Reading the Ruins of Gorlan

by griffindork93

Summary:

At the Gathering before Will becomes a ranger's apprentice, the gathering reads the ranger's apprentice series.

Chapter 1: The Gathering and the prologue

Notes:

Just a quick disclaimer. The Ranger's Apprentice series does not belong to me and I am in no way making money from this story.

Halt didn’t stop the small grin on his face from forming. He enjoyed keeping the younger Rangers on their toes, especially so in the case of his former apprentice Gilan. Every year when it was time for the Gathering, Gilan swore he was going to catch his once mentor by surprise.

Halt caught him every year, turning the tables back on the young Ranger.

He could hear the distinctive gait of another Ranger horse behind him. Halt knew it was Gil. It was always Gil. He nudged Abelard with his left foot and the horse immediately switched its gait as it was trained to do. In the silence, for it almost seemed like Abelard skipped a step, he heard the echo of another horse.

Halt stood atop his saddle, and as he passed a large outcropping of moss covered rocks, left from his horse, who began trotting with more force, giving no hint that his rider have left and he was carrying less weight. He pulled the cowl of his mottled Ranger cloak over his head, disappearing into the rocks behind him.

Abelard stopped only a few feet away. Gilan caught up quickly. “Halt, Halt!” he called out. He frowned when he saw his friend’s horse but no sign of the man. “Answering the call of nature, are you, Halt? Come out and admit it. I won this year. The apprentice finally outgrew the master.”

Silence followed his declaration. Gilan wasn’t generally one to worry, but there was something off about this situation. It made him feel uneasy, like he had overlooked something.

Gilan was urging Blaze to turn around when a saxe knife sailed by a foot in front of him, embedding itself in the tree Abelard was grazing by. When he turned to face the direction it came from, a figure cloaked in green and gray rose up from the rocks.

Gilan shook his head mournfully. “Next year, I promise, Halt. You won’t even see me coming.”

“I usually don’t.” The two men embraced each other warmly. “You need to get some meat on your bones. You’re lankier every time I see you.”

“And you get shorter.”

The duo chatted companionably for the hour it took to arrive at the Gathering site. They crested a slight rise to the sight of an open space among trees with small one man tents already arranged in rows. There was a scent of cooking fire and salt, an archery range on the other side of the stream, and several dozen small shaggy horses, Ranger horses, roaming and grazing.

The Gathering was an annual event for Rangers, their one formal meeting a year where all the Rangers gave the Commandant the news from their assigned fief. There were fifty fiefs in Araluen and one Ranger for each fief.

Halt and Gilan headed straight for Crowley’s tent to give the Commandant their reports. He took them, groaning about the amount of paperwork he had to do because of the Gathering, and ushered the two men outside.

Halt found his old friend’s behavior unusual. He was practically bouncing from one foot to the other with nervousness.

“The Gathering’s going to be a little long this year.” Crowley started.

“How much longer?” Meralon asked. He was a Ranger 27, in charge of Drayden Fief.

“I’d imagine a couple weeks. I received a package, just before I set out, that contained twelve books about a Ranger’s apprentice named Will.” Crowley spoke over the collected mutterings of complaints. He didn’t miss the fleeting surprise in Halt’s eyes nor the slight straightening of his spine. “Do you know the boy, Halt?”

Said man scowled as forty-eight men twisted to look at him in shock. He was a Ranger. It was his job to know about people. “Know of him. He’s a ward of Baron Arald’s.”

Crowley nodded and continued, knowing that was all he would get out of Halt even though he could tell that Halt knew more than he let on. “Right, well, it seems he joins the Corps soon and becomes as well-known as Halt, here. The summaries are missing, so I don’t know exactly what he does, but Will is going to be an important member, and the note that came with said we need to read them now.”

“Why is an apprentice so important?” Crowley wished Meralon’s mentor had nipped his arrogance in the bud. It was no wonder he couldn’t train an apprentice if that was his attitude towards them.

“Let’s read and find out, shall we?” he asked cheerfully, not actually giving his Rangers a chance to refuse before he sat down and opened the book.

“It starts with a prologue.”

“Morgarath,”

The Rangers broke out into chatter, telling stories of the feared exile and his attempted rebellion.

“Just what is he up to?” one called out.

“If you let me read more than one word, you’d know.” Crowley snapped. An immediate hush fell over the group while Halt rolled his eyes. It wasn’t anything like the temper he had witness years ago.

“Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night,”

“A self-imposed title,” Halt drawled.

“former Baron of Gorlan in the Kingdom of Araluen,”

“He was a baron?” asked Ranger 42. He had only been a small child fourteen years ago, living in a southern fief.

“looked out over his bleak, rainswept domain and, perhaps for the thousandth time, cursed.”

“Good!” exclaimed Gilan cheerfully, receiving a raised eyebrow from his former mentor. “Cursing means he’s frustrated and whatever he’s planning is going well.”

“This was all that was left to him now—a jumble of rugged granite cliffs, tumbled boulders and icy mountains. Of sheer gorges and steep narrow passes. Of gravel and rock, with never a tree or a sign of green to break the monotony.”

“Sounds as bleak as his soul. I wonder if I can make lyrics for that,” Berrigan mused, lightly strumming the gitarra he held in his lap.

“Even though it had been fifteen year since he had been driven back into this forbidding realm that had become his prison,”

“But it’s only been fourteen!” cried one Ranger.

“That means he’s going to make his move next year,” said Harrison.

Crowley and Halt shared a look. Both men had been present at the Battle of Hackam’s Heath. Halt had led a cavalry force through a secret ford and ambushed Morgarath’s army. He became legendary for putting the fear of horses into Wargals, an ancient race of mindless bear-like creatures. If not for Halt’s actions, Morgarath might have won that battle. Just the thought that he was going to attempt to attack Araluen again was terrifying.

At least with these books they would have forewarning. Halt had to wonder how Will got involved. Even if he joined as an apprentice in a year’s time, no full-fledged Ranger would ever take an unskilled apprentice to fight against the likes of Morgarath.

“he could still remember the pleasant green glades and thickly forested hills of his former fief. The streams filled with fish and the fields rich with crops and game. Gorlan had been a beautiful, living place.”

“It’s nothing but an empty ruin now. Some people claim it’s haunted.” Several Rangers scoffed. Commoners believed that they practiced magic, due to their ability to seemingly appear at of nowhere. They knew better than most magic didn’t exist. It was all based on illusions, blending in, and letting them see what they expect to see.

“The Mountains of Rain and Night were dead and desolate.”

“That doesn’t rhyme with soul.”

“A platoon of Wargals was drilling in the castle yard below him. Morgarath watched them for a few seconds, listening to the guttural, rhythmic chant that accompanied all their movements.”

Gilan blinked. “I didn’t know they could communicate.”

“They were stocky, misshapen beings, with features that were halfway human, but with a long, brutish muzzle and fangs like a bear or large dog.”

“Definitely a bear,” Crowley commented. “They’re certainly the size of bears.” He continued reading.

“Avoiding all contact with humans, the Wargals had lived and bred in these remote mountains ever since ancient times.”

“So Morgarath didn’t create them from his own flesh or summon them from another dimension?” Halt rolled his eyes at the ridiculous question. Morgarath was a man. Why history portrayed him as some sort of warlock he couldn’t understand.

“No one in living memory had ever set eyes upon one,”

“Except for those who fought them fourteen years ago.” Gilan said pointedly, causing the other Rangers to laugh.

“but rumors and legends had persisted of a savage tribe of semi-intelligent beasts in the mountains.”

“They didn’t seem to have any intelligence when I fought them. Mindless, blundering animals is more like it.” Alun joked.

“Morgarath, planning to revolt against the Kingdom of Araluen,”

“He’s what!” was yelled by many Rangers. The older ones, those that had faced him and his army of Wargals in disbelief, and those that grew up with Morgarath as a bedtime story of what happened to children that misbehaved in fear.

Crowley continued reading, already planning what he would do when he finished with the prologue.

“had left Gorlan Fief to seek them out. If such creatures existed, they would give him an edge in the war that was to come.”

Halt stared at the book thoughtfully. It almost seemed as if Morgarath was remembering how he brought the Wargals under his control before he was exiled. Maybe it would take him much longer before he was prepared to try a second time.

“It took him months, but he eventually found them. Aside from their wordless chant, Wargals had no spoken language, relying on a primitive form of thought awareness for communication. But their minds were simple and their intellects basic. As a result, they had been totally susceptible to domination by a superior intelligence and willpower.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t think lowly of himself, does he?”

“Morgarath bent them to his will and they became the perfect army for him—ugly beyond nightmares,”

“I can attest to that,” said Andross.

“utterly pitiliess,”

“Not to that.”

“and bound totally to his mental orders.

“Now, looking at them, he remembered the brightly dressed knights in glittering armor who used to compete in tourneys at Castle Gorlan, their silk-gowned ladies cheering them on and applauding their skills. Mentally comparing them to these black-furred, misshapen creatures, he cursed again.”

“Almost sounds like he’s homesick.”

“Gil.”

“Yes, Halt.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Wargals, attuned to his thoughts, sensed his disturbance and stirred uncomfortably, pausing in what they were doing. Angrily, he directed them back to their drill and the chanting resumed.

“Morgarath moved away from the unglazed window, closer to the fire that seemed utterly incapable of dispelling the damp and chill from this gloomy castle. Fifteen years, he thought to himself again. Fifteen years since he had rebelled against the newly crowned King Duncan, a youth in his twenties. He had planned it all carefully as the old King’s sickness progressed, banking on the indecision and confusion that would follow his death to split the other barons and give Morgarath his opportunity to seize the throne.”

Crowley paused here. He hadn’t been as close to the previous king as he was to King Duncan, but he wondered if the sickness was not natural. Could Morgarath have poisoned the king to make it easier for him to steal the throne?

“Secretly, he had trained his army of Wargals, massing them up here in the mountains, ready for the moment to strike. Then, in the days of confusion and grief following the king’s death, when the barons traveled to Castle Araluen for the funeral rites, leaving their armies leaderless, he had attacked, overrunning the southeastern quarter of the kingdom in a matter of days, routing the confused, leaderless forces that tried to oppose him.”

The Rangers placed in southern fiefs, which bordered the mountains of the Mountains of Rain and Night, remembered the fear, confusion, chaos, and death that occurred. Soldiers without directions scrambled to fight the fearsome unknown beasts and fell. It was a horrible period of time, that Morgarath had either constructed or taken advantage of, that would have continued for much longer if not for the Rangers.

“Duncan, young and inexperienced, could never have stood against him. The kingdom was his for the taking. The throne was his for the asking.”

‘I beg to differ,’ thought Halt.

“Then Lord Northolt, the old king’s supreme army commander, had rallied some of the younger barons into a loyal confederation, giving strength to Duncan’s resolve and stiffening the wavering courage of others. The armies had met at Hackham Heath, close by the Slipsunder River, and the battle swayed in the balance for five hours, with attack and counterattack and massive loss of life.”

“I doubt he care much for the death of the Wargals.”

“The Slipsunder was a shallow river, but its treacherous reaches of quicksand and soft mud had formed an impassable barrier, protecting Morgarath’s right flank.”

There was a distinct tone of pride in Crowley’s voice as he continued reading about the battle. “But then one of those gray-cloaked meddlers known as Rangers led a force of cavalry across a secret ford ten kilometers upstream.”

“Good job, you meddling Ranger.” Crowley slapped Halt on the back as the Corps whistled for their victory.

“The armored horsemen appeared at a crucial moment of the battle and fell upon the rear of Morgarath’s army.”

“And that is why,” Crowley said sternly, “it is important that Rangers’ have impeccable timing. Never late.”

He eyed Meralon, who was forever later than the other apprentices in his year group. If he hadn’t been in desperate need of Rangers after Morgarath’s rebellion, Meralon would have never made the cut. His arrow was always the last to fly. Hesitation or laziness, whatever the reason, would see anyone he worked with dead. It was why, despite Norgate’s importance to Araluen, Crowley was considering reassigning him. Maybe it would instill a sense of responsibility in him.

“The Wargals, trained in the tumbled rocks of the mountains, had one weakness. They feared horses and could never stand against such a surprise cavalry attack.”

“That’s good to know. If we can get that to all the Battlemasters, have them focus on training knights in cavalry, when Morgarath makes his move we’ll be better prepared against his Wargals.” Halt observed.

“They broke, retreating to the narrow confines of Three Step Pass, and back to the Mountains of Rain and Night. Morgarath, his rebellion defeated, went will them.”

“And good riddance!” laughed Gilan.

“And here he had been exiled these fifteen years. Waiting, plotting, hating the men who had done this to him.”

Crowley glanced at his friend in concern. Halt was one of those men; the reason that he had been forced to retreat. He had no doubt that Morgarath would try to kill him. The man was ruthless, definitely the type to want to stand over the dead body of the man that wronged him.

“Now, he thought, it was time for his revenge. His spies told him the kingdom had grown slack and complacent and his presence here was all but forgotten. The name Morgarath was a name of legend nowadays, a name mothers used to hush fractious children, threatening that if they did not behave, the black lord Morgarath would come for them.”

Halt cursed violently. How could they ever forget that the man had not died, only retreated to lick his wounds?

“The time was ripe. Once again, he would lead his Wargals into an attack. But this time he would have allies. And this time he would sow the ground with uncertainty and confusion beforehand. This time none of those who conspired against him previously would be left alive to aid King Duncan.”

No one spoke, almost as if they could sense that Crowley had yet to read something more serious and that there was something worse to come.

“For the Wargals were not the only ancient, terrifying creatures he had found in these somber mountains. He had two other allies, even more fearsome—the dreadful beasts known as the Kalkara.

“The time was ripe to unleash them.”

Crowley set the book down as the Rangers burst out.

“The Kalkara don’t exist! They can’t!”

He yelled over them, calling them back into order. Once they had all calmed down he issued his orders. The Rangers of the fiefs furthest south were sent away to inform their lords so a first line of defense could be arranged. He sent one to Castle Araluen in his place, executively deciding that he need to remain and hear the rest of the books, but the king had to be informed. He sent many more to the rest of the fiefs so that all the Battlemasters and Horsemasters would be able to prepare for war.

“Halt, I think you should go fetch this Will boy.”

“It’s a three day ride to Redmont.”

Crowley gave him the eye. Ranger horses were bred to run long without tiring. If Halt pushed it he could be back in three days total. “Halt, it’s really for the best that you go. If he’s from your fief, it’s obvious the boy’s going to be your apprentice.”

Halt shook his head. “I need to be here to listen. Send someone else to fetch the boy.”

“Halt, we’re not going to continue reading until the boy’s here. The rest of the books seem to be from his persepective.”

The grim Ranger understood what his friend was saying, he wouldn’t miss anything while fetching the boy, but he refused. His place was here, helping Crowley plan for an impending war. He insisted as much, and a very frustrated Crowley gave in, sending Gilan in his place. Gilan had apprenticed in Redmont for five years and his presence would cause unwarranted unease amongst the general population.

“Fine, have it your way, Halt. But if you’re staying, you’re going to help me organize all of the year’s reports.”

Halt almost wished it wasn’t too late to saddle Abelard.

Chapter 2: Chapter 1

Will ran out of the Ward building before Horace could lay a hand on him. The brute just didn’t understand. Will needed to get into Battleschool. It was the only connection he had to his father.

Will knew he was small, smaller than other boys his age. He didn’t have the muscles that Horace boasted about. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He wasn’t above begging the Battlemaster for a chance to prove himself.

Well, actually he was, but Will didn’t want to be put to work on the farms.

The wiry boy scurried up his favorite tree, a huge fig, until he nestled in the lightest branches that swayed in the wind. He would have remained up there for hours if not for the dark cloaked Ranger that called up to him.

“Boy, you in the tree, is your name Will?”

Will startled, steadying himself by wrapping his hands around the branches. How had this Ranger found him? He found that most people never looked up.

“Come on down from there. I need to speak with you.”

The fourteen year old boy cautiously did as the Ranger ordered. He had never spoken to a Ranger before, their dark cloaks and shadowy ways always made him nervous. The villagers believed they practiced magic that makes them invisible to ordinary people. But he could tell from the man’s height alone that he was not Redmont’s Ranger Halt.

 He could not imagine what he had done that warranted the attention of a Ranger from another fief.

“This might be hard to believe kid, but we Rangers have gotten a hold of a series of books about your life, your future.” Here the still unnamed Ranger winked at him.

“So you guys can use magic!”

The Ranger laughed loudly. “Magic! Nonsense. You’ll learn that’s not true soon enough.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re going to join our ranks in a year. Commandant ordered me to fetch you and bring you to listen too. I warn you now, only Rangers are allowed at our Gatherings, so even if you don’t want to be a Ranger, you’ll be forced to join.” He said jokingly.

Will’s mouth felt dry. Him? A Ranger?

The Ranger turned to his horse, which rather resembled a shaggy pony. “Brown eyes.” The horse whinnied softly. “Alright now, up you get.” The Ranger easily lifted Will onto the horse’s back and pulled himself up into the saddle behind him.

“Why did you say that?”

The Ranger gave his horse a gentle pat. “This here is a Ranger horse. They’re trained differently. Each horse has to be asked before a rider mounts him for the first time. Code word’s different for each horse. That way they never get stolen.”

Will’s eyes sparkled. Maybe the Rangers weren’t as fearsome as rumors and gossip made them out to be. Their horses were pretty cool.

“My name’s Gilan, by the way.”

Gilan talked easily with Will as the pair headed back to the Gathering. Will found him to be humorous. He was very comfortable to be around. He almost forgot that Gilan was a Ranger for three days.

Then they arrived at the Gathering site and he was confronted with eleven other Rangers.

Will’s eyes darted from one to the next. Most people never saw one Ranger in their lifetime, and he was about to sit down and read a book about himself with twelve of them.

“Gilan, you’re back.” A stocky man exclaimed. Gilan had described the Rangers he would be meeting, so Will knew this one to be Commandant Crowley. He was small, with strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes. “Now we can get started.”

With no other choice, Will took a seat between Gilan and Halt, the only two people he knew on some level, and the Ranger named Alun began to read.

““Try to eat something, Will. Tomorrow’s a big day, after all.”

“Jenny, blond, pretty and cheerful, gestured toward Will’s barely touched plate and smiled encouragingly at him. Will made an attempt to return the smile, but it was a dismal failure. He picked at the plate before him, piled high with his favorite foods. Tonight, his stomach knotted with tension and anticipation, he could hardly bring himself to swallow a bite.”

“A little melodramatic, don’t you agree, Will.” Will didn’t answer Gilan. He was sure the book was talking about Choosing Day. There was no other day that would have him so agitated. A quick glance at the Rangers reminded him that he no longer had to worry. According to Gilan, this was the only option left for him.

“Tomorrow would be a big day, he knew. He knew it all too well, in fact. Tomorrow would be the biggest day in his life, because tomorrow was the Choosing Day, and it would determine how he spent the rest of his life.”

“Learning the coolest tricks in the kingdom, protecting the kingdom, surveillance. A Ranger’s work is never done.” Gilan mocked groaned.

““Nerves, I imagine,” said George, setting down his loaded fork and seizing the lapels of his jacket in a judicious manner. He was a thin, gangly and studious boy, fascinated by rules and regulations and with a penchant for examining and debating both sides of any question-“

Will thought that was a really good description of his wardmate. George had often tried to get in between his and Horace’s arguments. He never really helped, because most of his observations sided with Horace, but Will had appreciated the gesture.

“sometimes at great length. “Dreadful thing, nervousness. It can just freeze you up so you can’t think, can’t eat, can’t speak.”

““I’m not nervous,” Will said quickly, noticing that Horace had looked up, ready to form a sarcastic comment.”

Will just wished the larger boy would leave him alone. There was no need to point out that he would never qualify for Battleschool. Will already knew that.

“George nodded several times, considering Will’s statement. “On the other hand,” he added, “a little nervousness can actually improve performance. It can heighten your perceptions and sharpen your reactions.”

Several Rangers nodded in testament to that.

““So, the fact that you are worried, if in fact, you are, is not necessarily something to be worried about, of itself—so to speak.””

“He’s rather verbose. I don’t think he would actually help your nerves at all.” Bartell said.

“In spite of himself, a wry smile touched Will’s mouth. George would be a natural in the legal profession, he thought. He would almost certainly be the Scribemaster’s choice on the following morning.”

Will nodded in agreement with his future self’s, and how odd it was to think of him as such, thoughts.

“Perhaps, Will thought, that was the heart of his own problem. He was the only one of the wardmates who had any fears about the Choosing that would take place within twelve hours.

Halt looked down at the young boy beside him. He had always planned to take him as an apprentice. He owed the boy’s father, it was the least he could do. Perhaps he should have let Will know so that he wouldn’t worry so much.

““He ought to be nervous!” Horace scoffed. “After all, which Craftsmaster is going to want him as an apprentice?””

Will felt his ears reddened, from embarrassment and anger. Apprentices were always needed. One of the Craftmaster’s would have taken him.

He jumped when Halt laid a hand on his arm. He wasn’t often one to give comfort, but the boy looked like he could really use it. “Any Ranger worth their oakleaf would have picked you. I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got the makings of a Ranger.”

“Halt’s right,” Gilan added from his left, “you belong with us.”

Will blushed brightly and willed Alun to keep reading. But he was grateful. It was nice, to feel like he belonged somewhere.

““I’m sure we’re all nervous,” Alyss said. She directed one of her rare smiles at Will. “We’d be stupid not to be.”

““Well, I’m not!” Horace said, then reddened as Alyss raised one eyebrow and Jenny giggled.”

Will bit his tongue to keep from laughing. It was funny to him, to hear Horace admit his own stupidity, but Ranger’s didn’t seem the type to engage in frivolity, aside from Gilan, and he didn’t want to be the only one laughing.

“It was typical of Alyss, Will thought. He knew that the tall, graceful girl had already been promised a place as an apprentice by Lady Pauline, head of Castle Redmont’s Diplomatic Service. Her pretense that she was nervous about the following day, and her tact in refraining from pointing out Horace’s gaffe, showed that she was already a diplomat of some skill.

“Jenny, of course, would gravitate immediately to the castle kitchens, domain of Master Chubb, Redmont’s head chef. He was a man renowned throughout the kingdom for the banquets he served in the castle’s massive dining hall. Jenny loved food and cooking, and her easygoing nature and unfailing good humor would make her an invaluable staff member in the turmoil of the castle kitchens.”

“Must we read about a handful of whiny brats? Can’t we just skip ahead to the part where Morgarath makes his move? At this rate he will have before we finish reading.” Meralon scoffed.

Will’s heart clenched in fear while Crowley thoroughly chastised the arrogant Ranger, saying that the entire book needed to be read so they didn’t miss any details. Morgarath was a legend, as story to frighten children into behaving. He wasn’t real.

“Calm yourself, Will.”

He couldn’t. He was going to have something to do with the black lord, or he wouldn’t have been mentioned in the books. The idea of coming face to face with Morgarath terrified Will.

“Battleschool would be Horace’s choice. Will glanced at his wardmate now, hungrily tucking into the roast turkey, ham and potatoes that he had heaped onto his plate. Horace was big for his age and a natural athlete. The chances that he would be refused were virtually nonexistent. Horace was exactly the type of recruit that Sir Rodney looked for in his warrior apprentices. Strong, athletic, fit. And, thought Will a trifle sourly, not too bright.”

Halt’s lips twitched. “I don’t think that’s quite the reasoning behind Rodney’s selections.”

“Battleschool was the path to knighthood for boys like Horace—born commoners but with the physical abilities to serve as knights of the kingdom.

“Which left Will. What would his choice be? More importantly, as Horace had pointed out, what Craftmaster would accept him as an apprentice?”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.” Gilan nudged Will. “I saw you climb that fig. Like a squirrel you were, never had to stop and test which branches would support you. Very quiet coming down, too.”

The other Rangers stared at the young boy. Most of their skills they had learned from their mentor, chosen for the life due to their small statures, only to discover a natural ability or inclination to a small part of their field that they could specialize in. For Will to already have some talent in climbing and quiet movement, the second a skill Ranger’s highly relied on, was amazing.

Will must have been born destined to be a Ranger.

“For choosing day was the pivotal point in the life of the castle wards. They were the orphan children raised by the generosity of Baron Arald, the Lord of Redmont Fief. For the most part, their parents had died in the service of the fief, and the Baron saw it as his responsibility to care for and raise the children of his former subjects – and to give them the opportunity to improve their station in life wherever possible.

“Choosing day provided that opportunity.”

Once more Will nodded in agreement. He could not imagine what his life would be like if Baron Arald didn’t provide them with an education. He shuddered at the thought of being raised to believe he was the son of a farmer, working the fields year in and year out.”

“Each year, castle wards turning fifteen could apply to be apprenticed to the masters of the various crafts that served the castle and its people. Ordinarily, craft apprentices were selected by dint of their parents' occupations or influence with the Craftmasters. The castle wards usually had no such influence and this was their chance to win a future for themselves.

“Those wards who weren't chosen, or for whom no openings could be found, would be assigned to farming families in the nearby village, providing farm labor to raise the crops and animals that fed the castle inhabitants. It was rare for this to happen, Will knew. The Baron and his Craftmasters usually went out of their way to fit the wards into one craft or another. But it could happen and it was a fate he feared more than anything.”

Halt frown as Alun read Will’s fears. Daniel had been a farmer. With no training as a soldier he had managed to save Halt from being killed by Wargals. Will’s father was the most courageous man Halt knew, and he didn’t like that Will was unknowingly afraid of his roots.

