” Halt muttered under his breath. Lady Pauline glanced at her husband; she also had a feeling of where this was going.

The jarl shook his head, his grin broadening. "Not for me," he replied cheerfully. "Every time, it's just as fresh as the first."

"I'm so glad that Skandians have such a lively sense of humour," the Ranger said, scowling. It didn't serve his ill temper any better to see that several of the other Skandians were grinning as well. In truth, he was a comical figure. He had forsaken his Ranger's cloak and garb and was dressed in Skandian clothing-sheepskin vest, a short fur cloak and woollen breeches, wound around with leather bindings from the knees down. At least they should have been wound from the knees down. In fact, since Halt was considerably smaller in stature than any of the adult Skandians, the leggings were bound from his thighs down, the breeches sagged alarmingly at the crutch and the sheepskin vest hung loosely on him, seemingly with room for another person of his own size inside.

Will grimaced, “I am so glad that I never had to do that.”

"It's your own fault," Erak replied. "For deciding to try to disguise yourself as one of us."

"I told you," Halt muttered. "The Temujai got a good look at me when they were chasing us near the border-and even without that, they have no reason to love anyone dressed as a Ranger."

Horace coughed, sounding suspiciously like “horse thief”  which Halt chose to ignore.

"So I've heard," Erak said, still grinning. He bent to the sighting ring before him, checked the position of the floating lodestone and adjusted the sight ring to conform with it. Then he read off the bearing to the next headland.

"A little east to east of south," he said to himself, then, raising his voice, he called to his men: "Look alive now! Sand Creek Bay lies beyond that next headland!"

Everyone leaned in, this should be good. Obviously, there was no doubt Slagor was lying, but it would be satisfising to see the proof themselves. Well…read the proof anyway.

There was an expectant shuffle on the decks of the wolfship as the Skandians made sure their weapons were close to hand-although not obviously so. At a nod from Erak, the masthead lookout relayed the message to the other two wolfships sailing in close company with them. Very obviously making an effort not to grin, the wolfship skipper nudged Halt in the ribs with a not too gentle elbow.

Horace winced in sympathy. It hadn’t been long before the Skandians had started doing that to him and dam! They had surprisingly sharp elbows.

"You'd better put on your helmet," he told the Ranger, whose countenance darkened even further than before as he reached for the huge horned helmet that every Skandian warrior wore.

This had been the most contentious piece of equipment. Erak had maintained that no Skandian would ever appear in public without a helmet, and that there was no question of Halt's not wearing one. Yet the sizes were immense compared to what Halt considered to be his own perfectly normal head size. Even the very smallest helmet that Erak could find wobbled loosely on Halt, and came down over his ears and eyes. By dint of much padding with cloths, they had finally managed to get the helmet to sit more or less firmly on his head. But it still gaped amazingly all around.

Gilan smiled through the entire passage, occasionally looking up to see his former mentor’s sour expression. Will, and Horace were truly to stifle their giggles to little success. Maddie, Cassandra, Baron Arald, and Lay Pauline were much more discrete, with only small smiles peeking through their iron façade.

The Skandians looked on with ill-concealed amusement as Halt carefully placed the helmet on his head. Borsa, who had joined the expedition on Ragnak's orders, shook his head and chuckled. The unwarlike hilfmann, who'd never seen a day of battle in his life, knew he looked more the part than Halt did.

"Even if this turns out to be a wild-goose chase," he said cheerfully, "it will have been worth it to see this."

Halt’s frown only darkened and Maddie had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle from bursting through.

Halt turned away angrily. It was a mistake. With the rapid head movement, his helmet became dislodged and tipped down over his eyes. He cursed quietly to himself, straightened the ridiculous headgear and resigned himself to the smothered laughter of the Skandians.

Will’s forehead hit the table with a thud, his shoulders shaking wildly. He was still dead silent in his mirth, a fact that caused Horace to roll his eyes. Halt turned to glare at his ex-apprentice, but realised there would be no point, as Will’s gaze was currently locked on the floor below the table.

They had been running before a quartering wind, but now, as Erak prepared to bring Wolfwind around the headland and across the wind, there was a flurry of activity on board as the big square sail was gathered in and furled to the cross yard.

The long, heavy oars clattered in their tholes as the crew ran them out, and before the ship had time to lose way, they began their smooth, rhythmic stroking. Glancing behind, Halt saw the other ships had followed suit. Once again, the helmet tilted awkwardly on his head and, with a gesture of disgust, he ripped it off and dropped it to the deck. He glared at Erak, daring the big Skandian to make some comment. The jarl merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

Gilan took a moment to look up from the book, “This is the best thing I’ve ever read.” He announced with a straight face, which set everyone off once again.

They were almost around the last promontory now and those without any duties involved in keeping the ship moving and on course craned eagerly to see whether the beach would be empty-or whether there would be a war party of Temujai warriors waiting for them. With tantalizing slowness, the boat crept past the headland, gradually revealing the strip of sandy beach beyond. Halt felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as the first sight of the beach showed no sign of any Temujai. But they were only looking at the southern end of the beach, and as they came farther around, there was a soft sigh from those watching and the sinking feeling in Halt's stomach turned to a flame of fierce exultation.

There, drawn up at the centre of the beach, were three squadrons of Temujai cavalry.

A cheer went up from the table, Halt’s hilarious attire momentarily forgotten.

Their dome-shaped felt tents were pitched in neatly ordered rows. Horses were tethered on a grass sward where the beach ended. There were sixty men to a squadron, Halt knew. He presumed each squadron would be leaving ten men to tend the horses, which, of course, couldn't travel on the wolfships. The discordant blare of a Temujai horn from the beach told them that they had been sighted.

“Slagor’s in deep s…trouble!” Maddie proclaimed, glancing an alarmed look at her parents. Will leaned down next to her.

“Nice save.” He whispered.

Borsa shook his head sadly at the evidence of Slagor's treachery. "I'd been hoping that this would be an empty quest," he said bitterly. "The thought of any Skandian turning traitor is a bitter one to face."

He moved away from Halt and Erak and the two men exchanged glances. Erak shrugged. His was a more cynical temperament than the hilfmann's, and he had better knowledge of Slagor's character.

“Thank goodness for that.” Sir Rodney remarked.

"Time to make absolutely sure," he said quietly, and heaved on the steering oar to bring Wolfwind 's prow heading straight toward the beach. As arranged, the other two ships hove to, the rowers maintaining a slow, relaxed stroke to hold them in position against wind and tide, some two hundred meters off the beach. They were still within bowshot there, but the huge, circular Skandian shields that were ranged along the bulwarks gave the sailors protection against any Temujai attack.

“The Temujai would have been sitting ducks if the Skandians had any archers, especially if they used fire arrows to burn down their camp.” Maddie noted.

“Can you imagine any Skandian using a bow?” Will asked, and everyone around the table shook their heads.

“That’s why they have Araluen archers.”

Those on Wolfwind weren't so fortunate. They were heading straight inshore, every stroke of the oars making them more vulnerable to a sudden volley of Temujai arrows.

"Keep your heads down," Erak growled at his rowers. It was an unnecessary warning. They were hunched down as far as they could be, trying to prevent any part of their persons from showing above the oak bulwarks. Halt noticed that the jarl's right hand strayed from the steering oar from time to time, and brushed almost unconsciously against the haft of the massive battle-ax that leaned close by.

Activity on the beach was growing now, and a party of half a dozen Temujai had moved to the water's edge. Behind them, orders were being shouted and squads were forming as troop leaders prepared their men to embark on the three wolfships.

“An action they would no doubt regret.” Baron Arald presumed, rightfully so.

The deep water continued in quite close to the beach. Of course, the wolfships were designed to beach in water as shallow as one meter, but the Temujai weren't aware of the fact and Halt and Erak had agreed that it made better sense to keep the enemy at a distance. Twenty meters from the water's edge, Erak gave a brief command and the oars on one side of the ship backed while the others went ahead, swinging the narrow craft through ninety degrees, virtually in her own length.

“It must be such a pain to dock a wolfship in bad weather.” Maddie said, and Will just grinned at her.

“From what Erak has told me, it’s Hell.”

Erak nodded to his second in command, who hurried to the tiller. Then the jarl stepped to the shoreward side of the ship and raised his voice in his familiar storm-quelling bellow.

"Ahoy the beach!" he called, and Halt, standing close by, hastily moved a few paces farther away.

“Protecting your ears, Halt?” Baron Arald teased, and Halt just looked at the baron and raised an unimpressed eyebrow in response, which Arald had been on the receiving ends many times.  

“Trust me, if you were standing right next to Erak, you’d do it to.”

The Tem'uj standing in the centre of the small group on the beach cupped his hands and called back.

"I am Or'kam, commander of this force," he called. "Where is Slagor?"