Farmers were just as important, if not more so, than knights. They kept the whole kingdom fed, and they did it for pittance. They lived simple lives on their farms, worked them with a basic education, and received very little in way of pay in return.

Will shouldn’t look down on the life because it did not hold any glory.

“Horace caught his eye now and gave him a smug smile.

““Still planning on applying for Battleschool, Will?" he asked through a mouthful of turkey and potatoes. “Better eat something then. You'll need to build yourself up a little.””

“Maybe you could eat just a little bit more, but you’re the perfect size for a Ranger.” Crowley waved a hand at the collected group. It was all true, apart from Gilan, who seemed to be unique, or at least a rarity amongst Rangers, all the Rangers were short like him.

Will couldn’t help but smile.

“He snorted with laughter and Will glowered at him. A few weeks previously, Horace had overheard Will confiding to Alyss that he desperately wanted to be selected for Battleschool, and he had made Will's life a misery ever since, pointing out on every possible occasion that Will's slight build was totally unsuited for the rigors of Battleschool training.”

“He’s right, rude and cruel as it was. You wouldn’t survive the demanding physical exercises a knight practices daily.”

“How would you know? You’re a Ranger.”

Gilan cocked an eyebrow at his tone. “Didn’t you see my sword? I’m the only Ranger in the Corps trained to use them, because I started with them before I apprenticed to Halt. I know what it takes to be a knight and you’re not cut out for it.”

Will slouched, flushing lightly at the indirect scolding. He hadn’t meant to say that Gilan had no idea what it took to be a knight. And he hadn’t known the tall Ranger could fight with swords. He just thought that Ranger’s used bows and that since he hadn’t been a trained knight he couldn’t know that Will wouldn’t be able to handle it.

And he said as much, to which Halt and Gilan chorused, “You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.”

Will stared nonplused at the two men while Crowley roared with laughter, having heard his friend deliver that line to Gilan many times even after Gilan had earned his silver oakleaf.

“The fact that Horace was probably right only made matters worse. Where Horace was tall and muscular, Will was small and wiry.”

“Polar opposites. It’s no wonder you don’t get along.”

“He was agile and fast and surprisingly strong, but he simply didn't have the size that he knew was required of Battleschool apprentices. He'd hoped against hope for the past few years that he would have what people called his 'growing spurt' before the Choosing Day came around. But it had never happened and now the day was nearly here.

“As Will said nothing, Horace sensed that he had scored a verbal hit. This was a rarity in their turbulent relationship. Over the past few years, he and Will had clashed repeatedly. Being the stronger of the two, Horace usually got the better of Will, although very occasionally Will's speed and agility allowed him to get in a surprise kick or a punch and then escape before Horace could catch him.”

“That’s good to hear. I have something to work with. I won’t have to start from scratch to unteach you bad habits.”

“Teach me, sir?”

Halt gave him a dry look. “Who did you think would take you as an apprentice? Harrison? You’d train with Redmont’s Ranger.”

“But while Horace generally had the best of their physical clashes, it was unusual for him to win any of their verbal encounters. Will's wit was as agile as the rest of him and he almost always managed to have the last word.”

“Cherish the times you did, my friend. You’ll never get the last word with Halt.” Commiserated Gilan.

“In fact, it was this tendency that often led to trouble between them: Will was yet to learn that having the last word was not always a good idea. Horace decided now to press his advantage.

““You need muscles to get into Battleschool, Will. Real muscles,” he said, glancing at the others around the table to see if anyone disagreed. The other wards, uncomfortable at the growing tension between the two boys, concentrated on their plates.

““Particularly between the ears,” Will replied, to the amusement of all the Rangers but Meralon, who had been silent since the Commandant gave him a dressing down, and, unfortunately Jenny couldn’t refrain from giggling.”

Neither could the Rangers. It was wit like that they took pleasure in, turning it on law breakers and other Rangers alike.

“Horace's face flushed and he started to rise from his seat. But Will was quicker and he was already at the door before Horace could disentangle himself from his chair.”

“Good speed. You’ll need it.”

“He contented himself with hurling a final insult after his retreating wardmate.

““That's right! Run away, Will No-Name! You're a no-name and nobody will want you as an apprentice!””

Will glowered at the reminder. There was no call for that. Horace did not need to rub it in that he knew his parents while Will did not.

“In the anteroom outside, Will heard the parting sally and felt blood flush to his cheeks. It was the taunt he hated most, although he had tried never to let Horace know that, sensing that he would provide the bigger boy with a weapon if he did.

“The truth was, nobody knew Will's second name. Nobody knew who his parents had been. Unlike his yearmates, who had lived in the fief before their parents had died and whose family histories were known, Will had appeared, virtually appeared out of nowhere, as a newborn baby. He had been found, wrapped in a small blanket and placed in a basket, on the steps of the ward building fifteen years ago. A note had been attached to the blanket, reading simply:

“His mother died in childbirth. His father died a hero. Please care for him. His name is Will.

Halt felt his heart grow heavy, remembering Daniel and his wife. Both him and his wife had save Halt’s life. Daniels wife had been attacked by thieves trying to rob families that died in the war. Halt had failed to save her as well.

All they had asked was that he cared for Will. He thought he had. Surely growing up a ward of the baron was better than being raised by a grim Ranger?

But all that had accomplished was Will growing up unhappy being teased about his lack of parentage.

“That year, there had been only one other ward. Alyss's father was a cavalry lieutenant who had died in the battle at Hackham Heath, when Morgarath's Wargal army had been defeated and driven back to the mountains.”

Will blinked. Alyss had never shared her story with him, most likely because she knew he had nothing he could tell her about his own. He didn’t know that her father had died in the same battle as his. He wondered if she even knew, or was she also told that he had simply died in battle?

“Alyss's mother, devastated by her loss, succumbed to a fever some weeks after giving birth. So there was plenty of room in the Ward for the unknown child, and Baron Arald was, at heart, a kindly man.”

“He is,” said Halt. “You’d have to look hard to find a man kinder. However, he doesn’t share the same sense of humor as everyone else.”

“Even though the circumstances were unusual, he had given permission for Will to be accepted as a ward of Castle Redmont. It seemed logical to assume that, if the note were true, Will's father had died in the war against Morgarath, and since Baron Arald had taken a leading part in that war, he felt duty bound to honor the unknown father's sacrifice.”

Will wondered if he family was from Redmont.

“So Will had become a Redmont ward, raised and educated by the Baron's generosity. As time passed, the others had gradually joined him and Alyss until there were five in their year group. But while the others had memories of their parents or, in Alyss's case, people who had known them and who could tell her about them, Will knew nothing of his past.”

‘Yes,’ Halt thought. Perhaps he should have raised the boy himself. What little knowledge he had kept to himself was all that was known about Will’s parents, and he deserved to know.

“That was why he had invented the story that had sustained him throughout his childhood in the Ward. And, as the years passed and he added detail and color to the story, he eventually came to believe it himself.

“His father, he knew, had died a hero's death. So it made sense to create a picture of him as a hero-a knight warrior in full armor, fighting against the Wargal hordes, cutting them down left and right until eventually he was overcome by sheer weight of numbers. Will had pictured the tall figure so often in his mind, seeing every detail of his armor and his equipment but never being able to visualize his face.

“As a warrior, his father would expect him to follow in his footsteps.”

“Father’s let their sons chose their own futures. It’s important to be able to make your own decisions, not just those of your parents. My father’s a Battlemaster, but that didn’t mean he was disappointed when I chose the path of a Ranger instead.” Gilan said wisely.

Gilan’s words struck a chord in Will. He didn’t know his father, no one did. He imagined him to be a knight because the note said he was a hero, but knights weren’t the only heroes. Rangers were, too. Gilan had told him that the Rangers were the protectors of the kingdom, fighting battles before they reach the people.

He had put so much stress on himself, to live up to his dead father, because of his stubbornness. But Will didn’t have to be a knight. Right now, a Ranger was looking more fun.

“That was why selection for Battleschool was so important to Will. And that was why, the more unlikely it became that he would be selected, the more desperately he clung to the hope that he might.

“He exited from the Ward building into the darkened castle yard. The sun was long down and the torches placed every twenty meters or so on the castle walls shed a flickering, uneven light. He hesitated a moment. He would not return to the Ward and face Horace's continued taunts. To do so would only lead to another fight between them—a fight that Will knew that he would probably lose. George would probably try to analyze the situation for him, looking at both sides of the question and thoroughly confusing the issue. Alyss and Jenny might try to comfort him, he knew—Alyss particularly since they had grown up together. But at the moment he didn't want their sympathy and he couldn't face Horace's taunts, so he headed for the one place where he knew he could find solitude."

“At the highest point of a certain tree?” guessed Gilan.

“The huge fig tree growing close by the castle's central tower had often afforded him a haven. Heights held no fear for Will and he climbed smoothly into the tree, continuing long after another might have stopped, until he was in the lighter branches at the very top-branches that swayed and dipped under his weight.”

“I’ve watched him do it twice. I could never climb that high,” said Gilan.

“Only because the branches wouldn’t hold your lankier frame.” Halt snorted.

“In the past, he had often escaped from Horace up here. The bigger boy couldn't match Will's speed in the tree and he was unwilling to follow as high as this. Will found a convenient fork and wedged himself in it, his body giving slightly to the movement of the tree as the branches swayed in the evening breeze.”

Crowley shared a look with Halt. It truly was amazing how much of a Ranger’s skillset came instinctively to the boy. They could only imagine that is skill would grow more profound after the standard five years as an apprentice. Halt wondered what Will would be capable of and the amazing things he would do in these books.

“Below, the foreshortened figures of the watch made their rounds of the castle yard.

“He heard the door of the Ward building open and, glancing down, saw Alyss emerge, looking around the yard for him in vain. The tall girl hesitated a few moments, then, seeming to shrug, turned back inside. The elongated rectangle of light that the open door threw across the yard was cut off as she closed the door softly behind her. Strange, he thought, how seldom people tend to look up."

And it was true. His wardmates had to know he could only run so far in such a short time, but not once had they ever thought to search above them. Will often climbed to get away, so he could have solitude.

“There was a rustle of soft feathers and a barn owl landed on the next branch, its head swiveling, its huge eyes catching every last ray of the faint light. It studied him without concern, seeming to know it had nothing to fear from him. It was a hunter. A silent flyer. A ruler of the night.

“At least you know who you are," he said softly to the bird. It swiveled its head again, then launched itself off into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts.”

Will sighed. With Horace taunting him every moment he could, he spent a lot of his time alone.

“Gradually, as he sat there, the lights in the castle windows went out, one by one. The torches burnt down to smouldering husks and were replaced at midnight by the change of watch. Eventually, there was only one light left burning and that, he knew, was in the Baron's study, where the Lord of Redmont was still presumably at work, poring over reports and papers. The study was virtually level with Will's position in the tree and he could see the burly figure of the Baron seated at his desk.”

“Do you ever spy on the Baron, Will?”

“No!” he shouted. “I just watch him.”

“Finally Baron Arald rose, stretched and leaned forward to extinguish the lamp as he left the room, heading for his sleeping quarters on the floor above. Now the castle was asleep, except for the guards on the walls, who kept constant watch.

“In less than nine hours, Will realized, he would face the Choosing. Silently, miserably, fearing the worst, he climbed down from the tree and made his way to his bed in the darkened boys' dormitory in the Ward.”

 

 

Chapter 3: Chapter 2

“I think Halt should read next.” Alun said, marking the next chapter.

“If you thought about it you wouldn’t let me read at all. I’ll just read the whole chapter and none of you will get a word in edgewise.”

Gilan laughed. “None does anyway, Halt. Give it hear, Alun. I’ll read.”

““All right, candidates! This way! And look lively!” The speaker, or more correctly the shouter, was Martin, secretary to Baron Arald.””

Halt’s small groan went unnoticed as his former apprentice continued to read. Regardless of the fact that he told Arald he wasn’t going to take an apprentice until Will, the baron still required he be present for any and every Choosing Day. Martin was very strict. He nearly took the man’s head off when he suggested one year that the Craftmasters line up according to height too, to put the children at ease.

“As his voice echoed around the anteroom, the five wards rose uncertainly from the long wooden benches where they had been seated. Suddenly nervous now that the day had finally arrived, they began to shuffle forward, each one reluctant to be the first through the great ironbound door that Martin now held open for them.”

Will shuddered. If he was still unsure about his future placement, there was no way he’d want to be the first through the doors to the baron’s office. It would be like walking to his doom, asking to be introduced first and then humiliated when he was denied.

““Come on, come on!” Martin bellowed impatiently. Alyss finally elected to lead the way, as Will had guessed she would.”

Will nodded slightly. Of course Alyss would go first. She always kept the peace, generally making decisions first to put the rest of her wardmates at ease.

“The others followed the willowy blonde girl. Now that someone had decided to lead, the rest of them were content to follow.

“Will looked around curiously as he entered the Baron's study. He'd never been in this part of the castle before.”

Gilan interrupted himself. “But he’s certainly seen in it from that tree of his.”

Will turned beet red.

“This tower, containing the administrative section and the Baron's private apartments, was seldom visited by those of low rank-such as castle wards. The room was huge. The ceiling seemed to tower above him and the walls were constructed of massive stone blocks, fitted together with only the barest lines of mortar between them. On the eastern wall was a huge window space-open to the elements but with massive wooden shutters that could be closed in the event of bad weather. It was the same window he had seen through last night,”

“See?” crowed Gilan.

“If you want to comment give the book to someone else.”

“No, I’ll read. This is just as fun.”

“he realized. Today, sunlight streamed in and fell on the huge oak table that Baron Arald used as a desk.

“Come on now! Stand in line, stand in line!” Martin seemed to be enjoying his moment of authority. The group shuffled slowly into line and he studied them, his mouth twisted in disapproval.”

That was just like Martin, thought Halt. Never pleased with anything that didn’t fit his notion of perfection.

““In size place! Tallest this end!” He indicated the end where he wanted the tallest of the five to stand.”

Will slouched a little. That would only draw more attention to his short stature. If he was at the end of the line the Battlemaster wouldn’t even look once at him before rejecting him. At least he was normal among Rangers.

“Gradually, the group rearranged itself. Horace, of course, was the tallest. After him, Alyss took her position. Then George, half a head shorter than she and painfully thin. He stood in his usual stoop-shouldered posture. Will and Jenny hesitated. Jenny smiled at Will and gestured for him to go before her, even though she was possibly an inch taller than he was. That was typical of Jenny. She knew how Will agonized over the fact that he was the smallest of all the castle wards.”

He smiled at the thought of his bubbly friend. While she didn’t have the grace and tact Alyss did, Jenny was just as attentive to everyone’s feelings.

“As Will moved into the line, Martin's voice stopped him.

“Not you! The girl's next.””

“He always does find a way to ruin the mood. He’s forever pointing out flaws.” Halt said.

“Jenny shrugged apologetically and moved into the place Martin had indicated. Will took the last place in the line, wishing Martin hadn't made his lack of height so apparent.

““Come on! Smarten up, smarten up! Let's see you at attention there,” Martin continued, then broke off as a deep voice interrupted him.”

“You’d think he was the presenting them to the king, the way he’s acting.”

““I don't believe that's totally necessary, Martin.”

“It was Baron Arald, who had entered, unobserved, by way of a smaller door behind his massive desk. Now it was Martin who brought himself to what he considered to be a position of attention, with his skinny elbows held out from his sides, his heels forced together so that his unmistakably bowed legs were widely separated at the knees, and his head thrown back.””

Halt couldn’t restrain a guffaw. Out of respect for Arald he had never laughed before. But here he had no such restrictions and laughed heartily at the secretary’s dramatics.

“Baron Arald raised his eyes to heaven. Sometimes his secretary's zeal on these occasions could be a little overwhelming. The Baron was a big man, broad in shoulder and waist and heavily muscled, as was necessary for a knight of the realm.”

“Is that really all it says about him?” asked Halt suspiciously.

Gilan gifted him with a small glare. “Will you be quiet? You’re the one that said you wouldn’t let anyone else say anything but you’re doing all the talking.”

The older Ranger blinked as his comrades roared with laughter. It was the first time Gilan had ever gotten one over on his mentor. It was probably the only time too.

“It was well known, however, that Baron Arald was fond of his food and drink, so his considerable bulk was not totally attributable to muscle.”

“Happy, Halt?”

“He had a short, neatly trimmed black beard that, like his hair, was beginning to show the traces of gray that went with his forty-two years. He had a strong jaw, a large nose and dark, piercing eyes under heavy brows. It was a powerful face, but not an unkind one, Will thought. There was a surprising hint of humor in those dark eyes. Will had noted it before, on the occasions when Arald had made his infrequent visits to the wards' quarters to see how their lessons and personal development were progressing.”

“His humor’s a little unique,” muttered Halt.

““Sir!” Martin said at top volume, causing the Baron to wince slightly. “The candidates are assembled!””

“I’d wince too,” Berrigan said. “Words should speak for themselves.”

““I can see that,” Baron Arald replied patiently. “Perhaps you might be good enough to ask the Craftmasters to step in as well?””

“Why aren’t the Craftmasters already in the room? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to see us as we came in?” Will asked.

“The Craftmasters are busy people. They don’t have time to wait for children to get organized, so they’re called in when the selection is ready to begin.”

It still didn’t make much sense to Will. It would take a lot less time for the wards to enter than thirty Craftmasters.

““Sir!” Martin responded, making an attempt to click his heels together. As he was wearing shoes of a soft, pliable leather, the attempt was doomed to failure.”

Many Rangers chuckled. They held no stock in protocol on a daily basis. They didn’t even really use it at the Gathering. That’s not to say that they didn’t show respect, they were just much more relaxed and lenient about societal rules.

It came with a life of hiding in the shadows. With no need to be seen, Rangers didn’t need to display decorum.

“He marched toward the main door of the study, all elbows and knees. Will was reminded of a rooster.”

Gilan eyed the young boy shrewdly. “Are you going to start comparing people to animals? What do you think I would be?”

Will floundered. “A squirrel?”

At the same time Halt deadpanned, “A chameleon.”

“As Martin laid his hand on the door handle, the Baron stopped him once more.

““Martin?” he said softly. As the secretary turned an inquiring look back at him, he continued in the same quiet tone, “Ask them. Don't bellow at them. Craftmasters don't like that.””

“Damn straight,” said Halt in an undertone. Martin’s shouting could wake the dead.

““Yes, sir,” said Martin, looking somewhat deflated. He opened the door and, making an obvious effort to speak in a lower tone, said, “Craftmasters. The Baron is ready now.”

“The Craftschool heads entered the room in no particular order of precedence. As a group, they admired and respected one another and so rarely stood on strict ceremonial procedure. Sir Rodney, head of the Battleschool, came first. Tall and broad-shouldered like the Baron, he wore the standard battledress of chain mail shirt under a white surcoat emblazoned with his own crest, a scarlet wolfshead. He had earned that crest as a young man, fighting the wolfships of the Skandian sea raiders who constantly harried the kingdom's east coast. He wore a sword belt and sword, of course. No knight would be seen in public without one. He was around the Baron's age, with blue eyes and a face that would have been remarkably handsome if it weren't for the massively broken nose. He sported an enormous mustache but, unlike the Baron, he had no beard.

“Next came the Horsemaster, responsible for the care and training of the castle's mighty battlehorses. He had keen brown eyes, strong, muscular forearms and heavy wrists. He wore a simple leather vest over his woolen shirt and leggings. Tall riding boots of soft leather reached up past his knees.

“Lady Pauline followed. Slim, gray-haired and elegant, she had been a considerable beauty in her youth and still had the grace and style to turn men's heads. Lady Pauline, who had been awarded the title in her own right for her work in foreign policy for the kingdom, was head of the Diplomatic Service in Redmont.”

Crowley smirked when he saw his friend’s face redden. He knew how Halt felt about Lady Pauline. He only hoped these books would give him plenty of material to tease him with.

“Baron Arald regarded her abilities highly and she was one of his close confidants and advisers. Arald often said that girls made the best recruits to the Diplomatic Service. They tended to be more subtle than boys, who gravitated naturally to Battleschool. And while boys constantly looked to physical means as the way of solving problems, girls could be depended on to use their wits.

“It was perhaps only natural that Nigel, the Scribemaster, followed close behind Lady Pauline. They had been discussing matters of mutual interest while they waited for Martin to summon them. Nigel and Lady Pauline were close friends as well as professional colleagues. It was Nigel's trained scribes who prepared the official documents and communiques that were so often delivered by Lady Pauline's diplomats. He also advised on the exact wording of such documents, having an extensive background in legal matters. Nigel was a small, wiry man with a quick, inquisitive face that reminded Will of a ferret. His hair was glossy black, his features were thin and his dark eyes never ceased roaming the room.”

“See! He did it again. First a rooster and now a ferret. I can’t wait to see how he describes you.” Gilan teased Halt good naturedly.

“Master Chubb, the castle cook, came in last of all. Inevitably, he was a fat, round-bellied man, wearing a cook's white jacket and tall hat. He was known to have a terrible temper that could flare as quickly as oil spilled on a fire, and most of the wards treated him with considerable caution. Florid-faced and with red, rapidly receding hair, Master Chubb carried a wooden ladle with him wherever he went. It was an unofficial staff of office. It was also used quite often as an offensive weapon, landing with a resounding crack on the heads of careless, forgetful or slow-moving kitchen apprentices. Alone among the group, Jenny saw Chubb as something of a hero. It was her avowed intention to work for him and learn his skills, wooden ladle or no wooden ladle.”

Will tried to imagine Jenny wielded a wooden ladle, smashing the fingers of those trying to steal a bite of her food before she served it. Horace would probably have earned a couple broken fingers.

“There were other Craftmasters, of course. The Armorer and the Blacksmith were two. But only those Craftmasters who currently had vacancies for new apprentices would be represented today.

““The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!” Martin said, his voice rising in volume. Martin seemed to equate volume and the importance of the occasion in direct proportion. Once again, the Baron raised his eyes to heaven.

“So I see,” he said quietly, then added, in a more formal tone, “Good morning, Lady Pauline. Good morning, gentlemen.”

Halt wondered if Arald considered him one of those gentlemen.

“They replied and the Baron turned to Martin once more. “Perhaps we might proceed?”

“Martin nodded several times, consulted a sheaf of notes he held in one hand and marched to confront the line of candidates. “Right, the Baron's waiting! The Baron's waiting! Who's first?””

“Isn’t that why he had them lined up already? So they could start immediately.” Merron said.

“Will, eyes down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, suddenly had the strange sensation that someone was watching him. He looked up and actually started with surprise as he met the dark, unfathomable gaze of Halt, the Ranger.”

“Good job, lad. Sensing Halt before he’s gotten his hands on you. We’ll make a Ranger out of you yet.” Gilan congratulated Will with a slap on the back.

“Will hadn't seen him come into the room. He realized that the mysterious figure must have slipped in through a side door while everyone's attention was on the Craftmasters as they made their entrance.”

“I do that every year. Not even the other Craftmasters see me enter.” Halt said. Will stared at him in awe.

“Now he stood behind the Baron's chair and slightly to one side, dressed in his usual brown and gray clothes and wrapped in his long, mottled gray and green Ranger's cloak. Halt was an unnerving person.”

Said man raised an eyebrow as Will flushed.

“He had a habit of coming up on you when you least expected it—and you never heard his approach. The superstitious villagers believed that Rangers practiced a form of magic that made them invisible to ordinary people.”

Halt’s second eyebrow joined his first. If that’s what the villagers believed it certainly made his job easier. What man would be foolish enough to break the law when he feared a Ranger would turn him into a toad?

“Will wasn't sure if he believed that—but he wasn't sure he disbelieved it either. He wondered why Halt was here today. He wasn't recognized as one of the Craftmasters and, as far as Will knew, he hadn't attended a Choosing session prior to this one.”

“That’s as far as you know. Did you watch other Choosing sessions from the top of your tree?”

“I. .no. It’s just, no one ever mentions seeing you, so I assumed you didn’t attend them.” Will explained.

“You’ll learn quickly to never assume. How did you think we picked new Rangers?” Halt asked wryly, amused as Will started blushing and stuttering. “I thought your magic picked them. You know, only those with magical abilities could be Rangers.”

Will had to endure their laughter for a good ten minutes before Gilan had caught his breath enough to read again.

“Abruptly, Halt's gaze cut away from him and it was as if a light had been turned off. Will realized that Martin was talking once more. He noticed that the secretary had a habit of repeating statements, as if he were followed by his own personal echo.

““Now then, who's first? Who's first?”

“The Baron sighed audibly. “Why don't we take the first in line?” he suggested in a reasonable tone, and Martin nodded several times.”

“That is why you lined them up.” Merron repeated.

““Of course, my lord. Of course. First in line, step forward and face the Baron.”

“After a moment's hesitation, Horace stepped forward out of the line and stood at attention. The Baron studied him for a few seconds.

““Name?” he said, and Horace answered, stumbling slightly over the correct method of address for the Baron.”

“He’s lived in the man’s castle for fifteen years and doesn’t know how to address him?” Harrison asked incredulously. “Did he spend all his time watching other boys in the practice yard?”

““Horace Altman, sir… my lord.”

““And do you have a preference, Horace?” the Baron asked, with the air of one who knows what the answer is going to be before hearing it.

““Battleschool, sir!” Horace said firmly.

“The Baron nodded. He'd expected as much. He glanced at Rodney, who was studying the boy thoughtfully, assessing his suitability.

““Battlemaster?” the Baron said. Normally he would address Rodney by his first name, not his title. But this was a formal occasion. By the same token, Rodney would usually address the Baron as “sir.” But on a day like today, “my lord” was the proper form.

“The big knight stepped forward, his chain mail and spurs chinking slightly as he moved closer to Horace. He eyed the boy up and down, then moved behind him. Horace's head started to turn with him.

““Still,” Sir Rodney said, and the boy ceased his movement, staring straight ahead.”

Rodney was a man that easily instilled obedience. Halt had never heard one of his students disobey the knight. However, not ever Rodney could make a boy stand completely still. That was a skill only Rangers had, and they could use it for hours at a time.

““Looks strong enough, my lord, and I can always use new trainees. “He rubbed one hand over his chin. "You ride, Horace Altman?”

“A look of uncertainty crossed Horace's face as he realized this might be a hurdle to his selection. “Well… no, sir. I…” He was about to add that castle wards had little chance to learn to ride, but Sir Rodney interrupted him.”

Will snorted. It would serve Horace right to worry, even if it was only for a few seconds. The taller boy mocked him for his height, saying he would never get into Battleschool. It would have been ironic if he was denied entrance because he couldn’t ride.

““No matter. That can be taught.” The big knight looked at the Baron and nodded. “Very well, my lord. I'll take him for Battleschool, subject to the usual three-month probationary period.”

“Do Rangers have probationary periods?” Will asked, suddenly nervous again. Was it possible that he would not fit in amongst these green and gray mottled cloaks?

“No, simply because we do not pick boys that cannot handle the responsibility and stress. This is a serious position. Rangers are the kingdom’s first line of defense, the crown’s eyes and ears. We do not have time to waste training someone who stands no chance of making it through all five years.”

“The Baron made a note on a sheet of paper before him and smiled briefly at the delighted, and very relieved, youth before him.

““Congratulations, Horace. Report to Battleschool tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp.”

““Yes, sir!” Horace replied, grinning widely. He turned to Sir Rodney and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir!””

“Horace is going to eat his words. Battleschool is not easy, and there’s just as much book work as there is physical training.” Gilan predicted.

““Don't thank me yet,” the knight replied cryptically. “You don't know what you're in for.””

“What a boring chapter,” complained Meralon.

“Well, if you’re so bored you can read next.” Gilan cheerfully handed the book over to Drayden’s Ranger, who opened it with a look of disdain.

Chapter 4: Chapter 3

Will felt anxious as the Ranger identified as Meralon, an overall average looking person aside from his slightly shorter height, began to read. Even though this would no longer happen to him, he couldn’t help but wonder how the event would play out had these books not been brought to Crowley. With one ward down, the others were sure to go fast. Even now, they knew what career they wanted and were unlikely to be denied their choice.

But the Will in the book didn’t know he had an opportunity hiding in the shadows. Literally as he was told Rangers could do. Just three days ago he was fretting over the Choosing Day that would not come for another year and running from Horace as he tormented him about his dream of applying to Battleschool.

However, Meralon’s dry bored tone wasn’t helping. It made the would be most important day of his life sound like when the Ward’s only tutor assigned history reports.

““Who’s next then?” Martin was calling at Horace, grinning broadly, stepped back into the line. Alyss stepped forward gracefully, annoying Martin, who had wanted to nominate her as the next candidate.”

Will chose to not roll his eyes at Horace’s smugness and instead smile at Alyss. The blonde was always good at keeping her head in less than normal situations and was even better at finding solutions that pleased everybody.

Next to him, Halt was grinning too. He liked anyone that could annoy Arald’s pompous secretary. And if the girl was anything like the woman she wished to apprentice under, he would like her even more. Lady Pauline’s sereneness and logical personality never failed to throw the secretary off his game.

““Alyss Mainwaring, my lord,” she said in her quiet, level voice. Then, before she could be asked, she continued, “I request an appointment to the Diplomatic Service, please, my lord.”

“Arald smiled at the solemn-looking girl. She had an air of self-confidence and poise about her that would suit her well in the Service.”

The to be Ranger’s apprentice nodded in agreement with Arald’s thoughts. Self-confident and poise described his closest friend to a ‘T’.

“He glanced at Lady Pauline.

““My lady?” he said.

“She nodded her head several times. “I’ve already spoken to Alyss, my lord. I believe she will be an excellent candidate. Approved and accepted.””

Will was happy to know that Alyss would get the selection she wanted. Not that he had any doubts. Alyss had been having weekly meetings with the Head of the Diplomatic Service and lessons since she was eight.

“Alyss made a small bow of her head in the direction of the woman who would be her mentor. Will thought of how alike they were—both tall and elegant in their movements, both grave in manner. He felt a small surge of pleasure for his oldest companion, knowing how much she wanted this selection. Alyss stepped back in line and Martin, not to be forestalled this time, was already pointing to George.

““Right! You’re next! You’re next! Address the Baron.”

“George stepped forward. His mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out.”

Will blinked. George was probably the shyest of them all, with regards to opening up to new people, but he never had any trouble speaking before. Maybe he wasn’t the only ward nervous about his appointment.

“The other wards watched in surprise. George, long regarded by them all as the official advocate for just about everything, was overcome with stage fright. He finally managed to say something in a low voice that nobody in the room could hear. Baron Arald leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear.”

Halt rolled his eyes. Arald probably meant to put the boy at ease, but by pointing out his failure in such a childish way would probably only make the more nervous and tongue-tied.

““I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” he said.

“George looked up at the Baron, and with an enormous effort, spoke in a just audible voice. “G-George Carter, sir. Scribeschool, sir.”

“Martin, ever the stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address. Before he could do so, and to everyone’s evident relief, Baron Arald stepped in.

““Very well, Martin. Let it go.” Martin looked a little aggrieved, but subsided. The Baron glanced at Nigel, his chief scribe and legal officer, one eyebrow raised in question.

““Acceptable, my lord,” he said, adding, “I’ve seen some of George’s work and he really does have a gift for calligraphy.”

“The Baron looked doubtful. “He’s not the most forceful of speakers, though, is he, Scribemaster?””

Will shook his head vehemently, much to Gilan and Halt’s amusement. His hair, not having been trimmed yet this year, whipped about like a dog shaking out its fur. George could talk someone in circles and get them to suggest it was their turn to mop the Ward’s floors, the least favorite chore of all the wards.

“Nigel shrugged the objection aside. “I promise you, my lord, with proper training that sort of thing represents no problem. Absolutely no problem at all, my lord.”

“The Scribemaster folded his hands together into the wide sleeves of the monk like habit he wore as he warmed to his theme.

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

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

Halt sighed. Nigel was like that every time he got a new applicant. He would go off on a tangent about a former student, conveniently always seven years ago, that was just like his new one, and if unstopped, would give a very long winded speech about how he transformed them into true scribes just like him. Halt was of the opinion the kingdom could only handle one Nigel and hoped that this boy didn’t turn out anything like the older man.

““It may even surprise you to hear that as a boy, I myself suffered from a most terrible nervous stutter. Absolutely terrible, my lord. Could barely put two words together at a time.””

“Is absolutely his favorite word? That’s the fourth time he said it already.”

““Hardly a problem now, I see,” the Baron managed to put in dryly, and Nigel smiled, taking the point. He bowed to the Baron.

“Exactly, my lord. We’ll soon help young George overcome his shyness. Nothing like the rough and tumble of Scribeschool for that. Absolutely.””

“Five times.”

“The Baron smiled in spite of himself. The Scribeschool was a studious place where voices were rarely, if ever, raised and where logical, reasoned debate reigned supreme. Personally, on his visits to the place, he had found it mind-numbing in the extreme. Anything less like a rough and tumble atmosphere he could not imagine.

““I’ll take your word for it,” he replied, then to George he said, “Very well, George, request granted. Report to Scribeschool tomorrow.”

“George shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Mumble-mumble-mumble,” he said and the Baron leaned forward again, frowning as he tried to make out the low pitched words.

““What was that?” he asked.

“George finally looked up and managed to whisper, “Thank you, my lord.” He hurriedly shuffled back to the relative anonymity of the line.

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

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he be surprised by the youth thanking him?”

“None of the others have so far. Maybe he thought they all lacked manners.” Geldon answered.

“That Horace boy thanked him.” Meron argued.

“No,” Meric corrected, “he thanked Rodney. George was the first to thank the Baron.”

Annoyed by the interruptions, Meralon talked over them.

“Jenny was already stepping forward. Blond and pretty, she was also, it had to be admitted, a little on the chubby side.”

“That just means there more of her to love,” Gilan joked.

“But the look suited her, and at any of the castle’s social functions, she was a much sought after dance partner with the boys in the castle, both her year mates in the Ward and the sons of the castle staff as well.

““Master Chubb, sir!” she said now, stepping forward right to the edge of the Baron’s desk.”

Will laughed loudly, earning Meralon’s glare. It was so like Jenny to jump ahead of the horse pulling the carriage.

“The Baron looked into the round face, saw the eagerness shining there in the blue eyes, and couldn’t help smiling at her.

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

““Oh! Your pardon, sir . . . my . . . Baron . . . your lordship,” she hastily improvised, her tongue running away with her as she mangled the correct form of address.

““My lord!” Martin prompted her. Baron Arald looked at him, eyebrows raised.

““Yes, Martin?” he said. “What is it?””

All the Rangers chuckled at that. It was obvious that the Baron knew his secretary was chastising the girl for not addressing him in the correct manner and had chosen to set her at ease by taken the attention off her for a minute so she could compose herself.

“Martin had the grace to look embarrassed. He knew that his master was intentionally misunderstanding his interruption. He took a deep breath, and said in an apologetic tone, “I . . . simply wanted to inform you that the candidate’s name is Jennifer Dalby, sir”

“The Baron nodded at him, and Martin, a devoted servant of the heavy bearded man, saw the look of approval in his lord’s eyes.

““Thank you, Martin. Now, Jennifer Dalby . . .”

““Jenny, sir,” said the irrepressible girl, and he shrugged resignedly.

““Jenny, then. I assume that you are applying to be apprenticed to Master Chubb?”

““Oh, yes, please, sir!” Jenny replied breathlessly, turning adoring eyes on the portly, red-haired cook. Chubb scowled thoughtfully and considered her.

““Mmmmm . . .could be, could be,” he murmured, walking back and forth in front of her. She smiled winningly at him, but Chubb was beyond such feminine wiles.”

Halt turned a laugh into a cough. He had seen a servant woman the chef was sweet on talk him out of many samples of his dishes.

““I’d work hard, sir,” she told him earnestly.

““I know you would!” he replied with some spirit. “I’d make sure of it, girl. No slacking or lollygagging in my kitchen, let me tell you.”

“Fearing that her opportunity might be slipping away, Jenny played her trump card.”

Will couldn’t be more surprised how Choosing Day was unfolding. Aside from Alyss, who was guaranteed her position from a young age, all his ward mates were struggling with their selections too. He had never imagined that they wouldn’t be swept up just as fast as Alyss was. They were each perfect for the selection they wanted. Will really thought only his selection would be problematic because he knew that his choice of Battleschool was idealistic.

““I have the right shape for it,” she said. Chubb had to agree that she was well rounded. Arald, not for the first time that morning, hid a smile.

““She has a point there,Chubb,” he put in, and the cook turned to him in agreement.

““Shape is important, sir. All great cooks tend to be . . . rounded.” He turned back to the girl, still considering. It was very well for the others to accept their trainees in the wink of an eye, he thought. But cooking was something special.”

“It’s not one of Halt’s talents,” Gilan teased. His former mentor mock huffed.

“You love my stew.” The brunette shrugged. It was true, but he couldn’t help poking fun at Halt.

““Tell me,” he said to the eager girl, “what would you do with a turkey pie?”

“Jenny smiled dazzlingly at him. “Eat it,” she answered immediately.

“Chubb rapped her on the head with the ladle he carried.”

Will absentmindedly rubbed his left wrist. A year ago he had stolen a few pastries from the castle’s kitchens. Chubb had caught him as he was preparing to leave and left a welt on his wrist from that ladle.

““I meant what would you do about cooking it?” he asked.

“Jenny hesitated, gathered her thoughts, then plunged into a lengthy technical description of how she would go about constructing such a masterpiece. The other four wards, the Baron, his Craftmasters, and Martin listened in some awe, with absolutely no comprehension of what she was saying. Chubb, however, nodded several times as she spoke, interrupting as she detailed the rolling of the pastry.

““Nine times, you say?” he said curiously and Jenny nodded, sure of her ground.

““My mother always said: ‘Eight times to make it flaky and once more for love.’” she said. Chubb nodded thoughtfully.

““Interesting. Interesting,” he said, then, looking up at the Baron, he nodded. “I’ll take her, my lord.”

““What a surprise,” the Baron said mildly, then added, “Very well, report to the kitchens in the morning, Jennifer.”

““Jenny, sir,” the girl corrected him again, her smile lighting up the room.”

Will shook his head fondly. It was just like Jenny to correct someone about her name. Even if it was their Baron.

“Baron Arald smiled. He glanced at the small group before him. “And that leaves us with one more candidate.” He glanced at his list, then looked up to meet Will’s agonized gaze, gesturing encouragement.

“Will stepped forward, nervousness suddenly drying his throat as his voice came out in barely a whisper.

““Will, sir. My name is Will.””

Not unsurprisingly, it pained Will to be reminded that he had no idea who he was or where he came from. And for it to be put on display in front of all those people, combined with his insecurity, no wonder he couldn’t speak.

Chapter 5: Chapter 4

““Will? Will who?””

Said boy didn’t even know how tightly he had been clenching his hands until Halt reach over to rest his own larger calloused one on them.

That right there was the crux of the matter, the source of his pain and insecurity. Names were everything. They said who you were and what you did for a living. They revealed your status, respected or otherwise, praised heroic deeds or mocked stupid, unsightly, scandalous, dishonorable decisions or behavior.

To him, lacking a family name meant he was missing part of his identity, and growing up in the Ward as the only one with just one name, a position that Horace greatly took advantage of and needled him to no end over, made Will feel insignificant. That he was nobody without a second name.

Part of him wondered if his fantastical dreams of being a knight didn’t stem from his desire to be seen, to be someone. After all, knights of the realm were famous in a good way. They were heroes, performing legendary deeds.

And it wasn’t that Will didn’t want to be a hero, like his unknown father, but that he didn’t want to be no one. His chest burned with an insatiable craving to be somebody. Every boy dreamed of being a hero, but Will just wanted to be acknowledged.

Covering the young boy’s soft hands with his own, Halt lost count of the number of times he had sighed already, and they had barely begun the book. If this was the reaction Will got from Horace, from administration personel, from everyone who only saw the orphaned boy with one name, he could understand why the brunette desperately held onto the stories he had made for himself.

It was hard enough being an orphan without knowing who you were.

Halt had given up who he was boy choice, but Will’s choice was made for him. And what right did he have to make it for him? Because he saved the boy? Because he brought him to Redmont? It was Halt’s fault that his parents’ were dead and that he was an orphan.

It made him wish that he had been a little more involved in the boy’s life. Maybe he could have shown him a few tricks when he was but a lad, encourage him to join the Ranger’s Corp of his own free will. Maybe he should have raised the boy himself, as his mother had all but asked as she was dying. Maybe he should have explained the truth earlier.

Halt sighed again. The older Ranger had no doubt that the truth would be revealed at some point in these books, for he had never planned to hide the knowledge from Will forever.

He didn’t say anything as Clarke continued to read. His decision had already been made and he couldn’t undo it. It would not do to dwell on past mistakes.

“Martin asked in exasperation, flicking through the sheets of paper with the candidates’ details written on them. He had only been the Baron’s secretary for five years and so knew nothing of Will’s history. He realized now that there was no family name on the boy’s papers and, assuming he had let this mistake slip past, he was annoyed at himself.

““What’s your family name, boy?” he asked severely. Will looked at him, hesitating, hating this moment.”

Will tried to relax. It wasn’t Martin’s fault he didn’t have a family name, but that didn’t make listening any easier.

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

““Will is a special case, Martin,” he said quietly, his look telling the secretary to let the matter go. He turned back to Will, smiling encouragement.”

“He does that a lot,” Berrigan commented and Halt nodded.

““What school did you wish to apply for, Will?” he asked.

““Battleschool, please, my lord,” Will replied, trying to sound confident in his choice.”

Will was couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t confident because he knew he had no chance of being accepted, or because, as he was starting to realize, that he didn’t need or want to actually go to Battleschool.

“The Baron allowed a frown to crease his forehead and Will felt his hopes sinking.

““Battleschool, Will? You don’t think you’re . . . a little on the small side?” the Baron asked gently. Will bit his lip. He had all but convinced himself that if he wanted this badly enough, if he believed in himself strongly enough, he would be accepted—in spite of his obvious shortcomings.”

“Sometimes, what seems to be a shortcoming can be your greatest strength,” Gilan said quietly to the apprentice-to-be.

““I haven’t had my growing spur yet, sir,” he said, desperately. “Everybody says that that.””

“Everybody is an idiot for encouraging you. Your dreams of knighthood are foolish.” Meralon snorted.

Will gnashed his teeth, trying to block out the arrogant Ranger’s words. Did he think that he didn’t already know that?

Clarke hurried on while Geldon, who would probably be retiring in a few years berated the Ranger of Drayden fief for his rudeness and tactlessness.

“The Baron rubbed his bearded chin with thumb and forefinger as he considered the boy before him. He glanced to his Battlemaster.

““Rodney?” he said.

“The tall knight stepped forward, studied Will for a moment or two, then slowly shook his head.

““I’m afraid he’s too small, my lord,” he said. Will felt a cold hand clutch his heart.

““I’m stronger than I look, sir,” he said. But the Battlemaster was unswayed by the plea. He glanced at the Baron, obviously not enjoying the situation, and shook his head.”

“Of course he wasn’t enjoying it.” Halt’s deep voice said. “Even now it’s glaringly apparent how determined you are to get into Battleschool. What lord in his right mind would enjoy crushing a child’s dreams?”

““Any second choice, Will?” the Baron asked. His voice was gentle, even concerned.

“Will hesitated for a long moment. He had never considered any other selection.

““Horseschool, sir?” he asked finally.

“Horseschool trained and cared for the mighty battlehorses that the castle’s knights rode. It was at least a link to Battleschool, Will thought. But Ulf, the Horsemaster, was shaking his head already, even before the Baron asked his opinion.

““I need apprentices, my lord,” he said, “but this one’s too small. He’d never control one of my battlehorses. They’d stomp him into the ground as soon as look at him.”

“Will could only see the Baron through a watery blur now. He fought desperately to keep the tears from sliding down his cheeks. That would be the ultimate humiliation, to be rejected from Battleschool and then to break down and cry like a baby in front of the Baron, all the Craftmasters and his wardmates.

““What skills do you have, Will?” the Baron was asking him.

“Will racked his brain. He wasn’t good at lessons and languages, as Alyss was. He couldn’t form neat, perfect letters, the way George did. Nor did he have Jenny’s interest in cooking.

“And he certainly didn’t have Horace’s muscles and strength.

““I’m a good climber, sir,” he said finally, seeing that the Baron was waiting for him to say something. It was a mistake, he realized instantly. Chubb, the cook, glared at him angrily.”

“That you are!” Gilan cried heartily, slapping the younger boy on the back so hard he was almost knocked of the log he perched on. “Never seen anyone move as nimbly in a tree as you did.”

““He can climb, all right. I remember when he climbed up a drainpipe into my kitchen and stole a tray of sweetcakes that were cooling on the windowsill.”

Halt raised an eyebrow as Will blushed. Gilan roared with laughter, picturing a Will that slid down the drainpipe not designed to hold a person’s weight while balancing a tray of sweet buns.

“Will’s jaw dropped with the unfairness of it all. That had been two years ago! He was a child then and it was a mere childish prank, he wanted to say. But now the Scribemaster was talking too.

“And just this last spring he climbed up to our third-floor study and turned two rabbits loose during one of our legal debates. Most disruptive. Absolutely!”

“Is he still on about that? Should he have a more expansive vocabulary?” Andross asked.

Will’s cheeks took on an even darker hue as several of the Rangers neutrally studied him, almost like they were imagining how he scaled three floors with two rabbits in tow.

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

““A male and a female rabbit, my lord, if you take my meaning?” he replied. “Most disruptive indeed!”

“Unseen by Will, the very serious Lady Pauline put one elegant hand in front of her mouth. She might have been concealing a yawn. But when she removed the hand, the corners of her mouth were slightly uptilted still.

““Well, yes,” said the Baron. “We all know how rabbits are.”

““And, as I said, my lord, it was spring,” Nigel went on, in case the Baron had missed the point. Lady Pauline gave vent to an unladylike cough.”

“That’s not like Pauline,” frowned Halt.

“Aho!” Crowley pointed a finger at his friend. “So you admit that you’re close to her?”

“No.” Halt answered stubbornly. “But I’ve observed her in official settings enough to know that she’s not one to interrupt.”

He pointedly ignored Gilan’s badly hidden mutter of ‘stalked’ behind a fake cough.

“The Baron looked in her direction, in some surprise.

““I think we get the picture, Scribemaster,” he said, then returned his gaze to the desperate figure who stood in front of him. Will kept his chin up and stared straight ahead. The Baron felt for the young lad in that moment. He could see the tears welling up in those lively brown eyes, held back only by an infinite determination.”

Merron began keeping track of the abilities that the boy was displaying. He clearly had a talent for climbing, which was a necessity for a Ranger, and a strong will, which was even more important. Rangers knew many secrets. They would need an unbreakable spirit in their line of work.

“Willpower, he thought abstractedly, recognizing the play on the boy’s name.”

Halt couldn’t refrain from rolling his eyes. His lord’s sense of humor was unique.

“He didn’t enjoy putting the boy through all this, but it had to be done. He sighed inwardly.

““Is there any one of you who could use this boy?” he said.

“Despite himself, Will allowed his head to turn and gaze pleadingly at the line of Craftmasters, praying that one of them would relent and accept him. One by one, silently, they shook their heads.

“Surprisingly, it was the Ranger who broke the awful silence in the room.

““There is something you should know about this boy, my lord,” he said. Will had never heard Halt speak before. His voice was deep and soft-spoken, with the slightest burr of a Hibernian accent still noticeable.”

Will turned to look at the short Ranger seated next to him. Now that the book had mentioned it, he could pinpoint the difference he had heard in the man’s voice. He wondered what Halt knew about him. Would he tell Will if he asked?

“He stepped forward now and handed the Baron a sheet of paper, folded double. Arald unfolded it, studied the words written there and frowned. “You’re sure of this, Halt?” he said.

““Indeed, my lord.”

Gilan snorted. “When are you ever not sure of anything? You were always right when I was your apprentice. And I doubt that’s changed.”

The Ranger of Meric fief didn’t notice the slight twitch of his former mentor’s eye.

“The Baron carefully refolded the paper and placed it on his desk. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the desktop, then said:

““I’ll have to think on this overnight.”

“Halt nodded and stepped back, seeming to fade into the background as he did so. Will stared anxiously at him, wondering what information the mysterious figure had passed on to the Baron. Like most people, Will had grown up believing that Rangers were people who were best avoided. They were a secretive, arcane group, shrouded in mystery and uncertainty, and that uncertainty led to fear.”

The group of twelve Rangers exploded into laughter at the thought of them using magic. It was a ridiculous notion. Magic didn’t exist, and even if it did, it was much easier to play with people’s misconceptions.

That being said, the citizens of the Kingdom of Araluen had been of that mindset since the Rangers Corp was found 150 years ago, and the current bearers of the oakleaf were in no hurry to correct their mistaken assumption.

It might be rather twisted of them, but if they believed the elusive Rangers were capable of wielding magic they were less likely to be creating problems they had to deal with.

“Will didn’t like the thought that Halt knew something about him—something that he felt important enough to bring to the Baron’s attention today, or all days. The sheet of paper lay there, tantalizingly close, yet impossibly far away.

“He realized that there was movement around him and the Baron was speaking to the other people in the room.

““Congratulations to those that were selected here today. It’s a big day for all of you, so you’re free to have the rest of the day off and enjoy yourselves. The kitchens will provide a banquet for you in your quarters and for the rest of the day you have free run of the castle and the village.

““Tomorrow, you’ll report to your new Craftmasters first thing in the morning. And if you’ll take a tip from me, you’ll make sure you’re on time.” He smiled at the other four, then addressed Will, with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

““Will, I’ll let you know tomorrow what I’ve decided about you.” He turned to Martin and gestured for him to show the new apprentices out. “Thank you, everyone,” he said, and left the room through the door behind his desk.

“The Craftmasters followed his lead, then Martin ushered the former wards to the door. They chatted together excitedly, relieved and delighted that they had been selected by the Craftmasters of their choice.”

Resent briefly flared in Will before he quashed it. He shouldn’t be mad that his wardmates had gotten the placements they wanted just because he hadn’t. He knew that his chances of being accepted into Battleschool were slim at best.  

“Will hung back behind the others, hesitating as he passed the desk where that sheet of paper still lay. He stared at it for a moment, as if somehow he could see through to the words written on the reverse side. The he felt that same sensation that he had felt earlier, that someone was watching him. He looked up and found himself staring into the dark eyes of the Ranger, who remained behind the Baron’s high-backed chair, almost invisible in that strange cloak of his.”

Merron noted that was the second time the fifteen year old boy had sense the grizzled Ranger’s stare.