“In deep shit.” Will replied with a grin.

Behind him, Halt heard a quick intake of breath and turned to see Borsa shaking his head sadly, his eyes downcast. Several of the other Skandians also exchanged glances at this incontrovertible confirmation that Slagor had been involved in the plan.

"Keep still!" Halt warned them, and the men hurriedly masked their reactions. Erak was answering now, with the story that he, Borsa and Halt had agreed upon.

"Oberjarl Ragnak was growing suspicious of our movements. It was too dangerous for Slagor to come on this expedition. He will join us at Fallkork Island."

“Once Ragnak hears of his betrayal, I doubt he’ll go anywhere ever again.” Sir Rodney scoffed.

There was a hurried consultation between the Temujai leaders.

"They don't like it," Erak muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"They don't have to like it. They just have to believe it," Halt told him in the same undertone. After several minutes' discussion, Or'kam stepped away from the group and called again.

"We expected Slagor. How can we be sure we can trust you? Did he give any message? Any password?"

“How does that make any sense?” Maddie questioned. “If he had given the other ship captains a password, the Temujai won’t even know to expect the password or even know the correct one!”

On the ship, the men exchanged worried glances. This was the one eventuality they had feared. If Slagor had arranged a password with the Temujai, then their plan was spoiled. Of course, their main aim had already been achieved. They had proved Slagor's complicity in the plot. But now that they were here, the chance of taking 150 men out of the enemy's battle line, without any loss to their own forces, was tempting in the extreme.

"Bluff it out," Halt said quickly. "He already said he was expecting Slagor, so they didn't need a password." Erak nodded. It made sense.

“Thank goodness you were there Halt.” Cassandra said, “That could have ended a lot bloodier.”

"Look, horseman," Erak bellowed again. "I don't need a password, do I? I'm here to pick you up. And I'm risking my neck to do it! Now if you choose to come aboard, then do so. If not, I'm going raiding and leaving you and Ragnak to your little war. Now you choose!"

Once again there was an urgent consultation on the beach. They could see Or'kam's reluctance in his movements, but equally, they could see him weighing his options, and after a long, searching glance at the wolfship, he obviously decided he had nothing to fear from the skeleton crews of rowers on the three ships.

"Very well!" he called. "Bring your ships in and we'll board."

“At the cliff?” Maddie asked sceptically.

But now Erak shook his head.

"We'll bring you out on the skiffs," he called. "We can't beach here."

Or'kam made an angry gesture. Obviously he didn't like it when things didn't go precisely according to his wishes.

Will snorted, “That’s the story of my life.”

"What are you talking about?" he yelled. "Slagor beached his ship right here. I saw him do it!"

Erak moved to the bulwark and stood up on it, completely exposed to any possible fire from the beach.

"Careful," Halt muttered, trying not to let his lips move.

"And tell me, horseman," Erak said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "did Slagor then load fifty men aboard his ship and take her off the beach?"

“He better not have.”

There was a pause as the Temujai leader thought through the reasoning in what Erak had said. Erak saw the hesitation and pressed on.

"If I beach now and load your men aboard, we'll never get her off again. Particularly with the tide falling the way it is."

That seemed to clinch it. Or'kam reluctantly signaled his agreement.

"Very well!" he called. "How many can you take at a time?"

A cheer went up at the table. Erak had successfully bluffed them out.

Erak resisted the temptation to heave a sigh of relief.

"Three skiffs, eight men each," he called. "Twenty-four at a time."

Or'kam nodded. "All right, Skandian, send in the skiffs."

Gilan closed the book, grin still plastered on his face. He gave it over to Maddie who took it eagerly. She wanted to read as much of it as possible herself. Perhaps she’d even be able to keep a few in the cabin when they had finished reading.

Chapter 90: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 31

Summary:

Maddie reads chapter 31.

Maddie began reading.

"Position two: shoot!" Called Will, and the hundred archers' arms rose to the same angle, drew and released, more or less simultaneously. The slithering hiss of the release was magnified a hundred times, and Will and Horace watched in satisfaction as a dark cloud of arrows arced across the intervening space to the target that had suddenly popped up.

Maddie read eagerly, of course it had been mentioned before that Will’s a hundred archers were crucial in the Battle for Skandia, now she would get a firsthand account of how he trained them.

Evanlyn was sitting on an old broken cart a few meters behind the line of archers, watching the scene with interest.

They could hear the distinctive soft thudding of arrows striking into the turf around the target, and the harder, clearer smack of those arrows that actually hit it.

"Shields!" bellowed Horace. Beside each archer, a foot soldier stepped forward with a rectangular wooden shield held on his left arm, positioned to cover both himself and the archer as he reloaded. It had been an idea the warrior apprentice had come up with while he'd been watching an earlier practice shoot. Will had readily adopted the improvement. With only one hundred archers, he couldn't afford to lose any to the return fire the Temujai were sure to mount once they saw his men in action.

Gilan grinned silently to himself. Halt had truly been correct, as usual, Will, Evanlyn and Horace were no doubt the future of Araluen, even if they hadn’t known it at the time.

Will glanced quickly around to make sure his men were ready for the next shot. Then he turned back to the practice field, searching for the next target to appear.

There! As the team of men behind him hauled on a set of ropes, another flat board swung up out of the grass. But he had nearly missed the movement, waiting to see if the archers were ready. He felt a slight twinge of panic. Things were moving too fast.

"Clear!" he called, wishing his voice wouldn't tend to break when he did this, and the shield bearers stepped clear.

Will sighed mournfully. It was honestly a miracle in itself that any of the archers or shields men could respect him after hearing his voice crack so many times.

"Half right! Position three: shoot!"

Again they heard the slithering hiss. Another cloud of arrows cast its fleeting shadow across the field and riddled the area around the target. Already, another target was rising out of the grass, much closer in this time.

"Shields!" Horace called again and once more the archers were hidden from return fire. As he ordered his men to do this, Horace performed the same action, concealing Will behind one of the large shields.

"Come on, come on," Will muttered, shifting from one foot to the other as he watched the men select new arrows and nock them to the string. The archers sensed his urgency and hurried their reloading. The extra haste made for clumsiness. Three of them dropped the arrows they were about to nock; others fumbled like beginners.

Baron Arald winced in sympathy. The people under one’s command were heavily influenced by their leader, if they sensed impatience, they would rush. And if they rushed, they would fail. Will, while still being a Ranger’s apprentice, still didn’t have the experience to lead so many men. At least, back then.

Frustrated, Will realized he'd have to go with the men who were ready. He swung his gaze back to the target. But the men on the ropes were hauling it in, so that it slid toward them on its sled-like runners, matching the speed of an enemy advance. The range had closed too quickly for him to make an instant assessment. In the time that he'd been watching his men, he'd lost his concentration and his sense of the battlefield.

Too much for one person to monitor, Sir Rodney realised as he listened to the drill. They would no doubt need someone else.

He stepped down angrily from his command position, a low platform built at the end of the line of archers.

"Stand down!" he called. "Everyone take a break."

He realized he'd been sweating freely with the tension and wiped a corner of his cloak across his forehead. Horace set the large shield down and joined him.

"What's the trouble?" he asked.

Will shook his head, defeated. "It's hopeless," he said. "I can't keep track of the targets and the men at the same time. I lose my perspective. You'll have to watch the men and tell me when they're ready."

Horace frowned.

"I could," he agreed. "But on the day, I think I'm going to be a little busy shielding you from any return shots. I really need to keep my eye on the enemy too. Unless you want to be turned into a pincushion."

A few people winced, and Will said cheerfully, “That would have certainly been anti-climactic. Especially considering all the hard work that went into coming to get me.”

"Well, someone's going to have to do it!" Will said angrily. "We haven't even begun to practice against the Kaijin and the whole thing's falling apart already!"

Kaijin? Gilan wondered. What the hell was that?

Halt had told them about the Kaijin. They were specialist marksmen and each group of sixty Temujai riders would have one with them. The Kaijin were assigned to pick off the leaders in any enemy group. It would be Will's task to counteract them and he'd devised a drill for it, with additional, smaller targets set in the field, ready to rise into view unexpectedly. But if Will was dividing his attention between his own archers and the enemy, his chances of nullifying the enemy marksmen would be low indeed.

“So a Ranger crossed with an assassin?” Maddie asked, and Will shook his head.

“More like a Ranger crossed with an army scout.”

On the other hand, his chances of being shot by one of them were considerably higher.

“Ergo, the shields.” Horace noted. There was no way he was allowing his friend to get shot, especially after all they had gone through to reunite in the first place.

"I could do it," said Evanlyn, and both boys turned toward her. She saw the doubt in their expressions. "I could do it. I could keep an eye on the archers and call when they're ready."