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

“That’s the end of that chapter.” Clarke set the dark blue and black book down. “Perhaps now would be a good time to start lunch.” Will opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to know what Halt had written on that paper.

But the Ranger was still talking. “And maybe we could see what young Will can do and get him started on the basics?”

Will debated it for a minute, but after all the tales Gilan had shared with him on their three day journey, and what he had learned about the Ranger Corp so far, he was actually excited. He looked forward to learning to be a Ranger.

It wouldn’t hurt to start learning early. The book would still be here.

The brown haired boy eagerly followed the adults.

Chapter 6: Chapter 5

Will followed the Rangers several meters into the forest, nearly crashing into one’s back when he stopped abruptly.

Quicker than he could follow, Bartell, one of the more seasoned and experienced Rangers and the one posted at Seacliff Fief fired an arrow.

Will shifted his weight nervously as the smaller group of Rangers trained their eyes on him.

“Well,” Halt snapped. “Get to it.”

“Get to what?” he asked. “Sir.”

The grizzled man waved off the formal title. “We don’t have all day. Climb the tree and retrieve the arrow, boy.”

Will blinked at the directness then shrugged. It made sense. All they had read so far was how good he was a climbing, so he supposed it was natural they start with climbing a tree. And trees were so easy. The branches provided all the foot-and-handholds he needed and more than enough support.

The arrow was lodge near the very top of the fir tree. If he hadn’t been as small, willowy, and lightweight as he was, there was no chance the thin branches would hold his weight.

The descent was not as easy.

He hadn’t gone more than two meters back down the tree when an arrow slammed dangerously close to his left hand.

“Oi!” he yelped. “What was that for? You almost hit me!”

“I knew what I was aiming at.”

It was hard to tell from thirty meters up, but Will was sure that it had been Merron that had nonchalantly brushed him off. Huffing slightly, he released his grip and dropped to the next branch down.

A second arrow quivered from the force it struck the tree, this time close to his right knee. A similar thud sounded in the tree to his left.

Uncertainly, Will glanced down at the cloaked adults again. This time they were motioning for him to go jump to a different tree. He tightened his hold on his branch. There was no way he was going to jump through the trees like a monkey. He wasn’t that good at climbing.

And if he fell from this height . . .

The choice was taken out of his hands, literally, when the Rangers collectively raised their longbows and several arrows pierced the same spot, each consecutive arrow splitting the previous in two and driving them all a little deeper into the branch he clung to like a lifeline until it broke with a loud crack.

Will flailed, wind milling his arms to keep his balance on the branch he dropped on, wishing his glare could set their green camouflage cloaks on fire, and prayed to every deity as he jumped.

The bark scraped his palms, and he almost let go, unprepared for just how much it would hurt. He hung there like a sack of potatoes, happy that he hadn’t fallen.

The Rangers below him were not as content with his success.

“Don’t just sit there, Will!” Gilan shouted encouragingly. “It’s too easy to hit a moving target.”

They wouldn’t, Will thought, eyeing the longbows they still held. Who was he kidding? They had already shot at him three times. He swallowed dryly as he began kicking his legs. His palms started to bleed as he continued to swing his body back and forth.

Maybe if he just kept swinging they would give up?

An arrow whizzed by his ear. He lost all momentum as he desperately dug his fingers into the bark of the tree. Rangers were insane. Was it too late to take back his decision to join?

He was much quicker the second time around, and his haste caused him to fall short, slamming into a thicker branch below.

Will hung limply over it for a minute. Every muscle and bone in his abdomen was screaming at him. He didn’t even flinch when another of the Ranger’s endless supply of arrows thwacked into the tree, urging him to keep moving.

He was much more cautious this time, wary of the occasional arrow that was still being fired in his direction.

He would have happily cried once he was safely on the ground once more if Halt hadn’t pressed a scabbard into his hands.

Will studied it, drawing out the two blades. One was short and evenly balanced, probably for throwing. It had a thick, heavy grip made of a series of leather discs set one above the other, and a brass crosspiece between the hilt and the blade. It was thin at the hilt, widened considerably down its length, then narrowed quickly to a sharp point.

The second knife was a puzzle. It was longer than the throwing knife, with a grip made of a series of leather discs set one above the other and a short brass crosspiece. The blade was long and straight, nearly the size of a short sword. He ran his thumb along its edge. It bled from a light touch. It was just as balanced as the throwing knife, but Will assumed it had to have another purposed because the length didn’t make sense for throwing. It was rather plain and functional, but he could see a blue tint in the blade.

“Those are Ranger knives. The larger blade’s called a saxe knife. It’s for close combat, although it can be thrown like its partner. When you can handle them I’ll show you the double knife defense. These blades are made by the finest steelsmiths in Araluen and can block a sword without being damaged.”

Gilan butted into his former mentor’s explanation. “Most of the time the other weapon is blunted or nicked.”

Will gave the pair a look of extreme disbelief. He wouldn’t deny that it was very sharp and well balanced, but what chanced did a knife stand against a sword?

“Well? Pick up the saxe knife.”

Will hurried to do so.

“No, you’re holding it wrong. You want the blade pointing away from you”

He stared confused at his hand as Halt repositioned the knife, which he formerly held by the hilt so that the blade extended upwards from his fist. Halt flipped it around, pulling his arm so that it bent at the elbow.

“Take a swing with it.”

Will hesitated, not wanting to swing the knife at Halt he held no weapon at all. “Are you sure? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.”

He sighed as Gilan and Halt spoke in unison. Apparently the younger man was right and he’d be hearing that phrase a lot during his apprenticeship.

The boy charged forward, swinging the saxe knife clumsily. Halt blocked with his arm, pushing it away and off balancing Will. For the next hour, he and Gilan demonstrated the different stances, offensive and defensive, that could be used with the saxe knife. Gilan even took up his sword to prove that the double knife defense could stop a sword stroke.

Will was happy when supper was called and hurriedly put away what was now his saxe knife.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Will turned to Halt. “Supper?” He offered.

The greying Ranger shook his head, ignoring Gilan’s snickers. “No. You’re going to collect the arrows from the trees.”

“What? Why me? They’re your arrows. You shot them at me!” he protested.

“Because it’s the apprentice’s job to perform such duties as fetching supplies.” Halt said calmly. “You can eat when you finish.”

Will gawked at him, but his face was as serious as ever.

He let out a large breath and made his way up the tree a second time.

Will tried to slurp his stew as quietly as possible as Harrison, a middle aged Ranger, in his early thirties, short and powerfully built began the next chapter.

“It was long after midnight. The flickering torches around the castle yard, already replaced once, had begun to burn low again. Will had watched patiently for hours, waiting for this moment—when the light was uncertain and the guards were yawning, in the last hours of their shift.”

Gilan, Halt and Crowley shared a look over the young boy’s head. It seemed the physical skills they had read in previous chapters weren’t the only Ranger like quality about the boy.

Will certainly had the mind set and the patience of a Ranger. It always seemed, to uninformed civilians at least, that the Ranger Corp reacted instantly. To them it appeared that before they even heard news of a threat to the kingdom that the Rangers had already dealt with it.

That wasn’t true in the slightest. They were most definitely aware of the problem well before the general population, but Rangers did not charge in and start firing arrows and chucking knives. They waited, observed, and studied. They memorized rotation and watch patterns, burned faces into their mind’s eye, and listened for the slightest whisper.  They would sit unmoving for hours, analyzing strengths and weaknesses and creating six different plans of actions before they made a move.

It was only because they had forewarning that Rangers seemed to be on top of issues before they happened.

And the Rangers weren’t going to tell civilians the tricks of their job. It was a far better preemptive measure if people thought a Ranger could catch them plotting before they even met up.

“The day had been one of the worst he could remember.”

“Not quite the worst,” muttered Will.

“Oh.” Halt said, with the raised eyebrow the boy was coming to expect from the grizzled Ranger.

Will flushed. “It may have been humiliating, but it’s not my worst. That’s reserved for when my parents died.”

A hush fell over the motley group of men.

“I may not remember them or how it happened,” he continued, “but growing up without them is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Followed by Horace beating me up in the name of toughening me up for Battleschool.”

“While his yearmates celebrated, enjoying their feast and then spending their time in lighthearted horseplay through the castle and the village, Will had slipped away to the silence of the forest, a kilometer or so from the castle walls. There, in the dim green coolness beneath the trees, he had spent the afternoon reflecting bitterly on the events of the Choosing, nursing the deep pain of disappointment and wondering what the Ranger’s paper said.”

“Did none of them think that they were being unfair? Celebrating their appointments when you had not been chosen?”

Will shrugged in response to Andross’ questions. He wouldn’t fault them for being chosen and celebrating that. It was very likely that Alyss or Jenny would have invited him to feast with them and he chose to sulk outside.

“As the long day wore on, and the shadows began to lengthen in the open fields beside the forest, he came to a decision.

“He had to know what was on the paper. And he had to know tonight.”

Gilan wriggled his eyebrows at the younger boy. “You go looking for trouble, don’t you?”

“I do not!” he exclaimed.

“Once night fell, he made his way back to the castle, avoiding villagers and castle folk alike, and secreted himself in the branches of the fig tree again. On the way, he slipped unnoticed into the kitchens and helped himself to bread, cheese and apples.”

“You’re rather good at unseen movement.” Crowley commented. “Gilan’s currently the best we have. Maybe at the next break we can see which of you is better.”

The newly promoted Ranger puffed with pride in his skills. He had already seen earlier some of the potential Will had and he couldn’t wait to see what else the kid was capable of.

For his part, Will looked nervous, on the edge of being ill really. After the insane tree climbing exercise they had put him through, he was not looking forward to another test. Rangers were clearly crazy. He could only imagine what they would do to make moving unnoticed as hard as possible for him.

“He munched moodily on these, barely tasting them, as the evening passed and the castle began to settle down for the night.

“He observed the movements of the guards, getting a feeling for their timing as they went of their regular rounds. In addition to the guard troop, there was a sergeant on duty at the doorway of the tower that led to Baron Arald’s quarters. But he was overweight and sleepy and there was little chance that he would pose a risk to Will.  After all, he had no intention of using the door or the stairway.”

“Oh, really. Then how do you intend to reach the Baron’s office?” Halt asked. He had thought, being a young boy, that Will would go for the simplest solution, going through the front door when the sergeant left the doorway for his patrol.

“Up the tower wall.” He answered automatically.

“Thought about doing it before.”

Will turned red at Halt’s insinuation, despite knowing that he was only teasing. “No.”

“But I have done it before,” he said when Halt grinned.

“Over the years, his insatiable curiosity, and a penchant for going places where he wasn’t supposed to be, had developed within him the skill of moving across seemingly open space without being seen.”

“So you have had practice. Just what sort of places have you been?” asked Geldon.

“Um. . . well, the kitchens. And the records room.” Will offered. There had been other places, of course, but he wasn’t going to tell everyone exactly what forbidden areas he had been sneaking into.

“Why the records room?” Merron questioned, curious.

Now Will shifted uncomfortably. “I had hoped to find a record of my birth so I could learn my second name.”

Seeing how awkward the attention was making the boy, Harrison pressed on.

“As the wind stirred the upper branches of the trees, they created moving patterns in the moonlight—patterns that Will now used to great effect. He instinctively matched his movement to the rhythm of the trees, blending easily into the pattern of the yard, becoming part of it and being concealed by it.”

“You’re a natural.” Gilan commented. “Have you seen a Ranger move like that? Or did you learn it on your own?”

“On my own,” confirmed Will.

“In a way, the lack of obvious cover made his task a little easier. The fat sergeant didn’t expect anyone to be moving across the open space of yard. So, not expecting to see anyone, he failed to do so.”

“It learned that when my friends never looked up into the trees for me. I figured they didn’t expect me to climb a tree so they didn’t bother to look for me there. I guess it would apply here, too.” Will shrugged.

“Breathless, Will flattened himself against the rough stone of the tower wall. The sergeant was barely five meters away and Will could hear his heavy breathing, but a small buttress in the wall hid him from the man’s sight. He studied the wall in front of him, craning back to look up. The Baron’s office window was a long way up, and farther around the tower. To reach it, he would have to climb up, then work his way across the face of the wall, to a spot beyond the point where the sergeant stood guard, then up again to the window. He licked his lips nervously. Unlike the smooth inner walls of the tower, the huge blocks of stone that comprised the tower’s outer wall had large gaps between them. Climbing would be no problem. He’d have plenty of foot- and handholds all the way up. In some places, the stone would have been worn smooth by the weather over the years, he knew, and he’d have to go carefully. But he’d climbed all the other three towers at some time in the past and he expected no real difficulty with this one.”

Will reddened once more as the men looked at him with appraising looks.

“Is there a part of the castle that you haven’t climbed?” Will bit his lip. “Or anything you can’t climb?”

“I haven’t tried to climb down a cliff.”

“Good to know. Now when you screw up I know to toss you over a cliff. It’ll teach you a lesson.”

Will groaned at Halt’s deadpan. He couldn’t even brush it off because it was quite possible that he would do such a thing.

“But this time, if he were seen, he wouldn’t be able to pass it off as a prank. He would be climbing in the middle of the night to a part of the castle where he had no right to be. After all, the Baron didn’t post guards on this tower for the fun of it. People were supposed to stay away unless they had business here.

“He rubbed his hands together nervously. What could they do to him? He had already been passed over in the Choosing. Nobody wanted him. He was condemned to a life in the fields already. What could be worse than that?”

“I’d imagine life in a cell would be much worse,” Crowley said dryly, causing several Rangers to snicker.

“But there was a nagging doubt at the back of his mind: He wasn’t absolutely sure that he was condemned to that life. A faint spark of hope still remained. Perhaps the Baron would relent. Perhaps, if Will pleaded with him in the morning, and explained about his father and how important it was for him to be accepted for Battleschool, there was a very faint chance that his wish would be granted. And then, once he was accepted, he could show how his eagerness and dedication would make him a worthy student, until his growing spur happened.”

“I don’t doubt that you could make a good knight.” Halt said quietly. “But you’ll make a better Ranger.”

“On the other hand, if he were caught in the next few minutes, not even that small chance would remain. He had no idea what they would do to him if he were caught, but he could be reasonably sure that it wouldn’t involve being accepted into Battleschool.”

Crowley nodded sagely. “I’m reasonably sure that it would involve some were personal questioning in a very private setting and making you think you would be charged for treason.”

Will gulped, fervently glad that he had the brains to stay out of areas he really had no business being in.

“He hesitated, needing some slight extra push to get him going. It was the fat sergeant who provided it. Will heard the heavy intake of breath, the shuffling of the man’s studded boots against the flagstones as he gathered his equipment together, and he realized that the sergeant was about to make one of his irregular circuits of his beat.”

“Nothing like the rush of adrenaline when you think you’re about to get caught to get you moving. We Rangers live on adrenaline.” Gilan sat back, resting against the trunk of a tree. “And coffee.” He added.

“Usually, this entailed going a few meters around the tower to either side of the doorway, then returning to his original position. It was more for the purpose of staying awake than anything else, but Will realized that it would bring them face-to-face within the next few seconds if he didn’t do something.

“Quickly, easily, he began to swarm up the wall. He made the first five meters in a matter of seconds, spread out against the rough stone like a giant, four-legged spider.”

“That’s an apt description. You climb trees like you were born to. Maybe I should start calling you squirrell.”

Harrison raised his voice so he could be heard above Will’s protests and Gilan’s nickname.

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

“In fact, it seemed that the sergeant had heard something. He paused directly below the point where Will clung, peering into the night, trying to see past the dappled, moving shadows cast by the moon and the swaying trees. But, as Will had thought the night before, people seldom look up. The sergeant, eventually satisfied that he had heard nothing significant, continued to march slowly around the tower.”

Bartell frowned. “That’s not good. At the very least he should have gone over to check out the trees. What if it had been a spy or an assassin? The sergeant would have been killed before he could raise the alarm and the Baron’s body would be discovered in the morning.”

“Redmont is one of the most important fiefs in the kingdom. He ought to have more protection than a sergeant that’s always falling asleep.”

“Wasn’t he a commander in the first Civil War? We know that it was Will, but what if it was someone Morgarath had sent? What if it was one of his Kalkara?”

Halt placated them. “I will advise Baron Arald to hire different sentries. If we give his current one’s a scare they may take their job more seriously.”

“That was the chance Will needed. It also gave him the opportunity to move across the tower face so that he was directly below the window he wanted. Hands and feet finding purchase easily, he moved almost as fast as a man could walk, all the time going higher and higher up the tower wall.

“At one point, he looked down and that was a mistake. Despite his good head for heights, his visoun swam slightly as he saw how far he had come, and how far below him the hard flagstones of the castle yard were. The sergeant was coming back into view—a tiny figure when seen from this height. Will blinked the moment of vertigo away and continued to climb, perhaps a little more slowly and with a little more care than before.”

“Yes, take your time. Better to take ten minutes to get to your target than to rush and foolishly give away your position.” One of the older Rangers advised him.

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

“He felt a surge of relief as his hands finally closed over the stone window ledge and he heaved himself up and into the room, swinging his legs over the sill and dropping slightly inside.

“The Baron’s office was deserted, of course.”

“Are you sure about that?” Halt asked.

Will blinked. “I guess. Who else would be in the Baron’s office so late? No one else has reason to be.”

“The three-quarter moon streamed light in through the big window.

“And there, on the desk where the Baron had left it, was the single sheet of paper that held the answer to Will’s future. Nervously, he glanced around the room. The Baron’s huge, high-backed chair stood like a sentry behind the desk. The few other pieces of furniture loomed dark and motionless. On one wall, a portrait of one of the Baron’s ancestors glared down at him, accusingly.

“He shook of these fanciful thoughts and crossed quickly to the desk, his soft boots making no noise on the bare boards of the floor. The sheet of paper, bright white with the reflected moonlight, was within reach. Just look at it, read it and go, he told himself. That was all he had to do. He stretched out a hand for it.

“His fingers touched it.

“And a hand shot out of nowhere and seized him by the wrist!”

Will sucked in a shocked breath. He was so deeply engrossed in the story, wondering just who had caught the book version of himself, that he didn’t notice the knowing grins on every Rangers’ face.

“Will shouted aloud in fright. His heart leaped into his mouth and he found himself looking into the cold eyes of Halt the Ranger.”

“Halt?” Will repeated. “But what are you doing there?”

He received no answer. Unless he counted a leveled stare.

“Where had he come from? Will had been sure there had been nobody in the room. And there had been no sound of a door opening. Then he remembered how the Ranger could wrap himself in that strange, mottled, gray-green cloak of his and seem to melt into the background, blending with the shadows until he was invisible.

“Not that it mattered how Halt had done it. The real problem was that he had caught Will, here in the Baron’s office. And that meant the end to all Will’s hopes.”

“Not quite, I don’t think.”

It took Will a minute, but he pieced together the all the hints he had been given. “You were testing me!”

Halt nodded.

““Thought you might try something like this,” said the Ranger in a low voice.

“Will, his heart pounding from the shock of the last few moments, said nothing. He hung his head in shame and despair. “

“Good thing that you didn’t give him any excuses. Halt hates them.” Will took Gilan’s words seriously. Seeing as Gilan had once been Halt’s apprentice, he would know what the older Ranger wanted.

Not that Will was good at making up excuses anyway. He always tripped over his tongue when he tried to create one, stammering wildly and making it rather obvious that he was lying.

Still, Will was going to pay close attention to anything Gilan said concerning his to be teacher.

““Do you have anything to say?” Halt asked him, and Will shook his head, unwilling to look up and meet that dark, penetrating gaz. Halt’s next words confirmed Will’s worst fear.”

“Wait! Can you send me to dungeon?”

Halt laughed loudly at Will’s genuine concern. “I can do so, but I do not think that is what I am doing here.”

“Right.”

““Well, let’s see what the Baron thinks about this,” he said.

““Please, Halt! Not . . .” Then Will stopped. There was no excuse for what he had done and the least he could do was face his punishment like a man. Like a warrior. Like his father, he thought.”

“You better keep that attitude later. You give me excuses and I’ll give you more chores.” Halt said firmly.

“The Ranger studied him for a moment. Will thought he saw a brief flicker of . . . recognition? Then the eyes darkened once more.”

A sigh was heard from Halt. “You do take after your father.”

“Really?” Will asked faintly. He was positive his heart skipped a beat.

“Mmh. The coloring is more your mother’s, but your face looks like how I would imagine your father’s did at that age.”

Will smiled brightly at Halt, infinitely glad that he had found someone who could tell him something about his parents.

““What?” Halt said curtly. Will shook his head.

““Nothing.”

“The Ranger’s grip was like iron around his wrist as he led Will out the door and onto the wide, curving staircase that led up to the Baron’s living quarters. The sentries at the head of the stairs looked up in surprise at the sight of the grim-faced Ranger and the boy beside him.”

“I’ll bet you sure surprised them!” Alun shouted, slapping a hand across his knee. “Probably thought the tower was empty and you bring that boy up out of nowhere.”

“At a brief signal from Halt, they stood aside and opened the doors into the Baron’s apartment.

“The room was brightly lit and, for a moment, Will looked around in confusion. He was sure he had seen the lights go out on this floor while he waited and watched in the tree. Then he saw the heavy drapes across the window and understood. In contrast to the Baron’s sparsely furnished working quarters below, this room was a comfortable clutter of settees, footstools, carpets, tapestries and armchairs. In one of these, Baron Arald sat, reading through a pile of reports.

“He looked up from the page he was holding as Halt entered with his captive.”

“Captive?” Will unconsciously squeaked. “That makes it sound like I’m some fugitive.”

““So you were right,” said the Baron, and Halt nodded.

““Just as I said, my lord. Came across the castle yard like a shadow. Dodged the sentry as if he wasn’t there and came up the tower wall like a spider.””

“You were watching? Where from?” Will asked, interested. If it was from the window, surely he would have seen the Ranger.

“Most likely from the Baron’s desk. I can see out the window from there and would have seen you crossing the grounds.”

“But. . . the Baron’s office is so high. How could you know it was me?”

Halt shrugged. “Over the years your eyesight gets rather sharp. It’s essential that we catch all the details. Most of us could count the number of soldiers in an invading army from three hundred or so meters away in less than a minute.”

Will gawked at the revelation.

“The Baron set the report down on a side table and leaned forward.

““He climbed the tower, you say?” he asked, a trifle incredulously.”

Will pouted indignantly. He had only just told the Baron in the last chapter that he was rather good at climbing. Even Chubb had told him he climbed up to the kitchen windows. And while not being located in one of the castle’s towers, the kitchens were a few level ups.

 They had to be close to the dining areas or the food would cool while being transported from the kitchen.

And clearly Halt had predicted what he would do. Was it so hard to believe that a fifteen year old boy could climb a tower?

““No rope. No ladder, my lord. Climbed it as easily as you get on your horse in the morning. Easier, in fact,” Halt said, with just the ghost of a smile.”

Halt blinked as he processed what he would say to his lord in the future, ignoring Will when he gasped and ranted about how Halt was going to put the Baron in a bad mood.

“The Baron frowned. He was a little overweight and sometimes needed help getting on his horse after a late night. He obviously wasn’t amused by Halt’s reminding him of the fact.”

“See! What did I tell you?”

““Well, now,” he said, looking sternly at Will, “this is a serious matter.”

 “Will said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he should agree or disagree. Either course had its dangers. But he wished Halt hadn’t put the Baron in a bad mood by referring to his weight. It certainly wouldn’t make things any better for him.”

“Regardless of my comment on his weight, it’s still a serious matter. He would never let you off easy like he did with your pranks. You broke into his office with the intent of looking at documents you had no right to read,” lectured Halt.

““So, what shall we do with you, young Will?” the Baron continued. He rose from his chair and began to pace. Will looked up at him, trying to gauge his mood. The strong, bearded face told him nothing. The Baron stopped his pacing and fingered his beard thoughtfully.

““Tell me, young Will,” he said, facing away from the miserable boy, “what would you do in my place? What would you do with a boy who broke into your office in the middle of the night and tried to steal an important document?””

“I’m not stealing!” Will protested. “I just wanted to look at it.”

“I wasn’t stealing, my lord!” The denial burst from Will before he could contain it. The Baron turned to him, one eyebrow raised in apparent disbelief. Will continued weakly, “I just . . . wanted to see it, that’s all.”

“You don’t appear to change much in the future.” Clarke said.

““Perhaps, so,” said the Baron, that eyebrow still raised. “But you haven’t answered my question. What would you do in my place?”

“Will hung his head again. He could plead. He could apologize. He could ask for mercy. He could try to explain. But then he squared his shoulders and came to a decision. He had known the consequences of being caught. And he had chosen to take the risk. He had no right to plead for forgiveness.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” objected Berrigan. “You’re a young boy and this is the first time you’ve gotten in serious trouble. Baron Arald doesn’t seem the type to discount what you would say.”

“He’s not.” Halt agreed. “He would listen to the boy and ultimately give him a lighter punishment than he should get. But Arald is one of those that sees the good and people and likes giving them fifth, sixth, and seventh chances.”

““My lord . . . ,” he said, hesitantly, knowing that this was a decisive moment in his life. The Baron regard him, still half turned from the window.

““Yes?” he said, and Will somehow found the resolve to go on.

““My lord, I don’t know what I’d do in your place. I do know that there is no excuse for my actions and I will accept whatever punishment you decide.”

“As he spoke, he raised his face to look the Baron in the eye. He in doing so, he caught the Baron’s quick glance to Halt. There was something in that glance, he saw. Strangely, it was almost a look of approval, or agreement. Then it was gone.”