"But that'll put you in the battle line!" Horace objected instantly. "It'll be dangerous!"

“I don’t think it would matter where she was if the Temujai won, Horace. She’s been in danger ever since she stepped foot on the shores of Skandia.” Will nudged his friend, who just sighed defeatedly.

Evanlyn shook her head. She noticed Will hadn't objected so far. She could see he was at least considering her idea. She hurried on before he could veto the suggestion.

"The archers aren't actually in the front line. You'll be behind it, and protected by a trench and an earth mound. You could build me a kind of a dugout at the end, beneath your command position. I'd be safe from arrows there. After all, I don't need to see the enemy, just our men."

"But what if the Temujai break through our line?" Horace said. "You'll be right in the middle of it then!"

Evanlyn shrugged. "If the Temujai break through, it won't matter where I am. We'll all be dead. Besides, if everyone else is taking a risk, why shouldn't I?"

The Baron thought back to a remark he once made, we hold these positions of power because when it comes the time, it’s our sacrifice to make, and it was no less true now, even for the royal family.

Horace was wise enough not to reply Because you're a girl. And he had to admit that she had a point. But he wasn't convinced. He turned to Will.

"What do you think, Will?" he said. He expected the apprentice Ranger to agree with him and he was a little surprised when Will didn't answer immediately.

"I think," Will said slowly, "she may be right. Let's try it."

“You still almost died!” Horace growled, but Cassandra just smiled, remembering how close it had been.

“Will saved me, Horace. You both had my back.”

The Ranger in question dipped his head, “Always.”

"Ready," Evanlyn said calmly. She was crouched below the platform where Will and Horace stood.

"Clear!" That was Horace. The shield bearers dropped to one knee beside the archers.

"Left left! Position one: shoot!"

The volley was ragged and Will knew that was his fault. He'd called the order to shoot a fraction too quickly and some of the men hadn't reached full draw. He mentally kicked himself. He heard Horace calling for the shields again and saw the arrow strikes on the target-as well as those that missed and fell short.

“But you’re learning, and that’s the important thing. Leading is hardly a skill you can just materialise out of nowhere, the best way to get better is to put it into practise.”

But now another danger reared its head. As the next large target swung up and began moving toward them, another, smaller one swung out from the target they had just engaged. This was a man-sized figure and it was Will's responsibility. He drew and loosed and saw his arrow slam into the target, just as Evanlyn called "ready" once more. He turned his attention quickly to the main target as Horace ordered the shield bearers down.

“There goes to the Kaijin.” Gilan noted. Those skilled archers would no doubt be at a complete surprise about being attacked directly and actively targeted themselves.

"Left! Position three:" He waited, then added a correction. "Down a half:"

He forced himself to wait the full term, then called: "Shoot!"

This time, the volley flew truly, with the majority of arrows slamming into the target or close around it. If it had been a charging group of horsemen, the volley would have taken a severe toll.

"Shields!" bellowed Horace, and the pattern began to repeat itself. But now Will waved a weary hand.

"Stand down," he said, and Horace repeated the order in a louder voice. The archers and shield bearers, who had been working at this drill for the past two hours with only a few short breaks, dropped gratefully to the grass to rest. Horace grinned at Will.

"Not bad," he said. "I make it twenty out of twenty-five of those targets peppered pretty solidly. And you hit every one of the Kaijin."

Gilan stared at Will, “You never told me they were that successful?!”

Will just shrugged innocently, “They were the best we could do in such a short amount of time.”

The Ranger Commandant just shook his head, muttering under his breath. Gilan knew he should stop being surprised when it came to Will, but it seemed no matter how many feats his pseudo little brother accomplished, he would continue to be impressed.  

The smaller targets attached to each large board represented the Kaijin. Freed from the need to check on both his own men and the enemy, Will had coped easily with them.

"True," Will said in response to Horace's comment. "But they weren't shooting back."

Secretly, he was pleased with his performance. He had shot well, in spite of the distractions involved in estimating range and trajectory for the larger group.

He grinned at Horace and Evanlyn. It was good to feel some of the old camaraderie back.

“Even with the slightly dire circumstances.” Will noted. Horace just gave him a sideways look.

“Slightly?” He questioned.

“Well,” Will corrected. “No more than usual.”

"Nice work, everyone," he said, then, raising his voice: "Let's take a break for half an hour."

There was a murmur of satisfaction from the archers and they moved to the side of the practice area, where barrels of drinking water were available. Behind Will, a familiar voice spoke.

"Take a break for the rest of the day. You've done enough for the moment."

The three young Araluens turned at the sound of Halt's voice. Instantly, Will felt reinvigorated, bursting with curiosity about events at Sand Creek Bay.

Everyone at the time broke out into laughter and smiles. Will’s curiosity had survived Skandia, and they were all thankful for it.

"Halt!" he cried eagerly. "What happened? Were the Temujai there? Did you manage to fool them?"

But Halt held up a hand to stop the flow of questions he knew he was about to face. He was troubled by what he had just seen as he approached.

"Why have you got Evanlyn involved in this, Will?" he asked. He saw the hesitation in the young man's eyes, then saw his jaw set in a determined line.

"Because I need her, Halt. I need someone to keep track of the men, to let me know when they're ready. Without that, the system won't work."

"Couldn't someone else do that?"

“Horace tried to.”

“It didn’t work.”

"I can't think of anyone else I can trust. I want someone who won't panic. Someone who'll keep her head."

Halt scratched his beard thoughtfully. "How do you know Evanlyn won't panic?"

The answer came immediately.

"Because she didn't in Celtica-at the bridge."

Halt looked at the three young faces before him. All set. All determined. He knew Will was right. He would need someone he could trust.

"All right then," he said, then added, as the three beamed at him, "But don't look so happy about it. I'm the one who'll have to explain to her father if she's shot."

Baron Arald shuddered. “You’re a braver man than me, Halt.”

"Now what about the Temujai?" Will asked. "Did you find them at Sand Creek Bay?"

At the mention of Slagor's plot, the smile on Evanlyn's face faded, replaced by a look of anxiety.

"They were there," Halt said quickly, dispelling her worst fears. "And they made it clear that they were expecting to see Slagor." He nodded at the girl as she let go a pent-up breath in relief. "It puts a different complexion on things as far as you're concerned, Princess," he said.

"Ragnak still has his vow," she said dully.

“And there’s still a huge battle for the fate of the country.” Horace reminded her.

Halt nodded. "True. But at least he's agreed not to act on it until after we've driven off the Temujai." Evanlyn made an uncertain little gesture with her hands.

"It's just postponing things," she said.

"Problems postponed have a habit of solving themselves, more often than not," Halt told her, putting an arm around her slim shoulders. Evanlyn smiled at him. But it wasn't much of a smile.

"If you say so," she replied. "But Halt, don't address me as 'Princess' if you would. No point in reminding Ragnak about me at every opportunity."

The Ranger nodded. "I stand corrected," he said. Then he added, in a lower tone that only Evanlyn heard, "By the way, there's no need to mention it to him, but don't be too surprised if Erak's wolfship is standing by to get you out of here the minute we've seen these damned Temujai off."

“I still can’t believe you didn’t bother to tell us this until after the battle, Halt.”

Halt shrugged at his ex-apprentice. “It was only in case of emergency, Will.”

She looked up at him then, hope in her eyes. He met her gaze and nodded meaningfully. She looked from him to the burly Skandian Jarl, who was now approaching over the field, then she leaned forward to kiss Halt lightly on the cheek.

"Thanks, Halt," she said softly. "At least now I know there is an alternative."

The Ranger shrugged and grinned at her. "That's what I'm here for," he said, pleased to see the light of hope back in her eyes. She smiled at him again and slipped away, heading back to her quarters. All at once, overwhelmed by her sense of relief that Halt had contrived a possible way out of her predicament, she felt the need to be alone for a while.

“Always the ones with the solution, those Rangers.” The Baron remarked quietly to his old friend.

Sir Rodney nodded in agreement and said at the same volume. “Not sure what we’d do without them.”

Some of the Skandians who had been working the targets were calling to Erak now as he came closer, wanting to know how events had turned out at Sand Creek Bay. As the jarl confirmed Slagor's treachery, there were angry mutterings and dark looks cast toward the lodge, where Slagor was being held under guard.

"What about the Temujai, Erak?" Will asked. "How did you convince them to go ashore on Fallkork Island?"

Erak's laughter rang around the practice field. "We would have had to fight to stop them!" he told the assembled audience. "They were scrambling over each other to get back on solid land."

The Skandians in the crowd standing around him echoed his laughter as he continued: "I managed to find a spot where we had the wind from astern, a steep head sea on our starboard quarter and the tide race through the narrows at the same time. A few hours of that and our fierce horse soldiers were like little lambs-sick little lambs."

Maddie winced, she didn’t really get seasick but could imagine it would get bad with no way to escape it.

"They weren't the only ones," Halt replied with some feeling. "I've been through some rough seas in my time, but I've never felt anything like the plunging and leaping you had us doing."

Will made a coughing sound, and Halt glared at him suspiciously.

Once again Erak bellowed with laughter. "Your master here went nearly the same shade of green as his cloak," he told Will. Halt raised one eyebrow.

"At least I finally found a use for that damned helmet," he said, and the smile disappeared from Erak's face.

"Yes. I'm not sure what I'm going to tell Gordoff about that," he said. "He made me promise I'd look after that helmet. It's his favourite-a real family heirloom."

“Oh you didn’t…” Maddie looked to Halt, who had a vicious glint in his eye.

"Well, it certainly has a lived-in feel to it now," Halt told him, and Will noticed there was a hint of malicious pleasure in his eye. The Ranger nodded at the group of archers who were standing by.

"You seem to have this group working pretty well," he said.

Will felt absurdly pleased at his mentor's praise.

"Oh," he said, trying to sound casual. "We're not doing too badly."

"Better than that from what I saw," Halt told him. Then he repeated his earlier suggestion. "I meant what I said, Will. Give them the rest of the day off. Yourself too. You've earned a break. And unless I miss my guess, we're going to need all the rest we can get in the next few days."

“Well, you were certainly right.”

Chapter 91: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 32

Summary:

Will reads chapter 32.

Notes:

Thank you for all those who have left comments and kudos, they all all greatly appreciated. Enjoy the next chapter :)

Maddie handed the book off to Will after scanning the first couple of lines. It was about to get exciting!

It was a muted sound-surf on the beach a long way away, or maybe the rolling of distant thunder, Will thought. Except no thunder had ever sounded like this. This sound never seemed to start and never seemed to end. It just continued, over and over, repeating itself constantly.

The sounds of war, Will thought. With an enemy that outnumbered their own ten-fold.

And, gradually, growing louder. It was the sound of thousands of horses cantering slowly toward them.

Will flexed the string on his bow a couple of times, testing the feel and the tension. His eyes were fixed on the point where they all knew the Temujai army would appear - a kilometre away, where the narrow coastal strip between the hills and the sea jutted out in a promontory, temporarily blocking their view of the approaching army. His mouth was dry, he realized, as he tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow.

Horace wrung his hands together nervously. The wait before battle was always worse that the actual fighting. He could tell that the entire room was on the edge of their seats.

He reached down for the water skin that was hanging by his quiver and missed the first sight of the Temujai horsemen as they swept around the bend.

The men around him let out an involuntary cry. The horsemen rode stirrup to stirrup, in one long extended line, each horse cantering easily, matching the pace of the horse beside it.

“It must have looked unbeatable.” Baron Arald said, voice quiet.

Will looked up and met his eyes. “We thought so to.” And yet…

"There must be thousands of them!" one of the archers said, and Will could hear the fear in his voice. It was echoed in another dozen places along the line. From the ranks of Skandian warriors beyond them, there was not a sound.

Now, above the dull rumble of the hooves, they could hear the jingle of harness as well, a lighter counterpoint to the rumbling hoofbeats. The horsemen came on, moving closer to the waiting ranks of silent Skandians. Then, at the single blaring note of a bugle, they reined in and came to a halt.

The silence, after the rumbling beat of their approach, was almost palpable.

An army of a thousand, dead still. Silent. Maddie shivered at the thought.

Then a massive roar rose from the throats of the Skandian warriors who stood by their defences. A roar of defiance and challenge, accompanied by the ear-shattering clash of axes and broadswords on shields. Gradually, the sound died away. The Temujai sat their horses silently, staring at their enemies.

Unnerving as hell, Gilan thought warily. There was nothing more dangerous than a silent enemy.

"Keep still!" Will called to his archers. Now that he saw the Temujai front rank, his force seemed ridiculously small. There must have been six or seven hundred warriors riding side by side in that first rank. And behind them were another five or six times that number. At the centre of the army, where the commander sat his horse, a sequence of coloured signal flags waved. Others answered from positions in the line of horsemen. There was another horn blast-a different note this time-and the front rank began to walk their horses forward. The jingling of harness was apparent once more-then a massive metallic slithering sound filled the air and the weak sun gleamed on hundreds of sabre blades as they were drawn.

“Here we go…” Cassandra muttered. She leaned forward and grabbed one of Horace’s hands. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"They're going to fight close in," Horace said softly beside him.

Will nodded. "Remember what Halt told us? Their first move will be a feint-an attack and then a false withdrawal to draw the Skandians out from behind their breastworks. They won't commit to their real attack until they have the Skandians strung out in pursuit."

After that, they’ll be able to surround and destroy them, Maddie realised. It was an excellent strategy, especially considering the manoeuvrability of horses, coupled with bows. Once they surround the Skandians, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

The eighteen hundred Skandians were drawn up in three ranks on a narrow strip of flatland between the sea and the heavily timbered hills. They waited behind carefully constructed earthen breastworks. The sloping ramparts facing the Temujai were thick with sharpened stakes of various lengths, designed to impale the enemy's horses.

Halt had located their main defensive position at the spot where the strip was narrowest, with their flanks protected by the steep, wooded mountains on the left and the sea on the right. Hallasholm itself was barely two hundred meters behind their line. Will's force of archers were on an earthwork berm on the right, some meters behind the main defensive line. At the moment, earth-covered wicker ramparts kept the archers hidden as they crouched behind them.

Will nodded as he read, distantly remembering how Halt had insisted they be so close to Hallasholm in order to force the Temujai into a choke point, decreasing their ability manoeuvre.

Halt, Erak and Ragnak were in the command position, more or less in the centre of the Skandian line, on a small knoll.

Now, more signal flags were seen and the advancing cavalry broke into a trot, beginning to wheel slightly toward the Skandian left flank.

There was a stir among the archers crouched behind the breastworks. Several of them reached for the arrow bins in front of them, instinctively feeling the need to arm themselves.

Maddie knew that archers couldn’t reveal themselves too early, but the thought of just standing there as an army came rushing towards you was unpleasant to say the least.

"Stay down!" Will called, wishing, as ever, that his voice wouldn't crack. Halt didn't want him revealing the presence of the archers until the Skandians had made several of their usual probing attacks.

"Wait till they're committed to a full attack, then we'll surprise them," he had told his apprentice.

The line of archers turned now to look at their young commander. Will forced himself to smile at them, then, feigning a casualness he certainly didn't feel, leaned his bow against the breastworks in front of him, signifying that there would be no action required of the archers for some time yet.

Gilan shook his head fondly. Even during his apprenticeship Will was a natural at leading.

Some of the other men copied the action.

"Nice work," Horace said quietly beside him. "How can you stay so calm?"

Horace nudged his friend, smiling. Will just rolled his eyes. They both distinctly remembered this conversation, the calm before the storm.

"It helps if you're terrified," Will replied, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. He was surprised at the warrior apprentice's question. Horace himself seemed to be the epitome of calm, totally unworried and seemingly unconcerned. His next statement dispelled that idea.

"I know what you mean," he said. "I nearly dropped my sword when they rode around the bend there."

“Glad I missed that specific moment.” Will noted.

The Temujai charge was gathering pace now, breaking into a fast canter, then a gallop. As they neared the Skandian line, a major part of the force swung away, seemingly deterred by the fortifications and the sharpened stakes. They wheeled their horses to run parallel to the Skandian line for a few seconds, then began to curve back toward their own army. The Skandians yelled abuse and scorn at them. A shower of spears, rocks and other missiles erupted from the Skandian line. Most of them fell short of the galloping horsemen.

“Was there anyway to spook the horses?” Maddie wondered out loud.

Everyone turned to Halt, who shrugged. “Temujai horses are pretty well trained. Obviously not as good as Ranger horses, but probably the equivalent of a middle-aged knight’s horse. They could probably be spooked if enough pressure was put on them, but we didn’t have the resources or the time to do that.”

A smaller group, maybe less than a hundred, continued to close on the left wing of the Skandian line. Leaning forward in their stirrups, shouting their war cries, they forced their shaggy mounts up the earth breastworks, ignoring the screams of those horses who were struck by the stakes. About two-thirds of their numbers made it to the Skandian line and they leaned down from their saddles, striking left and right with their long, curved sabres.

The Skandian defenders joined the battle eagerly. Huge axes rose and fell and more horses came down, with tortured screams. Will tried to shut his ears to the sound of horses in agony. The small, shaggy Temujai mounts were nearly identical to Tug and Abelard and it was all too easy to imagine his own horse bleeding and terrified, just as the Temujai horses were. Obviously, the Temujai thought of their horses as a means to an end, and had little affection for them.