“That was the right choice. If you hadn’t accepted I wouldn’t take you as an apprentice. There is no place for weak will, loose morals, arrogance, or superiority in the Rangers.”

““Any suggestions, Halt?” the Baron asked, in a carefully neutral tone.

“Will looked at the Ranger now. His face was stern, as it always was. The grizzled gray beard and short hair made him seem even more disapproving, more ominous.”

Crowley slapped Halt on the back. “You’ve been working on that image a long time, my friend.I think all of Araluen runs when they see a man matching your description.”

““Perhaps we should show him the paper he was so keen to see, my lord,” he said, producing the single sheet from inside his sleeve.

“The Baron allowed a smile to break through. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “I suppose, in a way, it does spell out his punishment, doesn’t it?”

“Will glanced from one man to the other. There was something going on here that he didn’t understand. The Baron seemed to think that what he had just said was amusing. Halt, on the other hand, wasn’t sharing in the fun.”

“Yes, well, Arald’s sense of humor is unique.” Halt said diplomatically.

““If you say so, my lord,” he replied evenly. The Baron waved a hand at him impatiently.

““Take a joke, Halt! Take a joke! Well, go on and show him the paper.”

“The Ranger crossed the room and handed Will the sheet he had risked so much to see. His hand trembled as he took it. His punishment? But how had the Baron known he would deserve punishment before the actual event?”

“Because he had an all-knowing Ranger at his side.” Gilan boasted. “Nothing gets past a Ranger.”

“He realized that the Baron was watching him expectantly. Halt, as ever, was an impassive statue. Will unfolded the sheet and read the words Halt had written there.

The boy Will has the potential to be trained as a Ranger.

I will accept him as my apprentice.

“I can’t believe you let me think I would be sent to the fields if you were always going to take me as an apprentice.” Will huffed.

“That’s what you get for thinking around Halt.” Gilan said cheerfully as Halt chanted his ever used phrase of apprentices not being ready to think.

Will huffed again, ignoring both Rangers as Crowley ordered Andross to start the next chapter.

 

Chapter 7: Chapter 6

Notes:

I don't own the song at the end. Ranger's Apprentice Wikia says "Old Joe Smoke" is supposedly based on "Old Joe Clark" so I looked it up and replaced Clark with Smoke.

“Wait a minute!” Will shouted before any of the Rangers could speak. “Are you telling me I spent all day worrying about my placement when you intended to take me all along?”

The last line was directed at the grizzled Halt, who snorted before the boy was even finished speaking. “You didn’t spend all day doing anything but reading.” The ranger laid a heavy emphasis on you, dark eyes boring pointedly at Will’s brown ones. “The boy in the book wasted an entire day sulking about what would happen to him.”

Will flushed at the reminder. He had been so caught up in the book, the anxiousness he felt know that these events would happen, that he forgot that he had not done any of the things mentioned in the book. "What would you have done if I hadn't tried to look at the paper?" he asked curiously.

Halt titled his head, pondering for a moment, and then shrugged. "We would have told you in the morning that the best option for you was to be my apprentice."

“Will stared at the words on the paper in utter confusion.”

“You have the same look on your face now,” laughed Gilan. Which was true. Will still couldn’t understand why Halt would orchestrate such an elaborate scheme to tell him that he was chosen to be a Ranger’s apprentice.

Not counting Gilan, who had volunteered to become a Ranger, Will had always heard that Ranger’s get to preferentially pick their apprentice. A special exception accorded to them because there wasn’t a huge selection of fifteen year olds vying for the position.

Most commoners believed that Ranger’s kidnapped babies from the orphanages, training them in ways of a Ranger as soon as they could walk.

It was the single rumor Will didn’t believe about the secretive Rangers.

“His first reaction was one of relief. He wasn’t to be condemned to a lifetime of farmwork. And he wasn’t to be punished for his actions in the Baron’s study.”

Will supposed he could understand that relief. It wasn’t quite the same thing when Gilan had collected him for the reading and told him that his only option now was to become a Ranger. If Gilan wasn’t joking, at least he was guaranteed a place amongst the green cloaked men. After all the years of worrying and biting his nails over his chances of being accepted to Battleschool, it would have been a relief to know he wasn’t being shipped off to the farms.

Subtly looking around at the Ranger’s that surrounded him, Will couldn’t help but feel like he belonged. These men were so similar to him. Short and slim for the most part, but that didn’t prevent them from being heroes.

Will let his annoyance at Halt’s odd actions fade away. It wasn’t really important, and from what he learned, a Ranger wouldn’t pull something like that for no reason.

“Then that initial sense of relief gave way to a sudden, nagging doubt. He knew nothing about Rangers, beyond myth and superstitions.”

“Oh, really? And what myth and superstitions would those be?”

Will flushed once more; mumbling about how Rangers could phase through trees and pop out of the ground and other nonsense he had heard much to the amusement of those in the clearing.

“He knew nothing about Halt—apart from the fact that the grim, gray-cloaked figure had made him nervous whenever he was around.”

Halt raised a single eyebrow at that line. It wasn’t a Ranger’s job to make citizens of Araluen nervous. They were the “eyes and ears” of the kingdom. But not one of them would deny that their mysterious ways made the people nervous, and not one of them was sorry for it. If Araluens were afraid of what Rangers were capable of, they were less likely to commit crimes.

“Did you notice me around often?”

“I guess. It was easy to see you coming and going from Castle Redmont if I was up in that fig tree. Had the advantage of being above you and all that,” shrugged Will. “And it’s not like you were be conspicuous whenever you visited the Baron.”

Halt studied the boy who was trying to pass off his accomplishment as a small matter. He may not have hidden his presence and snuck into the castle like Will had just done in the book, but Halt never strolled obviously up to the front doors when he reported to Arald.

“Now, it seemed, he was going to be assigned to spend all his time with him. And he wasn’t sure he liked the idea at all.”

“I don’t feel like that anymore!” Will hurried to say. “I really think it’ll be fun to be a Ranger.”

“Not that I planned on holding anything you say in the book against you,” Halt started, “being a Ranger is not supposed to be fun a games. You have an important role in maintaining and watching over the peace of the kingdom.”

Will nodded firmly. “I know. . . I just meant to say that I’m not against spending time with you and becoming a Ranger.”

“Well, then, welcome to the team,” Gilan congratulated heartily, complete with a slap on the back. “And ignore what Halt says. Just because we have really important jobs doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.”

“He looked up at the two men. The Baron, he could see, was smiling expectantly. Apparently, he felt that Will should greet his decision as good news. He couldn’t see Halt’s face clearly. The deep cowl of his cloak left his face in shadow.”

“And that,” cried Gilan, dramatically, “is the secret behind the Ranger’s Corp. Camouflage! Striking unseen.”

“Gilan, must you comment on nearly every sentence?” Geldon asked.

“Well, someone needs to.” The accused Ranger insisted. “Otherwise Crowley could just read the books himself and summarize them to us. But he clearly chose to read them at the Gathering so we could offer our opinions.”

The commander of the corps snorted. “I simply thought you all deserved to hear what the Ranger’s would be up to in the future. But if you would rather I just tell you what happens. . .”

Crowley trailed off. Geldon wasn’t actually annoyed at Gilan’s comments. The younger Ranger was definitely one of the more humorous ones and he enjoyed that they weren’t just listening to one person read all day.

The Rangers protested Crowley’s suggestion, who waved them off because he was bluffing, and motioned for Andross to continue reading.

“The Baron’s smile faded slightly. He appeared a little puzzled by Will’s reaction to the news—or rather, his lack of any visible reaction.

““Well, what do you say, Will?” he asked, in an encouraging tone. Will drew a deep breath.

““Thank you, sir . . . my lord,” he said uncertainly. What if the Baron’s earlier joke about the note containing his punishment was more serious than he thought?”

“Why would you think that?” Meralon asked, scathingly. “You already read the paper. It didn’t mention anything about punishment.”

Will clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at the arrogant Ranger. He couldn’t control what he was thinking in the book.

“Maybe being assigned to be Halt’s apprentice was the worst punishment he could have chosen.”

Gilan’s arm fell around Will’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you now so you’re prepared, Halt can find a worse one.”

“Thanks, Gilan. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“You’re welcome!” he replied brightly, ignoring the younger boy’s sarcastic tone.

“But the Baron certainly didn’t look as if he thought so. He seemed to be very pleased with the idea, and Will knew he wasn’t an unkind man. The Baron gave a little sigh of pleasure as he lowered himself into an armchair. He looked up at the Ranger and gestured toward the door.

““Perhaps you might give us a few moments alone, Halt? I’d like to have a word with Will in private,” he said. The Ranger bowed gravely.”

“I don’t think he knows any other way,” Barrigan commented. “Maybe a little music would change that?”

“Maybe later, Berrigan,” suggested Crowley. “Let’s try to finish this chapter.”

““Certainly, my lord,” he said, the voice coming from deep inside the cowl. He moved, silently as ever, past Will and out through the door that led to the corridor outside. The door closed behind him with barely a sound, and Will shivered. The man was uncanny!”

Halt raised an eyebrow once more at Will’s description, but the boy refused to look at him.

At the same time, Will was thinking that uncanny was the perfect word to describe any Ranger.

““Sit down, Will.” The Baron gestured to one of the low armchairs facing his own. Will sat nervously on the edge of it, as if poised for flight. The Baron noted his body language and sighed.

““You don’t seem very pleased with my decision,” he said, sounding disappointed. The reaction puzzled Will. He wouldn’t have thought a powerful figure like the Baron would care one way or another what an insignificant ward would think about his decisions.”

“You’re wrong about that. Baron Arald cares very much about each and every person living in Redmont Fief. He especially has a soft spot for the orphans and does everything he can to make your lives more comfortable. He wouldn’t force you to work a job you would hate.” Halt said.

“He didn’t know how to answer, so he sat in silence, until finally the Baron continued.

““Would you prefer to work as a farmhand?” he asked. He couldn’t believe that a lively, energetic boy like this could possibly prefer such a dull, uneventful life, but maybe he was wrong.”

“And there’s your proof if you needed it.”

“Will hurriedly reassured him on that score.

““No, sir!” he said hastily. The Baron made a small, questioning gesture with his hands.

““Well, then, would you prefer that I punished you somehow for what you’ve done?”

“Will started to speak, then realized that his answer might be insulting and stopped. The Baron gestured for him to continue.”

“Is anyone else noticing that the Baron gestures a lot.”

“Shut up, Gilan.”

“That’s not very nice, Halt.”

“I don’t care,” his former mentor growled.

““It’s just that . . . I’m not sure you haven’t, sir,” he said. Then, noticing the frown that creased the Baron’s forehead as he said the words, he hurried on: “I . . . I don’t know much about Rangers, sir. And people say . . .”

“Sigh, back to this again. Soon you’ll learn not to trust everything you hear.”

“He let the words trail off. It was obvious that the Baron held Halt in some esteem and Will didn’t think it was politic for him to point out that ordinary people feared Rangers and thought they were warlocks.”

“You didn’t say you thought we were capable of magic.” Halt said, referencing earlier in the chapter when he asked about the superstitions that people believed of Rangers.

“I implied it,” Will huffed, “what with the way you blend in with trees, just stepping out and scaring ten years of someone’s life when you do. And it’s one of the first things I said to Gilan!”

“That’s true,” Gilan backed him up.

“He saw that the Baron was nodding, and a look of understanding had replaced the perplexed expression he had been wearing.

““Or course. People say that they’re black magicians, don’t they?” he agreed and Will nodded, not even realizing he was doing so. “Tell me, Will, do you find Halt to be a frightening person?”

““No, sir!” Will said hastily, then, as the Baron held his gaze, he reluctantly, “Well . . .  maybe a bit.”

“The Baron leaned back, steepling his fingers together. Now that he understood the reasons for the boy’s reluctance, he berated himself mentally for not forseeing them. After all, he had a better knowledge of the Ranger Corps than he could expect of a young boy just turned fifteen who was subjected to the usual superstitious mutterings of the castle staff.”

“That was a really long sentence,” Andross felt the need to say. He rolled his eyes as a few of his friends glared at him for such a pointless comment.

““The Rangers are a mysterious group of people,” he said. “But there’s nothing about them to be frightened of—unless you’re an enemy of the kingdom.”

“Well, that’s only going to frighten the boy further,” said Harrison.

“He could see that the boy was hanging on his every word, and he added jokingly, “You’re not an enemy of the kingdom, are you, Will?”

““No, sir!” Will said in sudden fright, and the Baron sighed again.”

“What did I tell you? Now he’s going to think the Baron’s going to send him off to the dungeons.”

“Hey Will, I bet that’s a worse punishment than being forced to be a Ranger. Right?” Gilan teased. Will pouted as the rest of the Rangers laughed.

“He hated it when people didn’t realize he was joking. Unfortunately as overlord of the castle, his words were treated with great seriousness by most people.

““All right, all right,” he said reassuringly. “I know you’re not. But believe me. I thought you’d be glad of this appointment—an adventurous lad like you should take to life as a Ranger like a duck to water. It’s a big opportunity for you, Will.” He paused, studying the boy closely, seeing that he was still uncertain about the whole matter. “Very few boys are chosen to be apprentice Rangers, you know. The opportunity only comes up on rare occasions.”

“Will nodded. But he still wasn’t totally convinced. He though he owed it to his dream to have one last attempt at Battleschool.”

Will was no longer surprised that he felt no guilt at the thought of not joining Battleschool. In the short amount of time he had spent with the Rangers reading this book, he found that his dream had changed. It was no longer about living up to his imagined image of his father and becoming a knight, but finding a place where he was accepted.

And looking around at the twelve Rangers that were reading about his life Will thought he had found that place. He felt much closer to Halt and Gilan and possibly Crowley, then the rest of them, but Will was already considering the Rangers family, despite only knowing them for a day.

The only person he didn’t like was Meralon because he reminded Will too much of Horace.

“After all, the Baron did seem to be in an uncommonly good mood this evening, in spite of the fact that Will had broken into his office.

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

““I’m afraid your talents lie in other directions. Halt knew that when he first saw you. That’s why he asked for you.”

““Oh,” said Will. There wasn’t much else he could say. He felt that he should be reassured by all that the Baron had said and, to a certain degree, he was. But there was still so much uncertainty to it all, he thought.

““It’s just that Halt seems to be so grim all the time,” he said.”

“He is for the most part,” Gilan agreed, “but even Halt has a sense of humor. Mostly at the expense of his apprentice, but he does have one.”

““He certainly doesn’t have my sparkling sense of humor,” the Baron agreed, then, as Will looked blankly at his, he muttered something under his breath.

“Will wasn’t sure what he’d done to upset him, so he thought it best to change the subject. “But . . . what does a Ranger actually do, my lord?” he asked.”

“He doesn’t ask pointless questions, boy!” Halt and Gilan say sharply at the same time. Then Gilan burst into hysterical giggles.

Andross chose to ignore Gilan’s plight and kept reading.

“Once again, the Baron shook his head.

““That’s for Halt to tell you himself.”

“He just did tell you,” Gilan choked out between laughs.

““They’re a quirky group and they don’t like other people talking about them too much. Now, perhaps you should go back to your quarters and try to get some sleep. You’re to report to Halt’s cottage at six o’clock in the morning.”

““Yes, my lord,” Will said, rising from his uncomfortable perch on the edge of the chair. He wasn’t sure if he was going to enjoy life as a Ranger’s apprentice, but it appeared he had no choice in the matter. He bowed to the Baron, who nodded briefly in return, then he turned away for the door. The Baron’s voice stopped him.

““Will? This time, use the stairs.”

“Yes, my lord,” he replied seriously, and was a little puzzled by the way the Baron rolled his eyes to the sky and muttered to himself again. This time, he could make out a few words. It was something about “jokes,” he thought.”

“Baron Arald’s sense of humor is . . . unique.” Halt tried to phrase it gently. “Not many people understand it.”

“And no one is willing to point out his not as funny as he thinks,” stated Crowley.

“He let himself out through the door. The sentries were still on duty on the landing by the stairs, but Halt was gone.

“Or at least, he appeared to be. With the Ranger, you could never be quite certain.”

“Well, that’s it for that chapter.” Andross softly closed the book and set it down on the makeshift tree stump table.

“We’ll stop here tonight. Off to bed with you.” Crowley ordered.

“Wait!” cried Will. “I thought Berrigan was going to play some music.”

Crowley paused. “I suppose we can have one song before we turn it. How about it, Berrigan? Going to spin a tune for us?”

Berrigan cradled his gitarra, strumming a few notes before he began to sing. Will instantly recognized it as one of Araluen’s old folk songs.

 

 “Old Joe Smoke's a fine old man

 Tell you the reason why

 He keeps good likker 'round his house

 Good old Rock and Rye

 

Fare ye well, Old Joe Smoke

Fare ye well, I say

Fare ye well, Old Joe Smoke

I'm a going away

 

Old Joe Smoke, the preacher's son

Preached all over the pain

The only text he ever knew

Was High, low, Jack and the game

 

Old Joe Smoke had a mule

His name was Morgan Brown

And every tooth in that mule's head

Was sixteen inches around

 

Old Joe Smoke had ayellow cat

She would neither sing or pray

She stuck her head in the butermilk jar

And washed her sins away

 

Old Joe Smoke had a house

Fifteen stories high

And every story in that house

Was filled with chicken pie

 

I went down to Old Joe's house

He invited me to supper

I stumped my toe on the table leg

And stuck my nose in the butter

 

Now I wouldn't marry a widder

Tell you the reason why

She'd have so many children

They'd make those biscuits fly

 

Sixteen horses in my team

The leaders they are blind

And every time the sun goes down

There's a pretty girl on my mind

 

Eighteen miles of mountain road

And fifteen miles of sand

If ever travel this road again

I'll be a married man.”

 

The Rangers clapped and hooted, stamping their feet to the beat and singing along, and then Crowley ordered everyone into their tents. Halt had offered to share with Will, so the young boy crawled in after the Ranger, asleep as soon as he had nestled into the blankets he had been given.

Chapter 8: Chapter 7

Will was roughly shaken away the next morning. His eyes felt heavy and he struggled to untangle himself from the blanket he had curled into to protect him from the night’s chill.

He felt like he hadn’t gotten any sleep. He had woken shortly after he had fallen asleep. Sleeping on the ground in a tent was new to him, not to mention very uncomfortable. And once awake, he couldn’t get back to sleep. Too many thoughts bounced around the inside of his brain, vying for attention he couldn’t deny. He had spent a long time thinking about the implications of these books and everything he had learned.

Will found the Rangers to be nothing like he had heard. Far from dark and mysterious, the men were a lively bunch. There was this close connection between, almost like they were brothers. They teased one another just like he had watched children in other families.

Far more pressing on Will’s mind was how well he fit in with the exclusive group.

Growing up in the castle’s orphanage with no idea of who he was, Will had always felt out of place. Even amongst the other wards, Will was the only one with no knowledge of his family whatsoever. He only had that one note that said his father was a hero.

The need to belong, to like his father had, was the driving force behind his desire to apprentice to Battleschool and become a knight. Will knew that Horace was right, that he would never fit in there, but Will ignored that because he didn’t know what to do with himself if he wasn’t going to be accepted to Battleschool.

And now, Will could almost imagine that he had grown up in the thick of the forest, born and raised by the Rangers around him. On an instinctively level, he understood them, behaved like them, thought like them.

A large part of him wondered if they only accepted him because of what he would do in the books. The thought absolutely terrified him.

What if he was nothing like the Will in the books? What if reading about his future somehow changed who he was? Would they still accept him then or would it be the farms for Will?

His endless worries had prevented him from falling asleep until he finally passed out from exhaustion.

Will waved Halt off, removing himself from his blanket and dressing in the clothes the Ranger had provided. They were too large on him, obviously seeing as they must have belonged to one of the Rangers. Despite being shorter on average than most people, they were adults and bigger than him. But it didn’t bother Will. He rolled up the sleeves so he’d be able to use his hands. Clothes that didn’t fit were better than wearing the ones he had yesterday.

He stepped outside the tent, blinking to adjust to the darkness.

It was just before sunup. Will could barely see the pink of the sun rising over the trees. He took a set besides Gilan, who pressed a cup into his hands.

Will automatically drank, coughing slightly at the bitter taste. Immediately he felt more alert. He took another sip, smaller this time, and asked Gilan, “What is this stuff?”

“That my boy,” he said exaggeratedly, “is the gods gift to man. Coffee. We Rangers live off it. Always have at least two cups with breakfast.”

Too quickly for Will’s liking they had finished their meal of simple oatmeal flavored with nutmeg and were gathered around in a circle. Crowley handed to book to Merron, stationed in Culway Fief, who opened it and found wherever they had left off.

“It felt strange to be leaving the castle after all these years. Will turned back at the bottom of the hill, his small bundle of belongings slung over his shoulder, and stared up at the massive walls.”

“The rustic lifestyle takes a little getting used to, but it’ll grow on you. In no time you won’t be able to imagine any other way to live.”

Halt heaved a sigh. “Already, Gilan? We’ve only just started.”

The tall man shrugged casually. “I just can’t keep silent. If I don’t speak Will’s going to turn into an exact copy of you. Surly and with no sense of humor.”

Will bit his tongue to keep from laughing as his mentor to be muttered darkly about apprentices that didn’t learn their lessons and needed a refresher course.

“Castle Redmont dominated the landscape. Built on top of a small hill, it was a massive, three-sided structure, facing roughly west with a tower at each of the three corners. In the center, protected by the three curtain walls, were the castle yard and the Keep, a forth tower that soared above the others and housed the Baron’s official quarters and his private living apartments, along with those of his senior officers. The castle was built in ironstone—a rock that was almost indestructible and, in the low sun of early morning or late afternoon, seemed to glow with an inner red light. It was the characteristic that gave the castle its name—Redmont, or Red Mountain.”

“You have a way with words, young Will,” commented Berrigan.

“But I didn’t write any of this.” He pointed out.

“True, but it is how you view the world and how you would describe it if you had to.”

“At the foot of the hill, and on the other side of the Tarbus River, lay Wensley Village, a cheerfully haphazard cluster of houses, with an inn and those craft shops necessary to meet the demands of day-to-day country life—a cooper, wheelwright, smithy and harness maker. The land around had been cleared for some distance, both to provide farmlands for the villagers to tend and to prevent enemies from being able to approach unseen. In times of danger, the villagers would driver their flocks across the wooden bridge that spanned the Tarbus, removing the center span behind them, and seek shelter behind the massive ironstone walls of the castle, protected by the Baron’s soldiers and the knights trained in Redmont’s Battleschool.”

“Are we done with the redundant descriptions yet?” Meralon drawled.

Will flushed furiously in response. He couldn’t control what was written or what he thought. If someone who had never been to Redmont was reading this book, his description of the layout of the land would be very informative. It was only boring and redundant to the well-traveled Ranger.

Or to just Meralon at least. Halt and Gilan both looked approving of his observations.

“Even if we were, it wouldn’t matter. The book needs to be read in its entirety anyway. So shut your yap and listen,” snapped Merron.

“Halt’s cottage lay some distance away from both castle and village, nestling under the shelter of the trees at the edge of the forest.”

“Why would you have your cottage all the way out there?” Will asked curiously. The only reason the grizzled Ranger had snorted at him was because of the sincere honesty behind his question. “If Rangers are supposed to be the eyes and ears of the kingdom; how can you do your job away from the village?”

“That’s the thing, young Will. We don’t have to be in the thick of a bustling town to watch and listen for secrets. In fact, it’s better for us to visit shady, less popular buildings.” Crowley explained.

“Plus,” Gilan added cheerfully, “out of sight, out of mind. Because we live on the outskirts, the villagers often forget about us. It’s all about the image. Despite never being seen in the town’s limits, we know everything. Scares the hair right off their heads.”

Will could only shake his head at the man. It was easy to see that Gilan was more open and approachable than any of the other Rangers he had met. And Will knew he was still trying to put him at ease with his jokes, but that last one was really terrible.

“The sun was just rising over the trees as Will made his way to the log cabin. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney, so Will reasoned that Halt was already up and about.”

“Better,” the aforementioned man said gruffly. “Reason, never assume. Assumptions lead to mistakes And Rangers can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“He stepped up onto the verandah that ran the length of one side of the house, hesitated for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the door.

““Come in,” said a voice from the inside.”

“Where else would it be? Outside?”

“Please, Gilan. No more unnecessary comments. At this rate, we’ll never finish before the Gathering ends.”

“Will opened the door and went into the cottage.

“It was small but surprisingly neat and comfortable-looking inside. He found himself in the main room, a combined living and dining area, with a small kitchen at one end, separated from the main area by a pine bench. There were comfortable chairs ranged around a fire, a well-scrubbed wooden table and pots and pans that gleamed from much polishing. There was even a vase of brightly colored wildflowers on the mantel shelf, and the early morning sun streamed cheerfully through a large window. Two other rooms led off the main room.”

“That’s awfully cruel of you Halt,” Gilan lamented.

The older Ranger cocked a dark eyebrow.

“You go through all that effort to make living in your cabin look appealing, and you yank the rug out from under the apprentice’s foot by tasking them with all the chores to keep it that way.”

The Rangers roared heartily. “I can’t believe you, Halt,” said Bartell.

“So every Ranger doesn’t do that?” Will ventured.

“Nay lad,” answered Geldon. “Although each of us probably has our own quirks and methods. And Halt did a damn fine job with Mr. Lanky over there,” he said, thumbing at Gilan who proceeded to preen like a peacock.

“Halt sat in one of the chairs, his booted feet resting on the table.

““At least you’re on time,” he said gruffly. “Have you had your breakfast yet?”

““Yes, sir,” said Will, staring in fascination at the Ranger. This was the first time he had ever seen Halt without his gray-green cloak and hood.”

“Just out of curiosity, how many times have you laid eyes of Halt?” Andross queried.

Will paused for only a moment to recall the number. “Seventeen,” he replied promptly. Several eyebrows shot up into hairlines at his answer. Crowley and Halt shared a meaningful look.

The boy may not have originally wanted to be a Ranger, but there was no doubt that it was the profession he was meant for. Spotting a cloaked Ranger was no easy task. Their mottled cloaks were no secret, but still Araluen’s enemies could not find them. If the books were any indicators, he was destined for greatness in their ranks.

“The Ranger was wearing simple brown and gray woolen clothes and soft-looking leather boots. He was older than Will had realized. His hair and beard were short and dark, but peppered with steel gray flecks. They were both roughly trimmed and Will thought they looked as if Halt had cut them himself with his hunting knife.”

“You’re right about that!” Gilan laughed.

“Can’t remember the last time he visited a barber’s,” stated Crowley.

“The Ranger stood up. He was surprisingly small in build. That was something else that Will had never realized. The gray cloak had concealed a lot about Halt.”

“As it’s supposed to,” he said shortly, not caring for how his companions were snickering at him.

“He was slim and not at all tall. In fact he was considerably shorter than average height. But there was a sense of power and whipcord strength about him so that his lack of height and bulk didn’t make him any less daunting a figure.

““Finished staring?” asked the Ranger suddenly.

“Will jumped nervously. “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” he said.

“Halt grunted. He pointed to one of the small rooms Will had noticed as he entered.

““That’ll be your room. You can put your things in there.”

“He moved away to the woodstove in the kitchen area and Will hesitantly entered the room he had indicated. It was small but, like the rest of the cottage, it was also clean and comfortable-looking.”

Will thought it sounded very nice. Living in the orphanage, he was used to small spaces. Sometimes they were even smaller because he had to share it with the other children at the orphanage. The bedrooms were assigned by year, so he only had to deal with Horace and George, but all the other rooms were open to all the children in the orphanage. This room in Halt’s cottage would be the first time he had a room to call his own.

“Best room in all the house,” Gilan whispered. “The window faces the forest so it’s easy to sneak out.”

“A small bed lay alongside one wall. There was a wardrobe for clothes and a rough table with a washing basin and jug on it. There was also, Will noticed, another vase of freshly picked wildflowers adding a bright spot of color to the room. He put his small bundle of clothes and belongings on the bed and went back into the main room.

“Halt was still busy by the stove, his back to Will. Will coughed apologetically to attract his attention. Halt continue to stir coffee into a pot on the stove.

“Will coughed again.

““Got a cold, boy?” asked the Ranger, without turning around.

“Really, Halt? That attitude isn’t going to make him feel welcome. The boy’s insecure enough as it is. At the moment he’s probably looking at the apprenticeship as a pity job and expects to be in the fields in a month,” said Clarke.

Halt shrugged in response. “I can’t just change my attitude.”

““Er . . . no, sir.”

““Then why are you coughing?” asked Halt, turning around to face him.

““Will hesitated. “Well, sir,” he began uncertainly, “I just wanted to ask you . . . what does a Ranger actually do?””

Gilan answered the question from personal experience, resulting in a round of laughter at the grim Ranger’s expense.

“He sounds just like you!” Crowley crowed.

““He doesn’t ask pointless questions, boy!” said Halt. “He keeps his eyes and ears open and he looks and listens and eventually, if he hasn’t got too much cotton wool between his ears, he learns!”

““Oh,” said Will. “I see.” He didn’t, and even though he realized that this was probably no time to ask more questions, he couldn’t help himself, repeating, a little rebelliously, “I just wondered what Rangers do, is all.””

“Oh, you’re going to have fun with this one, Halt.”

The Ranger arched an eyebrow, as if to ask “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gilan started Ranger training after years at the sword. Cheerful, joking lad after his first Gathering, but until then,” Harrison shook his head, amusedly, “all serious and unbendable as that blade of his. Will here has all the curiosity of a fifteen year old boy. He’s never going to stop asking you questions.”

Will grinned. That was true enough. Besides, he had been told curiosity was a good trait for a Ranger to have.

“Halt caught the tone in his voice and turned to him, a strange gleam in his eye.

““Well, then, I suppose I’d better tell you,” he said. “What Rangers do, or more correctly, what Rangers’ apprentices do, is the housework.””

The laughter of ten Rangers exploded throughout the clearing.

“So apprentices don’t do the housework,” Will asked once the commotion had quieted.

“Now, I can’t answer for all Rangers,” Crowley cautioned, “but we do teach our apprentices those skills they would need to live in the woods. Chopping wood and maintaining a clean and quickly collapsible campsite. But I think Halt here is the only one that makes you do the work around the cottage.”

“Thanks, Halt.”

“This way the boy instinctively offers to do the chores on the road,” Halt explained unabashed.

“Will had a sinking feeling as the suspicion struck him that he’d made a tactical error. “The . . . housework?” he repeated. Halt nodded, looking distinctly pleased with himself.

““That’s right. Take a look around.” He paused, gesturing around the interior of the cabin for Will to do as he suggested, then continued, “See any servants?”

““No, sir,” Will said slowly.

““No sir indeed!” Halt said. “Because this isn’t a mighty castle with a staff of servants. This is a lowly cabin. And it has water to be fetched and firewood to be chopped and floors to be swept and rugs to be beaten. And who do you suppose might do all those things, boy?”

“The apprentice!” Gilan grinned, giving Will a commiserating wink behind his former master’s back.

“Will tried to think of some answer other than the one which now seemed inevitable. Nothing came to mind, so he finally said, in a defeated tone, “Would that be me, sir?”

““I believe it would be,” the Ranger told him, then rattled off a list of instructions crisply. “Bucket there. Barrel outside the door. Water in the river. Ax in the lean-to, firewood behind the cabin. Broom by the door and I believe you can probably see where the floor might be?”

““Yes, sir,” said Will, begging to roll up his sleeves.”

“Better reaction than my former apprentice,” grunted Halt.

“Really? What did Gilan do?” Will asked eagerly.

“I hadn’t signed up to be a Ranger to do housework,” Halt’s first apprentice started. “So I challenged Halt to stop my blade. At that point, I didn’t know much about the Rangers. Thought they only had a longbow, so Halt would have to move to avoid getting hit and therefore I’d win. I laughed when he pulled out those two little knives.”

“He hesitated. Thought he’d somehow manage to hurt me with the pig sticker of his. A little bit of taunting and threatening to find more chores to add to the list and he was swinging at me.”

Gilan sighed heavily. “He stopped it of course. Spent the first week of my apprenticeship doing his housework and chopping extra wood and carrying water into the village.

“You always were hasty. Still are,” Halt said.

“He’d noticed the water barrel as he approached, obviously holding the day’s water supply for the cabin. He estimated that it would hold twenty or thirty buckets full. With a sigh, he realized he was going to have a busy morning.”

Halt lowered his head slightly, the gleam in his eye hidden by the cowl of his cloak. Will had a keen eye and a strong mind. He was looking forward to having an apprentice again.

“As he walked outside, the empty bucket in one hand, he heard the Ranger say contentedly as he poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down again:

““I’d forgotten how much fun having an apprentice can be.”

“Will couldn’t believe that such a small and seemingly neat cottage could generate so much cleaning and general maintenance. After he had filled the water barrel with fresh river water (thirty-one buckets full), he chopped wood from a stack of logs behind the cabin, piling the split firewood into a neat stack. He swept out the cabin, then, after Halt decided that the rug on the living room floor needed beating, he rolled it up, carried it outside and draped it over a rope slung between two trees, beating it savagely so that clouds of dust flew from it.”

“Now that was a long sentence,” Clarke said, referencing Andross comment from the last chapter.

“From time to time, Halt leaned out the window to give him encouragement, which usually consisted of curt comments such as “You’ve missed a bit on the left side” or “Put some energy into it, boy.”

“When the rug had been replaced on the floor, Halt decided that several of his cooking pots didn’t gleam with sufficient intensity.

““We’ll have to give them a bit of scouring,” he said, more or less to himself. Will knew by know that this translated to “You’ll have to give them a bit of scouring.” So, without a word, he took the pots to the river’s edge and half filled them with water and fine sand, scouring and polishing the metal until it gleamed.”

“Come on, Halt. Cut the kid a break. It’s his first day.”

“Better he know from the beginning what he’s getting into,” Halt replied. “And that he learns the correct way from the start. It was a pain to unteach Gilan some of his brash knightly manner of thinking and doing.”

Gilan cried out in outrage at the last half but was ignored.

“Halt, meanwhile, had moved to a canvas chair on the verandah, where he sat reading through a tall pile of what looked to be official communications. Passing by once or twice, Will noticed several of the papers bore crests and coats of arms, while the vast majority were headed with a simple oakleaf design.”

Halt snorted. “Crowley gets more than I do. I don’t envy reading all the reports from every fief.”

“When Will returned from the riverbank, he held the pots up for Halt’s inspection. The Ranger grimaced at his distorted reflection in the bright copper surface.

““Hmmm. Not bad. Can see my own face in it,” he said, then added, without a hint of a smile, “May not be such a good thing.”

“Will said nothing. With anyone else he might have suspected it was a joke, but with Halt you simply couldn’t tell. Halt studied him for a second or two, then his shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug and gestured for Will to return the pots to the kitchen. Will was halfway through the door when he heard Halt behind him say:

““Hmmm. That’s odd.”

“Thinking the Ranger might be talking to him, Will paused at the door.

““I beg your pardon?” he said suspiciously. Each time Halt had found a new chore for him to attend to, he seemed to begin the instruction with a statement like “How unusual. The living room rug is full of dust.” Or “I do believe the stove is in dire need of a new supply of firewood.”

“Look at him now. No more ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no sir.’ He must be annoyed with you at this point,” pointed out Alun.

“It was an affectation that will had found more than a little annoying over the day, although Halt seemed to be quite fond of it. This time, however, it seemed that he had ben genuinely musing to himself as he read through a new report—one of the oakleaf-crested ones, Will noted. Now, the Ranger looked up, a little surprised that Will had addressed him.

““What’s that?” he said.

“Will shrugged. “Sorry. When you said ‘that’s odd,’ I thought you were talking to me.”

“Halt shook his head several times, still frowning at the report in his hand. “No, no,” he said, a trifle distractedly. “I was just reading this . . .” His voice trailed away and he frowned thoughtfully. Will, his curiosity roused, waited expectantly.

““What is it?” he finally ventured to ask. As the Ranger turned those dark eyes on him, he instantly wished he hadn’t. Halt regarded him for a second or two.”

“Don’t make the boy scared to ask questions.”

Halt huffed. It was easy for them to mock and criticize his approach to teaching apprentices. They wouldn’t be half as amused if it was one of them they were reading about. But Halt was a mystery even amongst his own Corps, so the rest of the Rangers were severely enjoying learning more about him.

““Curious, are you?” he said at length, and when Will nodded uncomfortably, he went on in an unexpectedly milder tone. “Well, I suppose that’s a good trait for a Ranger’s apprentice. After all, that’s why we tested you with that paper in the Baron’s office.”

““You tested me?” Will set the heavy copper kettle down by the door. “You expected me to try to see what it said?””

“That was a dirty trick,” Will complained. It was a good thing he wasn’t expecting an apology from Halt, because the Ranger didn’t offer one.

“Halt nodded. “Would have been disappointed if you hadn’t. also, I watned to see how you’d go about it.””

“Your method of entry surprised me,” he commented. Will brightened at the offhand compliment. “I thought you would draw the sentry away from the door and go up the tower stairs. I was waiting right beside the door, too.”

“Then he held up a hand to forestall the torrent of questions that were about to tumble out of Will’s mouth. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the kettle and the other pots. Will stooped to retrieve them, and turned back to the house once more. But curiosity still burned in him and he turned to the Ranger again.

“So what does it say?” he asked, nodding toward the repot. Again there was a silence as Halt regared him, perhaps assessing hem. The he said:

“Lord Northolt is dead. Apparently killed by a bear last week while out hunting.”

“Killed by a bear?” Harrison repeated. “But there are no bears in Cordom Fief.”

The Rangers shared suspicious looks. Cordom Fief wasn’t exactly bear country, but one could have strayed within its range. Several of the older Rangers thought back to the Kalkara mentioned in the very first chapter.

They had never actually seen one of the fearsome beasts. Only heard terrifying stories. Morgarath had planned to unleash them? Did they resemble bears? Did he send them to kill Lord Northolt?

“Lord Northolt?” Will asked. The name was vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it.

““Former supreme commander of the King’s army,” Halt told him, and Will nodded as if he had known this. But, since Halted seemed to be answering questions, he was emboldened to continue.

““What’s so odd about it? After all, bears do kill people from time to time.”

“Halt nodded. “True. But I would have thought Cordom Fief was a little far west for bears. And I would have thought Northolt was too experienced a hunter to go after one alone.” He shrugged, as if dismissing the thought. “But then again, life is full of surprises and people do make mistakes.” He gestured toward the kitchen again, indicating that the conversation was over. “When you’ve put those away, you might like to clean out the fireplace,” he said.

“Will moved to do as he was told. But a few minutes later, as he walked past one of the windows to the large fireplace that took up most of one wall in the living room, he glanced out to see the Ranger tapping the report thoughtfully on his chin, his thoughts obviously a long way away.”

“Well,” Geldon said, setting the book down on his thigh, “it seems like the Kalkara do indeed exist.”

Meralon scoffed. “They’re not real. And that book didn’t say anything about Lord Northolt’s death coming at the hand of a Kalkara. Besides, it never described what a Kalkara looked like.”

“Watch that mouth, boy,” Crowley chided. The Ranger scowled at the admonishment. “However, he does have a point. Be cautious on the road. If it even looks like a bear, don’t engage alone.” The Ranger Commandant was getting fed up with the young Ranger’s arrogance. Forget instilling responsibility. He’d send Meralon to Coledole until he could induct Will as a full fledge Ranger and replace him.

The small group of Rangers nodded solemnly. Theirs was a profession that was not popular, and therefore did not have many apprentices. They could not afford to make mistakes that led to their deaths. Nor could they afford to fail to deliver their messages.

Bartell and Merron moved a little ways away from the rest of the Rangers, discussing in hushed tones all the abilities, physical, mental, and personality wise, that they had observed and mentally scored so far. There was no doubt in the two assessor’s minds that Will would make it in the Rangers Corp.

He was already an excellent climber. He was a little clumsy when put on the spotlight and arrows were launched at him, but that was to be expected. Will had only ever needed to climb straight up and down a tree. The boy was also a fast runner, which was a plus, and a determined worker, as evidenced by the numerous chores Halt set him that he finished without complaint. He could move unseen, a heavily used skill of Rangers.

Will unconsciously took note of his surroundings and had no problem analyzing them or his situation. Best of all, he was curious. He wanted to learn. It meant that, when out in the field, he would question things that looked out of place.

What he needed to work on was his memory. Rangers were intelligence officers. There would come a point where Will needed to know about the Lord of each fief, who it was, his personality, and what his fief was known for, not to mention the fief’s landscape.

One of the benefits about reading these books, they thought, was that they would learn which skills Will excelled at and which would require a little more effort. If Crowley and Halt could get permission from Baron Arald, Halt could start training Will early. They might even get him through in four years, maybe three if they pushed it.

Either way, the boy would be more prepared if Morgarath did strike sometime in the two years.

Chapter 9: Chapter 8

Bartell stepped behind Halt’s shoulder while the younger Rangers attempted to scare Will with tales of the Kalkara. It wasn’t really a joking matter, but the boy didn’t appear to be taking them at their word. Bartell hadn’t decided if it was a good thing or not yet; that Will didn’t tremble in fear at the mere mention of the bear-like creatures.

It wouldn’t do for him to freeze when he encountered one.

And that was quite obviously where this story was heading. There was no other reason for the fearsome Kalkara to be introduced in the prologue if they were truly not involved. Combined with Lord Northolt’s unusual death at the hands of a bear, it was obvious that Morgarath had him killed.

The Kalkara were Bartell’s reason for approaching Halt. Not that he doubted the other Ranger’s capabilities, but whatever training he would give Will in the book would not prepare him to face a Kalkara. Since they had the boy a whole year early, it would be a travesty to not get him started on his apprenticeship. They had already tested his climbing skills taught him the basics on wielding the saxe knife.

Bartell figured unseen movement was next, because the kid had some talent in that area as well. Gilan would take great delight in testing his best skill against Will.

But he had to run it by Halt first. Even if he technically wasn’t the boy’s master yet, he would be. It wouldn’t be proper or respectful for Bartell to train the kid like he was his own apprentice.

He bent over to whisper in the grizzled Ranger’s ear. Halt grunted his approval occasionally, only shaking his head at the very end.

“Wait until tomorrow. The boy got some nasty bruises leaping about the trees yesterday. They need to heal.”

Bartell nodded agreeably. It would do Will more harm than good at this point to train with injuries.

Crowley called for the Rangers to settle the second Halt and Bartell’s discussion was over.

“I think I’ll read next,” said Berrigan. The soon to be retired Ranger gently laid his gittara on the ground so he could take the book his Commander handed to him. Then he cleared his throat.

“Sometime late in the afternoon, Halt finally ran out of jobs for Will. He looked around the cabin, noting the gleaming kitchen implements, the spotless fireplace, the thoroughly swept floor and totally dust-free rug. A stack of firewood lay beside the fireplace and another stack, cut and split into shorter lengths, filled the wicker basket beside the kitchen stove.

““Hmmm. Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

“Will felt a surge of pleasure at the sparing praise,”

“I remember those days,” came the wistful sigh from Gilan. “Don’t let him fool you. The better you do, the higher the standard he holds you to.”

Will looked uncertainly between his future master and his former apprentice. He felt uncomfortable with the idea that Halt would have high expectations of him. Already, he didn’t want to disappoint him.

“but before he could feel too pleased with himself, Halt added, “Can you cook, boy?”

““Cook, sir?” Will asked uncertainly. Halt raised his eyes to some unseen superior being.

““Why do young people invariably answer a question with another question?” he asked.

“Like you just did?” Will pointed out, cheekily. The rest of the Ranger’s laughed when no retort from Halt was forthcoming.

“Then, receiving no reply, he continued, “Yes, cook. Prepare food so that one might eat it. Make meals. I assume you do know what food is—what meals are?”

““Ye-es,” Will answered, careful to take any questioning inflection out of the word.

““Well, as I told you this morning, this is no grand castle. If we want to eat food here, we have to cook food here,” Halt told him.

“There was that word we again, Will thought. Every time so far that Halt had said we must, it seemed to translate to mean you must.”

“He’s got you figured out already, my friend.”

““I can’t cook,” Will admitted, and Halt clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

““Of course you can’t! Most boys can’t. So I’ll have to show you how. Come on.””

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Will. “Why bother asking if you knew I couldn’t cook?”

“I didn’t know you couldn’t.” was Halt’s gruff reply.

“But—“

“I assumed you didn’t know how.” Halt corrected the boy. “However, assumptions get Rangers killed. You never act on an assumption.”

Will quieted at the suddenly grave tone and nodded seriously. Halt’s darks eyes were unwavering as he stared at him. Will supposed a lot of the seemingly pointless things he would do would actually be a lesson in disguise.

“He lead the way to the kitchen and introduced Will to the mysteries of cooking: peeling and chopping onions, choosing a piece of beef from the meat safe, trimming it and cutting into neat cubes then chopping vegetables, searing the beef in a sizzling pain, and finally adding a generous dash of red wine and some of what Halt called his “secret ingredients.” The result was a savory-smelling stew, simmering on the top of the stove.

“Now, as they waited for the dinner to be ready, they sat on the verandah in the early evening and talked quietly.

““The Rangers were founded over one hundred and fifty years ago, in King Herbert’s reign. Do you know anything about him?” Halt looked sideways at the boy sitting beside him, tossing the question out quickly to see his response.

“Will hesitated. He vaguely remembered the name from history lessons in the Ward, but he couldn’t remember any details. Still, he decided he’d try to bluff his way through it. He didn’t want to look too ignorant on his first day with his new master.”

Gilan let out a low whistle. “Big mistake there, Will.”

Will tried to get the youngest Ranger to explain his remark, but the swordsman would say nothing else but, “You’ll see.”

““Oh . . . yes,” he said. “King Herbert. We learned about him.”

““Really?” said the Ranger expansively. “Perhaps you could tell me a little about him?” he leaned back and crossed his legs, getting himself comfortable. Will cast about desperately in his memory, trying to remember even a shred of detail about King Herbert.  He’d done . . . something, but what?”

Crowley frowned in disappointment at the man he considered his best friend. He had never given much thought to how the apprentices were trained for their yearly tests at the Gathering. Writing up official reports for King Duncan and monitoring all his Rangers across fifty fiefs was quite time consuming.

So long as they passed the test, the Commander didn’t care for each individual master’s methods. Since no apprentice ever failed, there had been no reason for Crowley to look into the matter.

But, if Halt’s idea of training an apprentice was to treat the kid like he had already earned his silver oak leaf and mocking him when he couldn’t reach the impossible standard Halt had set for him, perhaps Crowley should.

How would Will learn to love the Rangers Corp and his country so deeply that defending it become something he wanted to do and not a job?

Being a Ranger was the most important job in the kingdom, after the royal family, that is. Crowley could not afford to have a Ranger that was not devoted, heart and soul, to protecting Araluen.

Crowley leaned back, concealing a sigh as he put a more neutral expression on his face. He may not agree with his friend’s methods, but Halt had made a great Ranger out of Gilan. He would wait and see how Will’s apprenticeship turned out.

““He was . . .” He hesitated, pretending to gather his thoughts. “The king.” That much he was sure of,”

Meralon snorted derisively. “Of course he was the king. You and him only mentioned that half a dozen times.

Normally, Will would have ignored such an insult. The rude Ranger reminded him a lot of Horace, and Horace always gave up if Will didn’t rise to his bait. Granted, Will fought back more often than not, but Horace would storm off in a huff when he ignored him.

But several of the men; Harrison, Alun, and Clarke, had laughed with him. The back of his ears burned with embarrassment and Will begged Berrigan to continue.

“and he glanced at Halt to see if he could stop now. Halt merely smiled and made a rolling gesture with his hand that meant go on.

““He was the king . . . a hundred and fifty years ago,” Will said, trying to sound certain of his facts. The Ranger smiled at him, gesturing for him to continue yet again.

““Ummm . . . well, I seem to recall that he was the one who founded the Ranger Corps,” he said hopefully, and Halt raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.”

“That’s true. Although the Ranger Corps was quite different then,” Crowley said mildly. Will turned shining eyes on him.

“Really.”

“Yes. A hundred and fifty years ago they were more band of assassin’s than and intelligence and reconnaissance group. Well, that’s not quite true. They were plenty thorough in their information gathering. They simply also eliminated any threat they uncovered.”

““Really? You recall that, do you?” he said, and Will had a horrible moment where he realized that Halt had merely said the Rangers were founded during his reign, not necessarily by him.

““Ahhh, well, when I say he founded the Rangers, I actually mean he was the king when the Ranger Corps was founded,” he said.

““A hundred and fifty years ago?” Halt prompted.

“Will nodded emphatically. “That’s right.”

““Well, that’ remarkable, seeing how I just told you those facts a minute or so ago,” the Ranger said, his eyebrows coming down like a thundercloud over his eyes. Will thought it might be better if he had said nothing. Finally, the Ranger said, in a milder tone: “Boy, if you don’t know something, don’t try to bluff your way through it. Simply tell me ‘I don’t know,’ is that clear?”

“That’s not fair!” Will cried, jumping to his feet. The small group of Rangers turned to stare at him. His face was red from humiliation.

“And why not?” Halt asked evenly. “I’m not asking you to not say whatever you might know. If you think it’s at all relevant, you should speak. But I am asking that you admit to not knowing when you don’t.”

“Not that!” the boy exclaimed. “How can you expect me to remember everything I’ve heard or read? I’ve never had any reason to before. I don’t have the training you do. And besides, Crowley said I was right about King Herbert founding the Corps and you said nothing about that. You brushed it off.”

Anger colored his tone and Will was panting slightly after his finished his rant. He promptly flushed a darker red once he realized the Rangers had all watched him throw what was equivalent to a tantrum at one of their most famous members.

“I suppose you’re right.” Will’s head snapped up. “It’s not fair for me to expect you to be able recall everything. But that’s not what Rangers do either. We remember what is important.”

“But . . . but anything could be important. How do you know what’s worth remembering.” By this point, Will’s anger had faded. He was genuinely curious how one should pick and choose what to remember.

“That’s a skill that can only be learned from experience,” said Geldon, one of the older Rangers.

““Yes, Halt,” Will said, eyes downcast. There was a silence, then he said, “Halt?”

““Yes?”

““About King Herbert . . . I don’t really know,” Will admitted. The Ranger made a small snorting noise.

““Well, I never would have guessed,” he said. “But I’m sure you’ll remember when I tell you that he was the one who drove the northern clans back over the border into the Highlands?”