Maddie clenched her fist under the table. Bumper was her most loyal companion, she would never think of him as a means to an end.

The seething battle occupied one corner of the Skandian line. For some minutes, there seemed to be no clear picture of what was happening. Then, gradually, with cries of panic, the Temujai began to give ground, backing down the sloped earthworks, wheeling their horses and moving away, and letting the Skandians come after them with increasing eagerness.

Here we go, Maddie thought. This was the real test. If the Skandians fell for the rouge, all would be lost. She knew they didn’t, otherwise her parents, Halt and Will would not be here. Hell, Araluen itself might not have existed, but that didn’t mean it was straight forward or easy. Knowing the luck of those around the table, it would be far from it.

Yet, to the more distant observers, it was obvious that the retreating enemy wasn't moving as fast as they might. Even those still mounted made no real effort to gallop clear. Rather, they withdrew gradually, maintaining contact with the foremost of their pursuers, drawing them farther and farther from the defensive positions they occupied and into the open ground.

"Look!" said Horace suddenly, pointing with his sword. In response to more flag signals, and unseen by the defenders on the left flank, several hundred riders from the original Temujai charge had now completed a full circle and were wheeling back to the aid of their embattled companions.

Gilan grimaced, the tactics made sense so long as they were able to find flat, even, mostly dry ground to mount their battle on. If the Skandians didn’t get back, they would be boxed in and slaughtered.

"Just as Halt said they would," Horace muttered, and Will nodded wordlessly.

In the command post near the centre of the Skandian line, Erak was saying much the same thing.

"Here they come, Halt, just as you said," he muttered. Ragnak, standing beside him, peered anxiously over the breastworks at his exposed men. Nearly a hundred Skandians had streamed out of the defences now and were engaged with the Temujai.

"You called it correctly, Ranger," he agreed. From this remote position, he could see the trap about to be sprung. Had he taken his normal place, at the thick of the fighting, he would have been totally unaware of the tactic.

“Bet it took a lot of convince him not to fight on the front lines.” Baron Arald said, but Halt shook his head.

“Not really. We were so outnumbered, that there would be no position you could be in that would avoid the fighting.”

"Can Kormak be trusted to keep his head out there, and not let his men get out of control?" Halt asked the Oberjarl. Ragnak scowled at the question.

"I'll kill him if he doesn't," he said simply. The Ranger raised one eyebrow.

"You won't have to," he said. Then, turning, he gestured to one of Ragnak's signallers, who stood nearby with a huge ram's horn in his hand. "Get ready," he said, and the man raised the horn to his lips, pursing his mouth to form the right shape to create the mournful but penetrating note.

It was a game of cat and mouse. The smaller group of Temujai were pretending to retreat, all the while managing to stay engaged with the leading elements of the pursuing Skandians. For their part, they were simulating a wild and undisciplined pursuit, and getting farther and farther from their own lines. And all the while, the first Temujai force were circling back to fall on the exposed Skandians.

If they don’t time this right, the Skandians are going to be toast, Sir Rodney observed.

There was only one more element in the game, which was unknown to the Temujai leaders. Before dawn, Halt had directed a hundred Skandian axmen to take up positions in the fringe of the wooded slope bordering the valley. Concealed in hastily dug shallow trenches and behind fallen logs, they waited now for the signal that would tell them to make a surprise attack on the Temujai who were planning to surprise their comrades.

Gilan winced on behalf of the Temujai. Their numbers were so large that once the axemen were revealed, there would be very little space to move. While Temujai were excellent tacticians and archers, Skandians far out classed them in close ranged fighting.

"Signal one," Halt said quietly, and the ram's horn sounded a single, extended note that echoed across the valley.

Instantly, the pursuing Skandians, strung out in a long line behind the retreating Temujai riders, broke contact with the enemy and ran to form a defensive circle, their round shields forming an impenetrable wall. They were none too soon, as the second wave of Temujai horsemen was nearly upon them. As the eastern riders swept in, they were surprised to find an enemy already in a defensive formation and obviously awaiting them. The charge broke against the shield wall and another seething, struggling skirmish formed, with the hundred Skandians defending desperately against at least five times their number of horsemen.

Haz'kam, commanding general of the Temujai invasion force, frowned from his command position as he watched the well-rehearsed, coordinated movement of the Skandians as they formed their shield wall.

“They know somethings up,” Maddie stated. “Skandians are famous for their uh…forward thinking battle tactics. This isn’t how the Temujai thought they would respond.”

"I don't like the look of this," he muttered to his second in command. "This is not how these savages are supposed to react." And then the ram's horn rang out again, this time sounding three short, staccato notes that seemed to punch the air. A signal of some kind, he realized. But for what? And to whom?

The answer wasn't long in coming. There was a roar from the main Skandian ranks as a group of foot soldiers broke from the cover of the trees and ran to fall upon the encircling riders from the rear. The Skandian battle-axes took a terrible toll of the surprised Temujai, who found themselves suddenly and unexpectedly caught between the hammer of the new attacking force and the anvil of the shield wall. Surprised and confused, and with the momentum of their charge long since spent, the horsemen were easy marks for the savage northerners. In a matter of a few seconds, Haz'kam estimated that he had lost at least a quarter of his engaged force. It was time to cut his losses, he knew. He turned to his bugler.

"Retreat," he said quickly. "Disengage and retreat."

Maddie let out a sigh of relief, letting all her muscles relax from their coiled up, tense state that had been present throughout the rest of the chapter.

The silver notes of the bugle spilled over the battlefield, cutting through the consciousness of the highly disciplined Temujai cavalry. This time, as they withdrew, they made no pretence of staying in contact with the Skandians. Their rapid disengagement showed how false their previous feigned retreat had been. In a matter of a few minutes, the riders were streaming back toward their own lines.

For a moment, it looked as if discipline and reason had forsaken the Skandians. Ragnak realized that, in the heat of the moment, they were on the verge of pursuing the retreating Temujai back to their own lines-and to certain death for the Skandians. He quickly jumped up on the breastworks and bellowed, in his loudest storm-quelling voice: "Kormak! Back here! Now!"

Gilan shook his head, he had to hand it to Ragnak’s quick thinking. If the Skandians had followed the Temujai back to their own lines, the surprise attack and planning Halt had done previously would have been for nothing.

There was no need for the ram's horn to reinforce the order. The Oberjarl's voice carried clearly to the Skandians and, as one, they ran for the shelter of the fortifications. Realizing what was happening, some of the Temujai sheathed their sabres and turned back to send a volley of arrows sailing after the Skandians.

But it was too little and too late. Apart from a few minor flesh wounds, there were no injuries.

Will and Horace exchanged glances. So far, things had gone pretty well as Halt had predicted. But they didn't think the Temujai would be trying that particular trick again.

"Next time," said Will, "it'll be our turn."

Will placed down the book for a second and took a second to suck in a deep breath. He hadn’t realised just how close they had been to losing in that first encounter. He had heard Ragnak’s shout the first time, but he never imaged that had been the only thing between the Skandians and a slaughter.

He gave the book to Lady Pauline, who, after skimming the first few lines, raised a perfect unimpressed eyebrow.

Chapter 92: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 33

Summary:

Lady Pauline reads chapter 33

Notes:

I managed to fix the mistakes Laura_Hill pointed out for me. Thank you for that. Sorry for the slow update, but I promise I will finish this book.

Enjoy.

General Haz'kam trotted his horse along the front rank of his army, watching as the first skirmish party made their way back to his lines. He had lost perhaps two hundred men, killed and wounded in that first encounter, he estimated. And perhaps half that number of horses. With an army of six thousand combat troops, of course, the numbers in themselves weren't terribly significant.

“Two hundred people died.” Maddie stated bluntly, “That’s certainly significant.”

What was significant, however, was the behaviour of the Skandians. That first attack had been designed to reduce their numbers by several hundred, not his own. In fact, there had even been the slight hope that the majority of the Skandians might have been drawn out from behind their defensive positions, into the exposed ground where they would have been easy meat for his mounted archers.

“He knows somethings wrong.” Maddie pondered out loud. “Have they actually seen Halt yet?”

Horace met his daughter's eyes and shrugged. Maddie pointedly raised an eyerbow.

He reined in as he came level with a group of his officers. Among them, he recognized Colonel Bin'zak, his head of intelligence. The colonel was looking decidedly uncomfortable, he saw. As well he might be.

Haz'kam caught his eye now and jerked his head toward the Skandian defences.

"That was not what I was led to expect," he said. His voice was deceptively mild. The colonel urged his own horse forward a few paces and saluted as he came level with his commander.

"I don't know what happened, Shan Haz'kam," he replied. "Somehow, they seemed to see through the trap. It's not the way I expected them to react. It's…" He searched for the right words, finally saying weakly, "It totally un-Skandian behaviour."

Gilan rolled his eyes, “You could say that again, thanks to Halt. They have been heavily relying on the predictability of Skandian tactics and their own strategy to win the conflict. Now what are they planning to do?”

Haz'kam nodded several times. He held in his anger with an effort. It was undignified for a Temujai commander to show emotion on the field of battle.

"Does it occur to you, perhaps," he said eventually, when he was sure he could keep control of his voice, "that the Skandians may have someone with them who knows our way of fighting?"

A few eyes turned to look at Halt.

Bin'zak frowned as he turned this thought over. In truth, it hadn't occurred to him. But now that the Shan mentioned it, it seemed the logical conclusion. Except for one factor.

"It would be unlike the Skandians to give field command to a foreigner," he said thoughtfully. Haz'kam smiled at him. But it was a smile without the faintest touch of humour in it.

“The Skandians aren’t idiots,” Cassandra muttered. “Even then, with a force of over a thousand, they didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”

"It was unlike them to break off their pursuit, form a shield wall and then hit us with a surprise attack from the woods too," he pointed out. The colonel said nothing to that. The truth of the statement was self-evident.

"There have been reports," the Shan continued, "that a foreigner has been seen with the Skandians…one of those cursed Atabi."

Will hid his cough of laughter behind his sleeve. He was unsurprised that Halt had made such an impression on the Temujai last time they had encountered one another.

He could tell by Gilan’s grin that the Ranger Commandant felt the same way. Halt just rolled his eyes.

You steal one heard of horses and your infamous, he thought exasperated.

Atabi, literally meaning "the green ones," was the Temujai term for Rangers. In the years since Halt had made his successful horse raid, the Temujai leaders had attempted to gather as much knowledge as they could about the mysterious force of men who wore green and grey cloaks and seemed to meld into the forest.

“Here that Maddie,” Gilan leaned forward. “Green and cloaked men. They’ll never see you coming.”

Will snorted, “They better not.”

In the past few years, in preparation for this campaign, spies had even reached as far as Araluen itself, asking questions and seeking answers. They had learned little. The Rangers guarded their secrets jealously and the ordinary Araluens were reluctant to discuss the Ranger Corps with foreigners. There was a strong undercurrent of belief among Araluens that Rangers dabbled in magic and the black arts. Nobody was too keen to discuss such matters.

Now, at this mention of an Atabi among the enemy, Colonel Bin'zak shrugged.

"They were rumours only, Shan," he protested. "None of my men could confirm the fact."

“I’m sure you can now.” Sir Rodney put in wryly.

The general's gaze locked on his. "I think we've just had it confirmed," he said, holding the colonel's eyes until the officer looked down and away.

"Yes, Shan," he said bitterly. He knew his career was finished. Haz'kam now raised his voice, addressing the other officers gathered around and dismissing the matter of the disgraced intelligence colonel.

“I think you have more pressing issues to worry about than your career.” Maddie said disapprovingly, arms crossed.

"It might also explain why our own planned surprise attack from the ocean failed to materialize," he said, and there were a few assenting grunts. The plot with Slagor had also been hatched by Bin'zak. Now, it seemed, the 150 men who had embarked on the Skandian ships four days ago had simply vanished into thin air.

A few people snickered at the reminder.

The general came to a decision. "No more subterfuge. We've wasted enough time here. We've been delayed by three weeks already. Standard attack from now on…rolling arrow storm until we create a weakness, then we drive through their line."

His commanders nodded their assent. He looked around at them, seeing their determination, their grim confidence. The Temujai were about to do what they did best, using their mobility and the devastating force of their mounted archers to probe and weaken the enemy line. Then, when the moment was right, they would drive in with their sabres and lances and finish the job. There was no shouting of battle cries, no histrionics from these men.

This was a normal day at work for them.

“We’ll see.”  

"Give your orders," Haz'kam told them. "Watch for my commands."

He wheeled his horse, ready to ride back to the knoll where he had set up his command position. Already, signal flags were beginning to order the standard assault. A voice from behind made him pause.

"General!" It was Bin'zak. He had forsaken the social honorific of "Shan," Haz'kam noticed, and addressed him by his military title. The general faced his intelligence colonel now, waiting for his next words.

“So they also have an intelligence network.” Maddie noted. Though nowhere near as good as the Ranger’s of Araluen.

"Permission to ride with one of the Ulans, sir," Bin'zak said, his head held high. Ulan was the Temujai word for the formation of sixty riders that was the basic unit of the Temujai force. Haz'kam considered the request. Normally, field grade officers were kept out of the close contact part of battles. They had no need to prove their courage or dedication. The general finally nodded permission.

"Granted," he said, and spurred his horse back to the command position.

"Now what?" said Ragnak irritably as he watched the Temujai cavalry forming into groups.

“Probably annoyed he was too far from the fighting so far.” Baron Arald commented idly.

Halt shook his head, “It was all the waiting around. Skandian battles don’t last for very long, they charge and either win or die.”

Halt watched too, his eyes narrowed. "Now, I think, it's the end of the opening gambits. Now they're going to hit us in earnest." He pointed with his bow, sweeping it along the line of mounted horsemen facing them. "They'll fight in their Ulans, sixty men in each unit, hitting us all along the line and wheeling away before we can respond. The idea is to pick off as many of our men as possible with arrows before launching a concentrated attack at a selected spot."

"Which is where?" Erak asked. This tactical talk was making him increasingly cross. All he wanted was a dozen or so Temujai within reach of his axe. Now it appeared he would have to continue waiting for that eventuality.

Horace nodded in sympathy. Over the years he had lost count of how many times he had been in questionable situations, hiding up in rafters, under windowsills, behind logs, usually with Will nearby. At least his duel with Morgorath only lasted a few minutes. He would be willing to take that over the feeling of bugs crawling all over him for hours at a time any day.

Halt turned to the signaller with the horn.

"Give the 'ready' call for the archers," he said, and as the man blew a series of long short, long short notes, he replied to Erak's question: "Wherever their general decides they've created a weakness in our line."

"So what do we do while we're waiting for him to make up his mind?" Ragnak asked irritably. Halt grinned to himself. Patience certainly wasn't high on the Skandian list of virtues, he thought.

Cassandra grinned, “They are by far the most efficient negotiators though.”

"We surprise them with our own archers," he said. "And we try to kill as many of them as we can before they become used to the fact that someone's shooting back at them."

All of Will's hundred archers heard the horn signal and there was an instant stirring among them. He held up a hand to calm them.

"Stay down!" he called. He took his time and was pleased that his voice didn't crack. Maybe that was the answer for the future, he thought. He climbed up on the raised step that had been built into his command position. Horace, his shield ready, stood beside him. The wicker breastworks still concealed the archers but, when the time came, they would be pushed aside and the shield bearers would have the responsibility of protecting them from the answering storm of arrows that the Temujai would send their way.

Maddie shivered at the thought, hundreds of arrows raining down on you with no cover accept the shield above your head, almost utterly exposed.

Below Horace and Will's more exposed position, protected by earthworks and a wicker overhang, Evanlyn crouched in her position, with a clear sight of the line of archers.

The assembled troops of horsemen began to move now, cantering slowly at first, then at increasing speed. Will could see that this time, each man was armed with a bow.

They thundered toward the Skandian line-not in one extended line as they had before, but in a dozen separate groups. Then, a hundred meters from the Skandians, each group wheeled so they were heading in a dozen different directions and sending volley after volley of arrows arcing up and over the Skandian lines.

“The Skandians had shields right?” Maddie asked nervously. They must have, otherwise their force would have been decimated by the large arrow volleys.

Will drummed his fingers nervously on the breastworks before him. He wanted to see the Temujai pattern before he committed his men. The first surprise would have the maximum potential to disrupt the enemy and he wanted to make sure he didn't waste it.

Now there was a continuous rattle as the raised Skandian shields caught the majority of the arrows that the Temujai were pouring in. But not all. Men were falling along the Skandian lines and being dragged back out of the battle line by those behind them, who then stepped in to replace them. Now the second and third ranks of Skandians held their shields high, to protect them against plunging fire, while the front rank presented their shields to the more direct frontal fire.

It was an effective ploy. But it left the men blinded to the approach of the Temujai. Now, as Will watched, one group of sixty quickly slung their bows, drew sabres and darted into the Skandian line in a slashing attack, killing a dozen men before the Skandians even realized they were there. As the Skandians re-formed and moved to counterattack, the Temujai withdrew rapidly and another Ulan, waiting for this exact opportunity, poured a deadly hail of arrows into the disrupted shield wall.

If they couldn’t see, they could prepare for an attack. Maddie clenched her fist nervously.