“And, of course, the moment he mentioned it, Will did remember. King Herbert was known as the “Father of Modern Araluen.” He had banded the fifty fiefs together into a powerful union to defeat the northern clans. Will could see a way to regain a little credit in Halt’s eyes now. If he mentioned the “Father of Modern Araluen” title, maybe the Ranger would . . .”

Crowley allowed for a small smile. Despite the disagreement and shame Will had felt, the boy still wanted to impress Halt. The Ranger might be rather gruff in his manner of teaching, but at least he inspired the boy.

““He’s sometimes known as the Father of Modern Araluen,” Halt was saying, and Will realized he’d left it too late. “He created the union between the fifty fiefs that’s still our structure today.”

““I sort of remember that now,” Will put in. He thought the addition of “sort of” helped it sound as if he wasn’t’ just being wise after the event. Halt looked at him, one eyebrow raised, then continued.

““At the time, King Herbert felt that to remain safe, the kingdom needed an effective intelligence force.”

““An intelligent force?” said Will

““Not intelligent. Intelligence. Although it does help if your intelligence force is also intelligent. Intelligence is knowledge of what your enemies, or your potential enemies, are up to. What they’re planning. What they’re thinking. If you know that sort of thing in advance, you can usually come up with a plan to stop them. That’s why he founded the Rangers—to keep the kingdom informed. To act as the eyes and ears of the kingdom.””

Will huffed at the remaindered that King Herbert did, indeed, found the Ranger Corps. The one bit of information that his book self had offered up, but retracted because Halt had mocked him, making him think he was wrong.

Gilan bumped his shoulder lightly with his own. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “Halt’s sparing with his praise. But when he does give it, you know you deserve it. Plus,” he dropped his voice and Will leaned in to listen, “if you watch him, you’ll see a dozen signs of silent approval.”

““How do you do that?” Will asked, his interest aroused now. Halt noted the change in tone and a momentary gleam of approval touched his eyes.

““We keep our eyes and ears open. We patrol the kingdom—and beyond. We listen. We observe. We report back.”

“Will nodded to himself, thinking. The he asked: “Is that the reason why you can make yourselves invisible?”

“Again, the Ranger felt that moment of approval and satisfaction. But he made sure the boy didn’t notice it.

““We can’t make ourselves invisible,” he said. “People just think we can. What we do is make ourselves very hard to see. It takes years of learning and practice to do it properly—but you already have some of the skills required.””

Will beamed at that. He knew it already. They had all read about how he climbed the towers and crossed the castle grounds unseen, and they had tested his skills yesterday, but he appreciated hearing Halt say it out loud.

“Will looked up, surprised. “I do?”

“When you crossed the castle yard last night, you used the shadows and movement of the wind to conceal yourself, didn’t you?”

“Will nodded. “Yes.” He’d never met anyone before who actually understood his skill for moving without being seen.”

“Despair no longer, my young Will,” Gilan said loudly and dramatically, draping and arm over the younger boy’s shoulder. “I understand you completely.”

Will tried to raise a single eyebrow like Halt had, but couldn’t do it. So he settled for staring at Gilan, deadpanned. Two raised eyebrows just didn’t have the “Really?” message he wanted to convey.

“I cannot let this travesty go on,” Gilan stated. “We must compare skills. I will show you how it is done, young Ranger.”

Unlike the first time this challenge was mention, Will didn’t feel the unease. Instead, he was excited. He really wanted to learn. Wanted to be a Ranger.

“Maybe after this chapter?” Bartell suggested, hinting for Berrigan to keep reading.

“Halt continued.

““We use the same principles: to blend into the background. To use it to conceal us. To become part of it.”

““I see,” said Will slowly.

““The trick is to make sure that nobody else does,” Halt told him. For a moment, Will thought the Ranger had made a joke. But when he looked up, Halt was a grim-faced as ever.

““How many Rangers are there?” he asked. Halt and the Baron had referred more than once to the Ranger Corps, but Will had only ever seen one—and that was Halt.

““King Herbert established the Corps at fifty. One for each of the fifty fiefdoms. I’m based here. My colleagues are based at the other forty-nine castles throughout the kingdom.

““In addition to providing intelligence about potential enemies, Rangers are the law keepers,” said Halt. “We patrol the fiefdom assigned to us and make sure that the laws are being obeyed.”

““I though Baron Arald did that,” Will put in. Halt shook his head.

““The Baron is a judge,” he said. “People bring their complaints to him so he can settle them. Rangers enforce the law. We take the law out to the people. If a crime has been committed, we look for evidence. We’re particularly suited to that role since people often don’t realize we’re around. We investigate to see who’s responsible.””

“I hadn’t realized Rangers were that important,” said Will. When said Rangers turned to him he hurried to add, “I mean, you hardly ever see one. No one knows anything about them. I just thought you guys did whatever the king ordered.”

“You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.”

“Really, Halt?” The man shrugged. Will laughed, not at all upset. It was becoming rather endearing.

““What happens then?” Will asked. Halt gave a small shrug.

““Sometimes we report back to the baron of the fief and he’ll have the person arrested and charged. Sometimes, if it’s a matter of urgency, we just . . . deal with it.”

““What do we do?” Will asked before he could stop himself. Halt gave him a long, considering look.

““Not too much if we’ve only been an apprentice for a few hours,” he replied. “Those of us who’ve been Rangers for twenty years or more tend to know what to do without asking.”

““Oh,” said Will, suitably chastened. Halt continued.

““Then, in times of war, we act as special troops—guiding the armies, scouting before them, going behind enemy lines to cause the enemy grief and son on.” He glanced down at the boy. “It’s a bit more exciting than working on a farm.

Will definitely believed so. But he couldn’t even begin to describe how much he wanted to be one of them. To wear the green mottled cloak of a Ranger. Sitting here, in this beautiful clearing, around the campfire reading stories of his future adventures, Will felt like he belonged.

Yes, they teased him, mocked him, and criticized him. But they also included him. They brought him here so he could read to and were teaching him the secret skills they guarded so well that people thought them to be magicians even though he wasn’t an apprentice yet.

Will could no longer recall his fantasy of himself as a knight of the realm. Images of himself as a Ranger had replaced them.

“Will nodded. Perhaps life as a Ranger’s apprentice was going to have its appeal after all. “What sort of enemies?” he asked. After all, Castle Redmont had been at peace for as long as he could remember.

““Enemies from within and without,” Halt told him. “People like the Skandian sea raiders—or Morgarath and his Wargals.”

“Will shivered, recalling some of the more lurid stories about Morgarath, the Lord of the Mountains of rain and Night. Halt nodded somberly as he saw Will’s reaction.

““Yes,” he said, “Morgarath and his Wargals are definitely people to be worried about. That’s why the Rangers keep an eye on them. We like to know if they’re gathering, if they’re getting ready for war.””

Will couldn’t help but frown at that. “But that’s why you were given these books, right? So you could learn about Morgarath’s plans?”

Crowley nodded.

“How come?” Will asked.

“What do you mean, Will?” The Commander returned.

“Why do you need the books? If Rangers are supposed to be the eyes and ears, going behind enemy borders to gather intelligence, why do you need the books to tell you what Morgarath’s up to? Shouldn’t you always be watching him?”

The Rangers shared uneasy looks as they glanced at their Commander. They wanted to know the answer too.

“The thing is Will,” Crowley started, “we don’t actually know where he is. I’ve sent some of my more experienced Rangers to scour the Mountains of Rain and Night. They either return empty handed or can’t remember where they went. We can’t pin Morgarath down.”

The mood in the clearing was a combination of jittery and somber. The Rangers that were unaware of such expeditions were not happy to hear that Morgarath could mess with their memories to keep himself hidden.

““Still,” said Will, as much to reassure himself as for any other reason, “the last time they attacked, the barons’ armies made mincemeat out of them.”

““That’s true,” Halt agreed. “But only because they had been warned of the attack . . .” He paused and looked meaningfully at Will.

““By a Ranger?” the boy asked.

““Correct. It was a Ranger who brought word that Morgarath’s Wargals were on their way . . . then led the cavalry across a secret ford so they could flank the enemy.””

Crowley watched Will, amused and pleased with the boy’s obvious interest in Ranger history. He gave a low chuckle then, imagining the boy’s reaction when he learned it was Halt himself who had led that cavalry.

““It was a great victory,” Will said.

““It certainly was. And all due to a Ranger’s alertness and skill, and knowledge of back trails and secret paths.”

““My father died in that battle,” Will added in a quieter voice, and Halt cast a curious look at him.”

Will hunched his shoulders. He didn’t want to hear his insistence that his father was a knight. Will had learned that knights weren’t the only heroes in Araluen. Now he felt mortified that he was insisting that he had to be a knight like his father. He didn’t even know if his father was a knight.

After all, armies weren’t made entirely of knights and Rangers. His father could have been a man that signed up to defend his homeland. Didn’t that make him a hero? He didn’t have to single-handedly win the war or bring back important information to be a hero.

Berrigan, sensing Will’s unhappiness, read quickly, not letting anyone interrupt.

“Is that so?” he said.

“He was a hero. A mighty knight,” Will continued. The Ranger paused, almost as if he were deciding whether to say something or not. Then he simply replied:

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Will was conscious of a sense of disappointment. For a moment, he’d had a feeling that Halt knew something about his father, that he could tell him the story of his heroic death. He shrugged to himself.”

Halt’s sigh went unnoticed. He owed it to Daniel to tell his son about him, and Will deserved to know that his mother and father loved him very much. And Halt was the only one who could tell him. He hadn’t even shared that knowledge with his Commander.

““That’s why I was so keen to go to Battleschool,” he said finally. “To follow in his footsteps.”

““You have other talents,” Halt told him, and Will remembered the Baron saying much the same thing to him the previous night.

““Halt . . .,” he said. The Ranger nodded for him to continue. “I was sort of wondering . . . the Baron said you chose me?”

“Halt nodded again, saying nothing.

““And both of you say I have other qualities—qualities that make me suitable to be a Ranger’s apprentice . . .”

““That’s right,” Halt said.

““Well . . . what are they?”

“The Ranger leaned back, linking his hands behind his head.”

Will listened attentively. He was curious about what about him that Halt and Baron Arald considered qualities that made him a Ranger’s apprentice. Especially since the Baron only became aware of his ability to break into and scale tower walls after the fact.

““You’re agile. That’s good in a Ranger,” he began. “And, as we discussed, you can move quietly. That’s very important. You’re fast on your feet. And you’re inquisitive . . .”

““Inquisitive? How do you mean?” asked Will. Halt looked at him sternly.

““Always asking questions. Always wanting to know answers,” he explained. “That’s why I had the Baron test you with that piece of paper.”

““But when did you first notice me? I mean, when did you first think of selecting me?” Will wanted to know.  

““Oh,” said Halt, “I suppose it was when I watched you steal those cakes from Master Chubb’s kitchen.”

“Will’s jaw dropped open with amazement.”

He mirrored the action in real life as well. He could have sworn there was nobody in the kitchen. He didn’t know how Master Chubb’s had figure out it was he that stole them though. Although Will doubted that Halt would tell him.

“You watched me? But that was ages ago!” He had a sudden thought. “Where were you?”

“In the kitchen,” said Halt. “You were too busy to notice me when you came in.”

“Will shook his head in wonder. He had been sure there was nobody in the kitchen. Then he remembered once again how Halt, wrapped in his cloak, could become virtually invisible. There was more to being a Ranger, he realized, than how to cook and clean.”

Meralon raised his eyes to the heavens, but didn’t comment. How was this insignificant boy, who couldn’t think for himself and didn’t realize that of course there was more to Rangers than keeping house, be vital to Morgarath’s defeat?

It simply didn’t make sense to him. The boy certainly didn’t deserve such recognition and soft treatment. The other Rangers didn’t hesitate to spill all their secrets to a boy that wasn’t one of them.

It was ridiculous. And it rankled Meralon because, while they treated the boy like he was some kind of royalty for something he would do, they berated him when he pointed out the brat’s flaws.

““I was impressed with your skill,” said Halt. “But there was one thing that impressed me far more.”

““What was that?” asked Will.

““Later, when Master Chubb questioned you, I saw you hesitate. You were going to deny having stolen the cakes. Then I saw you admit ti. Remember? He hit you on the head with his wooden spoon.”

“Will grinned and rubbed his head thoughtfully. He could still hear the CRACK! made by the spoon hitting his head.

““I wondered if I shouldn’t have lied,” he admitted. Halt shook his head very slowly.

““Oh, no, Will. If you’d lied, you never would have become my apprentice.” He stood up and stretched, turning to go indoors to the stew simmering on the stove.

““Now, let’s eat,” he said.”

Berrigan closed the book softly, handing it back to Crowley. The Commander started on organizing a test of unseen movement for Will and Gilan.

“Before that, I need to speak with Will,” Halt said.

Crowley studied him for a moment before nodding his assent. The grizzled Ranger wrapped a hand around the boy’s arm, prompting him to rise and walk into the trees with him.

“What’s this about, Halt?” he asked, nervously.

“Your father.”

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

“My father?” Will stutteringly repeated, hating how faint his voice came out.

Halt nodded solemnly, dark eyes showing concerning for the rapidly paling boy before him. He thought the teen looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating, so he prodded Will into sitting. Then he put pressure on his back, just enough for him to get the idea that Halt wanted him to lean forward and put his head between his knees.

“Breath, boy. Match it to mine. Nice and steady.” Will did as the Ranger directed, locking his eyes with Halt’s stern ones until his breathing returned to normal.

Assured that the boy would not have a panic attack, Halt continued. “I met your father once. A more courageous man I’ve never met.” He tried not to flinch at the overly hopeful face his future charge gave him. “It was during the war against Morgarath. Three days after the Battle of Hackham Heath, where we surprised Morgarath and his Wargals with a surprise cavalry attack from behind. I found myself cornered by Wargals.

“I had taken a nasty hit to the head, collapsed on the ground and waited for the Wargal to smash me, when a spear suddenly embedded itself in the Wargal’s chest. That’s when he came in. Your father jumped over my fallen form and fended off the Wargals with naught but a spear. At one point the end of it had been chopped off, leaving him with nothing more than the wooden shaft.

“He was only a sergeant, but he wielded that spear with great skill and the speed of a leopard. It was an unbelievable sight for me, watching a random man take blow after blow from swords and knives. The power he gave off when he got his hands on a sword was unforgettable. He hacked and cutted and slashed and stabbed, ignoring all his own injuries. I may have frightened Morgarath’s Wargals, but your father caused his hand-picked troops, who only feared mounted, armored knights, run in terror.

“His name was Daniel.” Halt closed his eyes tight in grief. Will listened to the tale, enraptured. Both by his father, who was still a hero despite not being a knight, and the emotions on the Ranger’s face as he spoke of the other man. He felt close to tears himself, hearing how his father sacrificed himself to protect Halt.

“He was a farmer from Aspienne Fief.  He asked me to look in on his wife and child. So I tracked your mother down via two swindlers. They tried to take anything of value. I fought them, and your mother was just like your father. While I lay on the ground waiting for the sword to plunge, she attacked him. Unfortunately, the scoundrel Jerrel knifed her.”

Halt paused in his retelling to offer comfort to Will, who was crying unabashedly by this point.

“Your parents were new to the area, so she begged me to take you away, afraid that the village would work you to death with no one to look after you. So I brought you back to Redmont.”

Silence fell between them. Halt stared earnestly at the young boy, waiting for him to shout. Will had every right to. It was his fault his parents were dead. The guilt and fear that had been gnawing at him was why Halt hadn’t raised the boy himself, why he hadn’t told him sooner.

“Thank you,” Will said at last.

“Thank you?” the grizzled man echoed. “You should not be thanking me. Instead you should be cursing me. It’s my fault that your mother and father died.”

“It was not by your blade. If anyone is to blame it is Morgarath and those two thieves,” Will corrected. “You tried to protect them. So thank you, for letting me know them.”

Crowley scrutinized the pair when the emerged from the tree line, worried that the discussion may have been too much for the boy. He was not aware of the demon that his oldest friend carried, but Crowley knew Halt had been worrying about this conversation ever since the boy’s father was brought up.

“Now then, if we’re all ready. Let’s get started,” Crowley said loudly.

“Start what, sir?” Will asked curiously.

Gilan draped himself over the younger man’s back. “Don’t tell me you forgot?” he mockingly wailed. “Our competition, in which we test my skills against yours. Loser is on dish duty tonight.”

Will blinked at his sudden attachment. He had actually forgotten all about his next test. He wondered how many more they would concoct even as he accepted the young Ranger’s wager.

Meralon and Alun remained in the clearing as the other nine Rangers trekked over the river and into the forest after their Commandant. Will followed, slightly anxious as to whatever Crowley had cooked up. Crowley called for a stop after ten minutes, and the mottled cloaked Rangers formed a circle around Gilan, Will, and their leader as he explained the rules.

“Here’s how it’s going to work gentlemen. The two of you are going to make you way back to the Gathering site. After a half minute head start, the rest of us are going to track you down. If we spot you, you’ll know it.”

A sense of dread filled Will at those words. It was made stronger by the shit eating grin on Crowley’s face.

“Do you have an extra cloak?” Will ducked his head when all the adults turned to look at him with surprise. “It’s just . . . Gilan’ll blend in. I’m sure you’ll still see him,” he hurriedly added, not wanting to insult anyone, but I’m not dressed in forest colors.” He waved a hand at the grey tunic and brown breeches he was wearing.

“Yes, you’ve got a point. Here.” Crowley removed the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the boy. It was large on him. With the cowl pulled up it swallowed Will’s face so that only his mouth and chin could be seen.

“Clarke, Andross, Berrigan, and Halt. You’re tailing the tall monster. Harrison, Merron, Bartell, and Geldon, you’re on the apprentice.”

Will’s heart was pounding in his hears. He barely registered Gilan complaining that Halt would be tracking him. He knew he couldn’t match up to a regular Ranger at moving unnoticed. Compared to Gilan, who was their most skilled at unseen movement, Will was going to look like a child. If he had a half a minute head start, his best bet would be to put as much distance between him and the Rangers as possible.

He wrapped the cloak tight about him, bending his knees slightly and moving his right leg back so he would get a good push off. When Crowley yelled go, Will bolted.

Will silently counted every second of his head start, and when those thirty seconds were up he stopped running, ducking around the back of a tree to catch his breath. The Rangers would be tracking him now. It’d be rather easy, with the path he had carved through the brush and undergrowth.

His fingernails dug into the bark of the tree as he strained his ears listening for the men hunting him. He resisted the urge to peek around the trunk because he knew he wouldn’t see the Rangers coming and he wasn’t anxious to find out what they would do when they spotted him.

But every rustle made him flinch like one of them was going to sprout out of the earth next to him. How was he supposed to get back to the clearing without being seen? Traveling on the ground left to much evidence as to where he had been.

Will rolled his eyes at himself. The answer was obvious. If he couldn’t go across the ground he’d move through the trees. Hadn’t he said earlier that hardly anyone looked up? It probably didn’t apply to the Rangers, but he’d be harder to spot in the dense treetops. Especially since he could climb higher than anyone else.

Problem solved, the fifteen year old boy climbed up towards where the branches started thinning. He straddled a branch as thick as his torso. Taking a deep breath, Will stepped out onto the branch.

He slowly made his way out on the limb, focused on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping his balance. It was surprisingly easy to make his way across the latticework of branches. There was a lot of up and down movement and even more leaps of faith.

Will was so focused on his footing that he forgot all about the four Rangers tracking him.

“Morgarath’s balls!” he shouted when an arrow slammed into the wood to the side of his foot. The branch trembled from the impact and Will dropped to wrap his arms and legs around it. He should have known they’d be firing at him again. He peered down, searching for the Rangers that were currently laughing at him.

As he had expected, Will couldn’t pick them out from the forest. It wasn’t a wonder that all the villagers thought them to be capable of magic.

Will inhaled, enjoying the dizzying rush of adrenaline. Then he was scurrying through the trees again, methodically climbing higher to make it harder for him to be spotted. Not that it stopped the Rangers. Their hawk-like eyes noticed him three more times before he reached the river, which was only twenty meters from the camp.

He paused, clinging to the center of the tree as he tried to formulate how to cross the river without getting caught because the gap was too wide to jump. Three minutes later he realized that he couldn’t do it, so he might as well just go back to ground level and finish the test on foot.

A fifth arrow thudded into the dirt when he dropped out of the tree to cross the river and a sixth one just before he reached the clearing.

Will wasn’t surprised to see that Gilan was already back. He hadn’t expected anything less. “They catch you at all?”

“Twice.” Gilan answered. “How’d you do?”

“Six,” admitted Will. “I went through the trees until I reached the river.”

The older brunet whistled cheerfully. “Not bad, Will. Not bad at all.”

 Will was quite grateful when Crowley called for them to take their seats for two reasons. First, it meant the Rangers would stop talking about what they thought about him and commenting on what areas he was weak in, and second because he would learn what kind of training to expect from Halt once the Gathering was over.

“Chapter 9,” Geldon announced. “Horace—“

“Horace? Why are we reading about him? I thought these books were about me?”

Will reddened as several of the Rangers stared at him. They probably thought he was arrogant now. But he truly thought that they would only be reading about his training, and couldn’t understand why Horace was suddenly featured.

“dropped his pack on the floor of the dormitory and fell across his bed, groaning with relief.

“Every muscle in his body ached. He had no idea that he could feel so sore, so worn-out. He had no idea that there were so many muscles in the human body that could feel this way. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was going to get through the three years of Battleschool training. He’d been a cadet for less than a week and already he was a total physical wreck.”

“Battleschool’s not so easy now, is it Will?” Will pointedly refused to look Gilan in the eyes.

“Sir Rodney said as much at the Choosing Ceremony,” said Alun.

“When he’d applied for Battleschool, Horace had a vague notion of glittering, armor-clad knights doing battle, while lesser folk stood by and watched in awed admiration.”

“No lack of confidence in that lad.”

“Say it as it is, Clarke. The boy is arrogant. His vision was clouded,” Andross said frankly.

“Quite a few of those lesser folk, in his mental picture, had been attractive girls—Jenny, his yearmate in the Ward, had been prominent among them. To him, Battleschool had been a place of glamor and adventure, and Battleschool cadets were people that others looked up to and envied.”

“What I wouldn’t give to teach that boy a lesson,” Gilan said darkly. “Being a Knight is not about the glory. It’s a serious job. They’re tasked with defending their fiefs and the royal family. Knights make up the largest percentage of our troops during war. He needs to get his head put on right. Horace shouldn’t have been expecting his path to be easy.”

Will looked at Gilan, amazed that there was someone willing to tell Horace what he needed to here. It was a moot point and a waste of breath since the other boy wasn’t present and the Rangers already knew the importance of Araluen’s knights. But it was nice to hear someone knock him off his high horse, since most just simpered about what a wonderful knight he would make.

“The reality was something else. So far, Battleschool cadets were people that rose before the dawn and spent the hour before breakfast doing a severe course of physical training: running, lifting weights, standing in lines of ten or more to lift and hold heavy logs over their heads. Exhausted by all of this, they were then returned to their quarters, where they had the opportunity to take a brief shower—the water was cold—before making sure the dormitory and ablutions block were absolutely spotless. Quarters inspection came after that and it was painstaking. Sir Karel, the wiry old knight who carried out the inspection, knew every trick in the book when it came to taking shortcuts in cleaning the dormitory, making your bed and stowing your kit. The slightest infringement on the part of one of the twenty boys in the dormitory would mean all their kit would be scattered across the floor, their beds turned over, the rubbish bins emptied on the floor, and they would have to turn to and start again—in the time when they should have been having breakfast.”

“How long to we have to listen to this brat complain?” Meralon bemoaned. It was bad enough some little Ranger brat was going to be responsible for Morgarth’s defeat, for there was nowhere else these books could be leading to, but to listen to two brats whine about how hard their lives were would be mind numbing.

“Horace must be of great use later, otherwise his thoughts and experiences would not be included,” Harrison said evenly.

For his part, Will only rolled his eyes, not caring in the least about the stink eye Halt afforded him. Meralon had done nothing else but complain since they had started reading the first book. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like it was his thoughts on display. No one had recorded every blunder he had ever made.

The rest of his kinsmen were making the most of the opportunity they had been graced with. They saw the books as a serious warning and a source of a great wealth of knowledge. Gathering information was the most important aspect of the Rangers Corps. It was what the group had been designed for.

“As a consequence, new cadets only tried once to pull the wool over Sir Karel’s eyes. Breakfast was nothing special. In fact, in Horace’s opinion, it was downright basic. But if you missed it, it was a long, hard morning until the lunch hour, which, in keeping with the Spartan life in Battleschool, was only twenty minutes long.”

“Twenty minutes is plenty of time to eat. He doesn’t have to prep the ingredients or cook it himself. All he has to do is eat. And if his lunch is anything like his breakfast, it is just as Spartan and twenty minutes would be more than enough time to eat,” Crowley interjected.

Will looked at the sandy red haired man. The Commandant had not spoken much, Will figured he was soaking in every word and already designing plans to deal with Morgarath, although Will hadn’t heard anything that could be connected to the Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night. When he, it was mostly to poke fun at Halt or himself, or to give him some advice.

So it was weird to hear him criticizing a kid he had never met. But none of the other men found his words out of place. In fact, they were laughing so loudly that Geldon raised his voice to read over them.

“After breakfast, there were classes for two hours in military history, the theory of tactics and so on, then the cadets were usually required to run the obstacle course—as series of obstacles designed to test speed, agility, balance, and strength. There was a minimum time standard for the course. It had to be completed in under five minutes, and any cadet who failed to do so was immediately sent back to the start to try again.”