"We'd better do something," Horace muttered. Will held his hand up for silence. The seemingly random movements of the Temujai Ulans actually had a complex pattern to them, and now that he had seen it, he could predict their movements.

The horsemen were wheeling again, galloping away from the Skandian line and back to re-form. Behind them, more than fifty Skandians lay dead, victims of either the arrows or the slashing Temujai sabers. Half a dozen Temujai bodies lay around the breastworks where the Ulans had made their lightning attack.

Gilan grimaced. With those results, the Skandians wouldn’t be able to last long. The less of them their were, the more vulnerable they were to the rain of arrows.

The Temujai riders were back in their own lines now. They would rest their horses, letting them recover their wind, while another ten Ulans took up the attack. It would be the same pattern, forcing the Skandians to cover up behind their shields, then attacking with sabres when they were blinded and, finally, pouring in volley after volley of arrows as their own men withdrew, leaving a gap in the shield wall. It was simple. It was effective. And there was a deadly inevitability about it.

Now the Ulans began their wheeling, galloping dance once again. Will fixed his attention on a troop at the middle of the line, knowing that it would curve and turn and eventually come at them on a diagonal. He muttered to Horace.

"Get those breastworks down."

The group leaned forward in anticipation.

He heard the muscular apprentice bellow: "Shields! Uncover!" The shield bearers rushed to shove the wicker walls down, leaving the archers behind a waist-high earth berm and with a clear field.

"Ready!" called Evanlyn, indicating that each man in the line of archers had an arrow nocked to the string. Then it was up to Will.

"Half left!" he called, and the archers all turned to the same direction.

"Position two!"

A hundred arms raised to the same angle as Will watched the approaching group of riders, seeing in his mind's eye the galloping Temujai and the flight of arrows converging to meet at the same point in time and space.

Maddie held her breath.

"Down a half…draw!"

The elevation corrected and one hundred arrows came back to full draw. He paused, counted to three to make sure he wasn't too soon, then yelled:

"Shoot!"

The slithering, hissing sound told him that the arrows were on their way. Already, the archers were reaching for their next shafts.

Good training, Sir Rodney noted with approval. Once the first lot of arrows was released there was no point watching where they landed.

Horace, about to call for the shield bearers, waited. They were under no direct attack at the moment and there was no need to disrupt the sequence of shooting and reloading at this stage.

Then the first volley struck home.

Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was the result of the weeks of practice, hour after hour, but Will had directed that first volley almost perfectly. One hundred shafts arced down to meet the galloping Ulan and at least twenty of them found targets.

Maddie let out a breath in relief, a small smile replacing the grimly thin line her lips had been making the past chapter.

Men and horses screamed in pain as they crashed to the ground. And instantly, the disciplined, structured formation of the Ulan was shattered. Those who were unhurt by the arrows were confronted by their comrades and their horses tumbling and rolling headlong. And as each stricken man fell, he took another with him, or caused his neighbour to swerve violently, reining his horse in, sawing on the reins until the tight formation was a milling mass of plunging horses and men.

"Ready!" called Evanlyn. From her position, she couldn't see the result. Quickly, Will realized he had the chance now to deal a devastating blow to the enemy.

"Same target. Position two. Draw…" He heard the scrape of arrows against bows as the men drew back their right hands until the feathered ends of the shafts were just touching their cheeks.

"Shoot!"

Another volley hissed away at the tangle of men and horses. Already, Will was yelling for his men to reload. In their haste, some of them fumbled, dropping the arrows as they tried to nock them. Wisely, Evanlyn decided not to wait until they had recovered.

"Ready!" she called.

"Same target. Position two. Draw:"

They had the range and the direction now and the Temujai troop was stalled, caught in the one spot, losing their most valuable protection-their mobility.

Now without their mounts, they’re the sitting ducks.

"Shoot!" yelled Will, not caring that his voice cracked with excitement, and a third volley was on its way.

"Shields!" bellowed Horace, shoving his own shield forward to cover himself and his friend. He had seen that some of the other Ulans had finally noticed what was happening and were riding to return fire. A few seconds later, he felt the drumming of arrows against the shield, heard the rattle as they struck other shields along the line of archers.

There was no way that the Temujai could send a squad with sabres in toward the archers. Halt had placed Will and his men to one side and behind the Skandian main line of defence. To reach them, the Temujai would have to fight their way through the Skandian axmen.

Will shook his head, he knew that the placement had been deliberate. It still hadn’t saved them completely from the fighting in the long run.

The troop that Will had engaged had taken three carefully aimed volleys-nearly three hundred arrows-in quick succession. Barely ten men of the original Ulan remained alive. The bodies of the others littered the ground. Their riderless horses were galloping away, neighing in panic.

Now, as the other riders wheeled away toward their own lines, Will saw a further opportunity. Another two Ulans were riding in close proximity and still well within range.

"Shields down," he said to Horace, and the warrior passed the message along.

"Target…right front. And a half…Position three…draw…" Again, he made himself wait, to be sure. "Shoot!"

The arrows, dark against the clean blue of the sky, arced after the withdrawing cavalry.

Maddie listened as Lady Pauline described the battlefield, vividly seeing the scene in her mind’s eye. She imagined seeing Will, her mother and father, Halt, all of them there, all of them in danger.

"Shields!" Horace called as the arrows struck home and another dozen or so Temujai tumbled from their saddles. Behind the shelter of the big, rectangular shield, he and Will exchanged grins.

"I think that went rather well," said the apprentice Ranger.

"I think it went rather well indeed!" the apprentice warrior agreed with him.

“Well done.” Baron Arald congratulated them. At the time they were merely teens, and had seemingly achieved the impossible.

"Ready!" called Evanlyn once more, her gaze fixed on the archers as they fitted arrows to their bowstrings. The call reminded Will, a little belatedly, that she had no way of knowing how successful their first action had been.

"Stand down!" Will called. There was no point keeping the men tensed up while the Temujai were re-forming. He gestured to Evanlyn.

"Come on up and see the results," he told her.

Lady Pauline closed the book. “Who wants to read next?”

Sir Rodney gestured to himself. Lady Pauline gave the book up and Sir Rodney immediately flipped to the next page.

Chapter 93: Oakleaf Bearers - Chapter 34

Summary:

Sir Rodney reads chapter 34.

Notes:

Enjoy :)

It took several minutes for the Temujai commander to realize that something had gone badly wrong-for the second time. There was a gap in his line as the riders returned, he realized. Then, as he cast his glance over the battlefield, he saw the tangled bodies of men and horses and frowned. He had been watching the overall action and had missed the four rapid volleys that had destroyed the Ulan.

“He missed the death of an entire Ulan?” Gilan said incredulously. “He must be blind!”

He pointed with his lance at them. "What's happened there?" he demanded of his aides. But none of them had seen the destruction as it took place. His question was greeted with blank stares.

“None of them saw it!” Will echoed Gilan’s statement, eyes widening in disbelief.

Maddie snickered, “Maybe you were more stealthy than you thought.”

A single horseman was pounding toward them, calling his name.

"General Haz'kam! General!"

The man was swaying in the saddle and the front of his leather vest was slick with blood from several wounds. Blood stained the flanks of his horse as well, and the Temujai command staff were startled to see that the horse had been hit by at least three arrows.

Will winced in sympathy for the horse.

Horse and rider skidded to a stop in front of the command position. For the horse, it was the final effort. Weakened by loss of blood, it sank slowly to its knees, then rolled over on its side, its injured rider only managing to escape being pinned at the last moment. Haz'kam frowned as he peered at the wounded man, then recognized Bin'zak, his former chief of intelligence. True to his word, the colonel had taken his place in the front line of one of the Ulans. It had been his incredible misfortune that he'd chosen the one destroyed by Will's archers.

“He’s lucky he’s not dead.” Horace muttered.

"General," croaked the dying man. "They have archers…"

Cassandra rolled her eyes, “Obviously, where else did they think the arrows came from? The sky?!”

He staggered a few paces toward them and now they could see the broken-off stubs of arrows in two of his wounds. On the ground beside him, the horse heaved a gigantic, shuddering sigh and died.

"Archers…" he repeated, his voice barely audible, and he sank to his knees.

Haz'kam tore his gaze away from the stricken colonel and scanned the enemy ranks. There was no sign of archers there. The Skandians stretched in three ranks across the narrowest part of the valley, behind their earthworks. On the seaward side, and a little behind the main force, another group stood-also behind earthworks and holding large rectangular shields. But he could see no sign of archers.

Will raised both eyebrows in surprise. They were far more hidden than he had believed, no doubt Halt’s doing.

There was one sure way to find them, he thought. He gestured toward his next ten Ulans.

"Attack," he said briefly, and the bugler sounded the call. Once more, the valley filled with the jingle of harness and the thunder of hooves as they drove forward.

Halt narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He had hoped at the time to keep Will, Horace and Cassandra hidden for as long as possible. Their element of surprise had not lasted nearly as long as he would have liked.

In front of him, the colonel slumped forward, facedown in the sodden grass. Haz'kam made the Temujai gesture of salute, raising his left hand to his lips, then extending it out to the side in an elaborate, flowing movement. His staff did likewise. Bin'zak had redeemed himself, he thought. In the end, he had brought his general a vital piece of intelligence, even if it had cost him his own life.

Will groaned, burrowing his face in his hands, “Of course one of the only survivors just happened to be an intelligence officer, and of course he survived long enough to inform their general.”

Horace patted Will’s arm in sympathy.

Will watched the approaching cavalry as, once again, they began their wheeling, circling dance. Horace stirred beside him, but some sense warned the young Ranger not to expose his men yet.

"Wait," he said quietly. He had half expected that a concerted attack would be launched toward their position, in an attempt to wipe them out. But this attack was like the previous one, launched along the entire front. That could mean only one thing: the Temujai leaders hadn't pinpointed the archers' position.

Baron Arald nodded his head as he listened, once again he was shown how well Will could read the battlefield, even from his hidden position amongst the archers. He knew what his enemy wanted, meaning he could ensure they wouldn’t get it.

Arrows began falling on the Skandian lines and once more, the three ranks covered up with their shields. As before, a troop of Temujai broke off their manoeuvring and drew sabres to launch a lightning attack on the unsighted Skandians. This time, however, Will was looking beyond them, to identify the support group who would open fire on the Skandians as their comrades withdrew. He saw them, an Ulan that had drawn to a halt some fifty meters from the Skandian front rank.

Maddie leaned forward in anticipation.

"Load!" Will yelled down his line. Then, in an aside to Horace: "Keep the shields up." He had felt the larger youth draw breath to call his next order. But Will wanted to keep his men hidden as long as possible.

"Ready!" Evanlyn called as the last arrow nocked onto the string.

"Face left half left again!" he called, and the archers, luckily, understood his meaning. As one, they all turned to face the direction he had picked. He had varied their drill by calling direction first but they seemed to understand what he wanted.

Gilan grinned, the men knew Will, and better still, understood him. Qualities that are needed by any commander.

"Position three!" he yelled. The arms came up to maximum elevation, the hundred of them moving as one.

"Shields down," he muttered to Horace and heard him repeat the order.

"Draw!"

Beneath his breath, he told himself, "Count to three as each arm brings back its arrow to the full draw."

Then, aloud…"Shoot!" and instantly, he screamed: "Shields! Up shields!" As Horace took up the cry, the shields swung back into position to conceal the archers from return fire-and, hopefully, from observation.

Maddie clenched her fists nervously. The archers hadn’t been open for long, but now that the Temujai general was looking for hidden archers there was a much higher chance of them being seen.

Again the wait, then the volley of arrows slammed down into the Temujai Ulan, just as they were on the point of firing into the gap their comrades had forced in the shield wall. Once more, men and horses went down in screaming, tangled heaps. Grouped together as they were, and not moving, the Ulan made a perfect target for the massed arrows.

At least twenty of them were down, including their commander. Now their sergeants were yelling at the survivors to get moving. To get out of this killing ground.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. No one had noticed the archers.

Haz'kam never saw the volley that struck his men. But he did see, in his peripheral vision, the concerted movement of the hundred shields as they swung back and forth like so many gates opening and closing. A few seconds later, he saw one of his foremost Ulans collapse and disintegrate.

Maddie froze. Will must have seen her reaction because he just chuckled, “Spoke too soon.”

And then the shields moved again and he saw the archers. At least a hundred of them, he estimated, working smoothly and in unison as they launched another volley at the retreating Ulan that had attacked the Skandian line. The shields swung closed to cover the archers as more Temujai riders went down.

Again, the shields swung aside in unison, and this time he saw the solid flight of arrows, black against the sky, as they arced up and struck into another of his galloping Ulans. He turned and caught the eye of his third son, a captain on his staff. He pointed with his lance to the line of shields on the slight rise behind the Skandian ranks.

"There are their archers!" he said. "Take an Ulan and investigate. I want information."

“Oh no.”

The captain nodded, saluted and clapped spurs to the barrel-shaped body of his horse.

He was shouting commands to the leader of the nearest troop of sixty as he galloped down the front line of the Temujai army.

Maddie’s eyes kept darting between her mother, her father and Will. The three in question remained deceptively calm, but they were clearly not thrilled at the development.

In their raised position behind the Skandian lines, Will and Horace were working smoothly together, pouring volley after volley into the wheeling riders. Inevitably now, they were beginning to take casualties as individual Temujai saw them and returned fire. But the shield drill worked smoothly and their improvised method of exposing the men to return fire for only a few seconds at a time was paying dividends.

What was more, the Skandians were beginning to see the effect of the disciplined, concentrated fire on their enemies. As each volley hissed down, as arrows found their marks and Temujai saddles emptied, the waiting axmen roared their approval.

No one spoke.

For the first time, Will had seen the Kaijin sharpshooters attached to each Ulan as they attempted to take him and Horace under fire. He had just duelled with two of them and watched in satisfaction as the second slumped sideways out of his saddle. Horace nudged his arm and pointed.

"Look," he said, and Will, following the line he indicated, saw a Ulan galloping from the Temujai lines and heading straight for them. There was no wheeling and turning for these riders. They were coming straight on at a dead run. And it was obvious where they were heading.

Will crossed his arms and clenched his fists, refusing to meet Maddie’s eyes.

"We've been spotted," he said. Then, calling to his men, "Face front half right. Load!"

Hands reached for arrows, nocked them firmly to strings.

"Ready!" That was Evanlyn once more. He grinned as he thought of how Halt had questioned the need for her to be here. Suddenly, he was glad the grizzled Ranger had lost that argument. He shook the thought aside, estimating the speed of the oncoming riders. Already, they were shooting, and arrows were rattling on the shields along the line. But all the advantages lay with Will and his men. Shooting from a stable, unmoving, elevated position, and from behind cover, they held the upper hand in any exchange.

Halt sighed silently. He hadn’t been that bad, but agreed with Will’s assessment. Cassandra had been necessary, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"Position two!" he called. "Draw!"

"Shields down!" Horace yelled, giving Will just the right pause.

"Shoot!" shouted Will.

"Shields up!" roared Horace, covering his friend as he did so.

The archers were exposed to return fire for no more than a few seconds. Even so, under the constant barrage of arrows from the Temujai, they took a few casualties. Then their volley hit the onrushing Ulan and wiped out the front rank of twelve, sending men and horses tumbling yet again. The riders in the following ranks tried to avoid their fallen comrades, but in vain. More horses came down; more riders tumbled out of their saddles. Some managed to leap their horses over the tangle of bodies and they were the ones who rode clear. As the others tried to reorganize, another volley, ten seconds behind the first, fell on them.

Maddie shifted, hope glimmering. There’s no way that they could continue the charge, especially with some many mounts lost and so many dead or wounded.

Haz'kam's son, with one arrow through his right thigh and another in the soft flesh between neck and shoulder, lay across the body of his horse. He watched as the shields opened and shut and the arrows poured out in a constant, disciplined stream. He saw the two heads moving in the fortified position at the end of the archer's line.

That was what his father needed to know. He watched as another two volleys hissed into the sky. Thankfully, these were directed at another Ulan as it galloped past. He could actually hear the commands as the two men in the command position called them. One of the voices sounded absurdly young.

Horace elbowed Will playfully, and Will just let out a long sigh. Even the enemy commanders could tell how young he was.

It was growing dark early, he reflected, and promptly realized that it could be no later than midmorning. He craned painfully to look at the sky. But it was a brilliant blue and, with a sudden thrill of fear, he realized he was dying. He was dying, with urgent information that he must pass on to his father. Groaning in pain, he dragged himself to his feet and began to stumble back toward the Temujai lines, picking his way through the tangle of fallen bodies.

The group was once again silent. Will felt a spike of dread, he remembered how this played out.

A riderless horse cantered past him and he tried to catch it but was too weak. Then he heard a thunder of hooves behind him and a strong hand gripped the back of his sheepskin jacket and hauled him up and over a saddlebow, where he gasped and moaned with the pain in his neck and leg.

He angled around to see his saviour. It was a sergeant from one of the other Ulans.

"Take me…to General Haz'kam…urgent message," he managed to croak, and the sergeant, recognizing the staff insignia on his shoulders, nodded and wheeled his horse toward the command post.

Will shook his head.

Three minutes later, the mortally wounded captain told his father all that he had seen.

Four minutes later, he was dead.

“Every dam time.” Will muttered, and Horace nodded. Sometimes it seemed fate really hated them.