Will was glad that Sir Rodney would deny him admittance to Battleschool. All his fantasies of being a hero did not involve the reality of the matter. He wasn’t meant for the strict and disciplined life of a knight.

Plus he did not want to deal with anymore classroom lessons. Sitting at a desk in a room for five hours of the day was torture. Will would rather be outside, breathing the fresh air. Their teacher refused to open the windows, primly stating that whatever was outside would only serve as a distraction to her lessons.

“It was rare that anyone completed the course without falling at least once, and the course was littered with mud pools, water hazards and pits filled with nameless but unpleasant matter whose origin Horace didn’t want to even think about.”

“Terrel’s cooking!”

“He was one of Clarke’s apprentices,” Gilan answered before he could ask about the unknown person. “Horrible cook. He was so eager to help out his first Gathering, but Clarke hadn’t warned us that he couldn’t even make a simple stew.”

“Where is he?” Will was the youngest person there. After him it was Gilan in his mid-twenties, but the rest of the Rangers were at least thirty.

“Didn’t pass his exam.”

The sword wielding Ranger was oblivious to the panic his caused Will with his casual dismissal of Terrel. His mind was quickly filling with horrifying imaginings of having to pass an insanely difficult test to become a Ranger. He thought the Craftmasters instructed apprentices until they were ready to do their job.

“Lunch followed the obstacle course, but if you’d fallen during the run, you had to clean up before entering the mess hall—another of those famous cold showers—and that usually took half the time set aside for the meal break. As a consequence, Horace’s overwhelming impressions of the first week of Battleschool were a combination of aching muscles and gnawing hunger.

“There were more classes after lunch, then physical jerks in the castle yard under the eye of one of the senior-year cadets. Then the class would form up and perform close-order drill until the end of the school day, when they would have two hours to themselves, to clean and repair gear and prepare lessons for the following day’s classes.”

Will, failing to stifle a yawn, hid it behind his hand instead. This chapter was very dull, and not just for him but for all the Rangers, who were not knights and had no interest in hearing an apprentice grumble about his training. Even Gilan, who was trained to use a sword, looked bored.

He hoped this chapter was almost done.

“Unless, of course, someone had transgressed during the course of the day, or in some way caused displeasure to one of their instructors or observers. In which case, they would all be invited to load the packs with rocks and set out on a twelve-kilometer run along a course mapped out through the surrounding countryside.”

“He should be grateful he’s not in Caraway,” Andross commented.

“Or Horgath,” Crowley added. “He’d be running up and down the mountainside. Then he’d really have something to complain about.”

“Invariably, the course was nowhere near any of the level roads or tracks in the area. It meant running through broken, uneven ground up hills and across streams, through heavily overgrown thickets where hanging vines and thick underbrush would claw at you and try to pull you down.

“Horace had just completed one such run. Earlier in the day, one of his classmates had been spotted in Tactics I, passing a note to a friend. Unfortunately, the note was not in the form of text but was an unflattering caricature of the long-nosed instructor who taught the class.”

“That’s classic!” Gilan crowed. “I wish I had thought of that.”

“If you had, I guarantee a twelve kilometer run would have been the least of your worries,” Halt muttered darkly. Then he turned pointedly to his future apprentice. “And don’t you go getting any ideas. Especially from the giant over there.”

“Come now, Halt,” the giant replied good-naturedly, “I’m not to blame for the entire Ranger Corps being short. That’s on you and Crowley.”

“Equally unfortunately, the boy possessed considerable skill as a cartoonist and the drawing was instantly recognizable.”

“Even better,” chortled Gilan. Geldon ignored his two reels and kept reading.

“As a result, Horace and his class had been invited to fill those packs and start running.

“He’d gradually felt himself pulling away from the rest of the boys as they labored up the fir hill. Even after a few days, the strict regime of the Battleschool was beginning to show results with Horace.”

“It seems to me that the boy actually has talent,” Alun said. “It’s the sudden strictness he has issue with, not the physical training.”

“He also enjoys complaining. Luckily it’s only his thoughts. I wouldn’t deal with an apprentice like that.” Halt’s words were a warning to Will, but the grizzled man also shot an obscure glare at Meralon, who had forever been a pain at past Gatherings when he was just an apprentice, and only spoke to complain about Will’s thoughts or actions thus far.

On the other side of Will, directly across from Meralon, Crowley was giving the generally disproving Ranger a look of his own. Meralon’s attitude was a problem. It didn’t seem like it, but Rangers would work together all the time. All information was shared between them, and often times Rangers were pulled from their assigned fief to work a case only they could. Only, Meralon was hard to work with, and every apprentice he had taken on in the last fifteen years had quite before the first two years were up.

Once young Will was awarded the silver oakleaf and officially made a Ranger, the Commandant was going to let Meralon loose, forget sending him to Coledale. Gilan would be switched to Norgate Fief and Will could take over Meric for him.

“He was fitter than he’d ever been in his life. Added to that was the fact that he had natural ability as an athlete.”

“You were right, Alun.”

“Though he was unaware of it, he ran with balance and grace, where the others seemed to struggle. As the run progressed, he found himself far in front of the others. He pounded on, head up and breathing evenly through his nostrils. So far, he hadn’t much chance to get to know his new classmates. He’d seen most of them around the castle or the village over the years, of course, but growing up in the Ward had tended to isolate him from the normal, day-to-day life of the castle and village.”

Will mouthed the word isolate. It wasn’t one he would have ever applied to Horace. But it was true nonetheless. Will had always thought the bigger boy spent all his time around the Ward because he found the villagers boring. That and his favorite source of amusement was Will, who had even less interaction with the people of the village, preferring his solitude.

“Ward children couldn’t help but feel different from the others. And it was a feeling that the boys and girls with parents still living reciprocated.”

Will sighed unintentionally. That was so very true. It was starting to look like he and Horace were more alike than he had thought.

“The Choosing Ceremony was peculiar to Ward members only. Horace was one of twenty new Battleschool recruits that year, the other nineteen coming through what was considered the normal process—parental influence, patronage, or recommendation from their teachers. As a result, he wa regarded as something of a curiosity, and the other boys had so far made no overtures of friendship or even much attempt to get to know him. Still, he thought, smiling with grim satisfaction, he had beaten them all in the run .none of the others were back yet. He’d shown them, all right.

“The door at the end of the dormitory crashed back on its hinges and heavy boots sounded on the bare floorboards. Horace raised himself on one elbow and groaned inwardly.”

“He’d be groaning for real if that was one of his instructors,” Harrison said stoutly.

“Probably because he’d be force to do that run again,” Berrigan stated.

Merron snorted. “He’d deserve it. Those knights take themselves really seriously. But he’d also finish it a second time before any of the other nineteen boys returned.”

“Bryn, Alda and Jerome were marching toward him between the rows of perfectly made beds. They were second-year cadets and they seemed to have decided that their life’s work was to make Horace’s life miserable.”

The majority of the Rangers frowned at that paragraph. Be it when they had been apprentices themselves or when they were teaching apprentices, they always encouraged working with the other apprentices. To practice long and hard and to not be embarrassed to ask for assistance.

It was disheartening to hear that there were apprentices that would go out of their way to sabotage another, but not unexpected. Most professions took on several apprentices at once, but only a handful of them would actually get a field in the job. Many of the students at Battleschool did not become full fledge knights, and instead served as more skilled warriors in the army.

“Quickly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, but not quickly enough.

““What are you doing lying in bed?” Alda yelled at him. “Who told you it was lights out?”

“Bryn and Jerome grinned. They enjoyed Alda’s verbal sallies.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Meralon drawled. “It wasn’t particularly witty. And had it not been for that run, he’d have free time anyway.”

“They weren’t anywhere near as original. But they made up for their lack of verbal invention with a heavy reliance on the physical side of things.

““Twenty push-ups!” Bryn ordered. “Now!””

“Can they do that?” Will asked nervously.

“Not to worry lad. Only your mentor can tell you what to do in the Corp,” Bartell assured him.

Will was still looking imploringly at Gilan. “It’s tradition for the older years to rib the younger years. Thought these three seemed to have skipped to outright bullying.”

“Horace hesitated a moment. He was actually bigger than any of the. If it came to a confrontation, he was sure he could beat any one of them. But they were three. And besides, they had the authority of tradition behind them. As far as he knew, it was normal practice for second-year to treat first-year cadets like this, and he could imagine the scorn of his classmates if he were to complain to authority about it. Nobody likes a crybaby, he told himself as he began to drop to the ground. But Byrn had seen the hesitation and perhaps even the fleeting light of rebellion in his eyes.

““Thirty push-ups!” he snapped. “Do it now!”

“His muscles protesting, Horace dropped full length to the floor and began the push-ups. Immediately, he felt a foot in the small of his back, bearing down upon him as he tried to raise himself from the floor. “

Gilan scowled darkly. He had been born into knighthood. His father was David, Araluen’s finest Battlemaster, and he had trained with MacNeil, another famous swordsman. Neither one of them would have put up with this kind of behavior from their students.

Tradition was understandable. A little light hazing was fine. If it was just the twenty push-ups, Gilan wouldn’t have cared. The thirty was fine too, even. It was expected for the first year cadets to baulk at being forced to do extra work and for the second years to retaliate until they caved and finally performed.

But to purposefully make it so that he couldn’t complete the push-ups wasn’t honorable. How could they hope to become knights with deplorable behavior like that?

“Come on, Baby!” It was Jerome now. “Put a bit of effort into it!”

“Horace struggled through a push-up. Jerome had developed the skill of maintaining just the right amount of pressure.”

“It had probably been done to him,” commented Clarke.

“Any more and Horace would never have been able to complete the push-up. But the second-year cadet also kept pressing down as Horace started back down again. That made the exercise all the harder. He had to maintain the same amount of upward pressure as he lowered himself, otherwise he would be driven hard against the floor. Groaning, he completed the first, then started another.

““Stop crying, Baby!” Alda yelled at him. Then he moved to Horace’s bed.

““Didn’t you make this bed this morning?” he yelled. Horace, struggling up again against the pressure of Jerome’s foot, could only grunt.

““What? What?” Alda bent so that his face was only centimeters away. “What’s that, Baby? Speak up!” ““Yes . . . sir,” Horace managed to whisper. Alda shook his head in an exaggerated movement.

“No sir, I think!” he said, standing upright again. “Look at this bed. It’s a pigsty!”

“Naturally, the covers were a little rumpled where Horace had dropped across the bed. But it would have taken only a second or two to straighten them. Grinning, Bryn cottoned on to Alda’s plan. He stepped forward and kicked the bed over on its side, spilling mattress, blankets and pillows across the floor.”

Will barely stopped himself from yelping in pain. He glanced down at his hands, where the pain had come from, only to realize that his fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands so hard that they were bleeding.

A small part of him felt a savage delight in Horace’s torment. He had bullied Will much the same since he had arrived at the Ward, and Will felt it was only fair that he get his turn on the receiving end.

But the larger part of him was outraged at the injustice. He wanted nothing more than to punch those three jerks in the eye. Or to use his saxe knife. But a black eye would be more humiliating.

““Make the bed again!” he yelled. Then a light gleamed in his eye and he turned to the next bed in line, kicking it over as well, scattering the bedclothes and mattresses as he’d done to Horace’s.

 ““Make them all again!” he yelled, delighted with his idea. Bryn joined him, grinning widely, as they tumbled the twenty beds, scattering blankets, pillows and mattresses around the room. Horace, still struggling through the thirty push-ups, gritted his teeth. Perspiration ran into his eyes, stinging them and blurring his vision.

““Crying, are you, Baby?” he heard Jerome yell. “Go home and cry to Mummy then!”

“His foot shoved viciously into Horace’s back, sending him sprawling on the floor.

““Baby doesn’t have a mummy,” Alda said. “Baby’s a Ward brat. Mummy ran off with a riverboat sailor.””

 “I know you don’t have any jurisdiction,” Crowley started over Will’s mop of dark hair, “but perhaps you could say something to Rodney about those three. They’re only first years now. He’d be better off in the long run knowing not to waste his time on them.”

His friend’s answer was a single raised eyebrow. “And what am I supposed to tell Rodney? A book from the future about my apprentice told me that three of his students were dishonorable curs?”

“Horace can’t be their first victim. Follow them and get proof you can take to the Battlemaster.”

Halt sighed, aggrieved, but nodded.

“Jerome bent down to him again. “Is that right, Baby?” he hissed. “Did Mummy run away and leave you?”

““My mother is dead,” Horace grated at them. Angrily, he began to rise, but Jerome’s foot was on the back of his neck, thrusting his face against the hard boards. Horace gave up the attempt.

““Very sad,” Alda said, and the other two laughed. “Now clean this mess up, Baby, or we’ll have you run the course again.”

“Horace lay, exhausted, as the three older boys swaggered out the room, tipping foot lockers over as they went, spilling his roommates’ belongings onto the floor. He closed his eyes a alt perspiration stung its way into them again.

““I hate this place,” he said, his voice muffled by the rough planks of the floor.”

“Well,” Geldon said, as he gently closed the book, “I must admit that chapter was very unexpected.”

“You mean dull,” Meralon corrected snidely.

In an effort to keep the bickering to a minimum, Crowley cleared his throat.

“Such chapters will probably appear again. We’ll just have to bear with them. Now, who has yet to read?”

It was a rhetorical question, because everyone present knew that Bartell, Halt, and Will were the only ones that hadn’t.

“I’ll read last,” Halt said firmly, leaving no room for arguments.

“Am I allowed to read?” Will asked tentatively.

The book passed around the circle until it was in the fifteen year old’s possession. “Of course you can!” Crowley said heartily. “You have more right than the rest of us to.”

Will blushed, ducking his head and flipping the pages until he found chapter ten to hide it.

Chapter 11: Chapter 10

Well, Will thought, brown eyes scanning the page before he started reading, he got a chapter dealing with him. Which he was glad for. He couldn’t understand why Horace’s troubles with other knights in training was important or relevant to his own apprenticeship. Will would not have enjoyed having to read a chapter about the boy who bullied him.

Although he thought it was justice that Horace was now on the receiving end. He deserved it, running his mouth all the time about how Will didn’t have a father. His words had hurt more than his fists.

“You do know how to read?” Will blushed hotly at Halt’s dry question and quickly proceeded to start reading.

““Time you learned about the weapons you’ll be using,” said Halt.” Will grinned brightly at the first line. This was the part he had been waiting for ever since Halt and Gilan and the other Rangers had handed him a saxe knife. Gilan was calling all the skills test he had been doing informal training, since it couldn’t be official until he turned fifteen.

“You’ve gotten a head start already,” the youngest Ranger said cheekily.

“They had eaten breakfast well before sunup and Will had followed Halt into the forest. They’d walked for about half an hour, with the Ranger showing Will how to glide from one path of shade to the next, as silently as possible.”

Here Gilan sighed mournfully. “Doesn’t waste a second, that man. You’re not going to have any free time, kid. Halt’s tricky. He makes you want to spend all your day shooting arrows.”

“As he should,” Crowley stated seriously, a slight gleam in his eyes. “Complacent Rangers don’t last.”

“Will was a good student in the art of unseen movement—“

“Ain’t that right?” Harrison interrupted before Gilan open his mouth.

Will knew his face was bright red, and as much as he enjoyed the various acknowledgements and praises, he hoped they stopped soon. He wasn’t that good. He didn’t need encouragement to do his best.

Not to mention that this chapter would take twice as long to read if they spoke up every time his training brought up. The entire first book, and maybe more depending on how much time was written, was guaranteed to be filled with Will simply learning. If it wasn’t for the undertone of mystery and fear and Morgarath, Will imagined the book would be rather monotone.

“—as Halt had already remarked, but he had a lot to learn before he reached Ranger standard. Still, Halt was pleased with his progress. The boy was keen to learn—particularly when it was a matter of field craft like this.

“It was a slightly different matter when it came to the less exciting tasks like map reading and chart drawing.” Will snuck what he thought to be a sneaky glance at Halt over the top of the book, caught the single raised eyebrow, and hurriedly returned his gaze to the page. The grizzled Ranger’s smirk went unnoticed as Will picked up where he left off. “Will tended to skip over details that he saw as unimportant until Halt pointed out to him, with some acerbity, “You’d find these skills would become a little more important if you were planning a route for a company of heavy cavalry and forgot to mention that there’s a stream in the way.”

“Now, they stopped in a clearing and Halt dropped a small bundle that had been concealed beneath his cloak.

“Will regarded the bundle doubtfully. When he thought of weapons, he thought of swords and battleaxes and war maces—weapons carried by knights.”

“What would you want with those unwieldy scraps of metal?” Berrigan joked. “Terrifying is much more effective when they can’t see the weapon.”

The Martindyse Ranger had a point. The common people’s perception of the Ranger Corp was fear because they never saw one coming. Morgarath’s name still struck dread in the hearts of soldiers and civilians alike. Swords and battleaxes could be defended against. Arrows were harder to block or avoid.

“It was obvious that this small bundle contained none of those.

““What sort of weapons? Do we have swords?” Will asked, his eyes glued to the bundle.”

“Enough with the swords already,” snapped Meralon, thoroughly annoyed with how dense their supposed hero was. “How thick are you, boy? Everyone knows a bow is a Ranger’s weapon.”

“You’ll find they don’t, Meralon,” Alun reprimanded softly. “A good thing, else we’d lose an element of surprise.”

Crowley’s lip thinned as he stared down the antagonistic man. He knew the boy was rather disproving of Skandians, and he had let that attitude be, because honestly, no one was fond of the sea pirates. But this was an entirely different matter. This abrasiveness was unacceptable. Rangers needed to work together, and while the rumors about them were effective for discouraging law breakers, civilians shouldn’t feel the cloaked men to be unapproachable.

All of the Rangers under his command were like a family. The needed to be able to trust one another explicitly; to have your back. To save your life. From the Corps’ restructuring (and it still boiled his blood to think about the noblemen who bought their way into wearing a silver oakleaf and couldn’t do the job properly), Crowley had promoted the bonds between master and apprentice. A sense of familiarity.

He couldn’t let the boy go unchecked any longer. A little snobby posturing was annoying but manageable. For some reason, Meralon was trying to verbally tear Will apart. He had gotten entirely too cozy in his post at Drayden if he thought his behavior was appropriate. Assigning him to Coledale Fief probably wouldn’t do anything in the way of his bad manners, but Crowley couldn’t cut him from the Corps. Every Fief needed a Ranger, and currently they had fifty; and three apprentices that would replace Geldon, Alun, and Bartell when the time came.

He wanted nothing more than to dismiss him. Undoubtedly his duties could be picked up by other Rangers, for Drayden Fief was one of the smaller fiefs in Araluen. However, removing him as a Ranger was unwise at this point. If Morgarath truly was preparing for a second war, Crowley would need every one of his Rangers. He actually possessed a fair bit of tracking skills, which would be sorely needed if the Lord of the Mountains of Rain and night unleased the Kalkara.

What Crowley really needed was an excuse to send Meralon away from the Gathering early.

““A Ranger’s principal weapons are stealth and silence and his ability to avoid being seen,” said Halt.”

“Are they really?” Will asked curiously. A dozen men nodded firmly.

“Aye, lad,” said Merron. “And they’re more important than any physical weapon you’ll carry.”

““So then we have a sword?” Will said hopefully.”

“If you want to learn the sword so badly I can teach you,” Gilan offered. Will looked at the brunet and acknowledged the sincerity.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll do fine with the traditional weapons.”

The only sword wielding Ranger shrugged. “You might change your mind after a week of Halt’s training methods.”

That time Will couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he hoped Gilan was, because the brief introduction he had had of what it would be like as a Ranger’s Apprentice had been exhilarating. He wanted to learn all the secrets behind the magic, so to speak, since Ranger’s didn’t actually use magic.

“Halt knelt and unwrapped the bundle.

““No. Then we have a bow,” he said and placed it at Will’s feet.

“Will’s first reaction was one of disappointment.” Will quickly apologized for that and determinedly ignored the chuckles he got. “A bow was something people used for hunting, he thought. Everyone had bows.”

“That may be. But I guarantee you they are nothing like ours.’ Berrigan’s hazel eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“A bow was more a tool than a weapon. As a child, he had made his fair share of them himself, bending a springy tree branch into shape.”

Andross laughed readily. “If that’s what you think a bow is you’re going to enjoy ours.”

“Then, as Halt said nothing, he looked more closely at the bow. This, he realized, was not bent branch.

“It was unlike any bow that Will had ever seen before. Most of the bow followed one long curve like a normal longbow, but then each tip curved back in the opposite direction. Will, like most of the people of the kingdom, was used to the standard longbow—which was one long piece of wood bent into a continuous curve. This one was a good deal shorter.

““It’s called a recurve bow,” said Halt, sensing his puzzlement. “You’re not strong enough to handle a full longbow yet, so the double curve will give you extra arrow speed and power, with a lower draw weight. I learned how to make one from the Temujai.”

“Learned?” Crowley snorted. “You stole it. Along with several of their horses!”

Will turned wide eyes on his future mentor. “Did you really? And you scolded me for stealing pastries,” he added, thinking back a few chapters ago when he swiped a couple of small pies from Master Chubb’s kitchen.

“I misappropriated some,” Halt admitted. “The Temujai were advancing across Eastern Steppes at an alarming rate. It wouldn’t be long before they reached Araluen. I gave us the same advantage they had; excellent archers on the backs of the best horses.”

““Who are the Temujai?” asked Will, looking up from the strange bow.

““Fierce fighting men from the east,” said Halt. “And probably the world’s finest archers.”

“Are the recurve bows better than the longbow?” questioned Will.

The Rangers shared looks, as if deciding who got to answer his question.

“Well,” Bartell began. “Neither bow is necessarily better than the other. Each has their own strengths,” he explained. “Like Halt already said in the book, the recurve has higher power for lower draw weights. It’s also more compact and can be used from horseback if necessary. It’s very good for close range fighting and its shape allows it to pack more power than you would think.

“However, a recurve can’t get wet; otherwise the glue that holds it together will weaken and come undone. The longbow, by its nature, has a greater string size, which, in the hands of the right archer, can have nearly double the draw weight of a recurve. That means a longer range, critical for Rangers, and allows us to use heavier arrows capable of piercing armor.”

Will’s brow furrowed as he realized how much consideration these men put into choosing a weapon. Although he wasn’t surprised that such short men could fully draw back the string of a longbow. The cloaks covered them, but the muscles of their shoulders and backs reminded him of wire. Thin and unassuming, but very strong.

“We Rangers have a saying. One I think you’ll come to understand soon enough, Will,” said Crowley. “An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right. A Ranger practices until he never gets it wrong.”

The eleven other Rangers present spoke in tandem with him. Clearly, Will thought, they heard those two lines often.

““You fought against them?”

““Against them . . . and with them for a time,” said Halt. “Stop asking so many questions.””

“You said curiosity was a good trait to have,” Will claimed, looking accusingly at the Redmont Ranger.

“It is,” he said gruffly. “When you’re ready to ask them. And you’re only an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.”

Will rolled his eyes. Halt hadn’t uttered his famous line in a while. He supposed he was overdue it.

“Will glanced down at the bow in his hand again. Now that he was becoming used to its unusual shape, he could see that it was a beautifully made weapon. Several shaped strips of wood had been glued together, with their grains running in different directions. They were of differing thicknesses and it was this that achieved the double curve of the bow, as the different forces strained against each other, bending the limbs of the bow into a carefully planned pattern.”

“Beautiful way with word, lad,” complimented Berrigan.

“Maybe, he thought, this was really a weapon, after all.”

Meralon bit back an aggrieved sigh. Of course the bow was a weapon. It was still a bow, no matter its shape.

““Can I shoot it?” he asked.

“Halt nodded. “If you feel that’s a good idea, go ahead,” he said.”

Gilan chortled. “This is going to be good.” He leaned forward slightly so as to peer around Halt at the young teen. Said boy ignored the distinct urge to pout.

“Quickly, Will chose an arrow from the quiver that had been in the bundle alongside the bow and fitted it to the string. He pulled the arrow back with his thumb and forefinger, aimed at the tree trunk some twenty meters away and fired.

“Whack!”

“The heavy bowstring slapped into the soft flesh on the inside of his arm, stinging like a whip. Will yelled with pain and dropped the bow as if it were red-hot.”

“You sound like you’ve shot a bow before,” Geldon commented. “Shouldn’t you have anticipated that?”

“Probably,” Will said ruefully.

“Already a thick red welt was forming on his arm. It throbbed painfully. Will had no idea where the arrow had gone. Nor did he care.

““That hurt!” he said, looking accusingly at the Ranger.

“Halt shrugged.

““You’re always in a hurry youngster,” he said. “That may teach you to wait a little next time.”

“Unconventional,” remarked Crowley.

Halt shrugged casually, tilting his head towards his previous apprentice. “It works.”

Gilan nodded. “I can’t wait to hear tales about the stupid things Will is going to do.”

Will glared at him briefly before he remembered something. “You’ll only get to read about it. Thanks to these,” he held aloft the book he was reading from and wiggled it, “I’ll not what not to do and how Halt acts when he lets me do something stupid.”

The tall Ranger gaped at Will, who was grinning smugly. Unnoticed to the two of them, Halt arched an eyebrow. Maybe he would just not say anything at all. Watching his apprentices make fools of themselves was a great source of enjoyment. He couldn’t have Will thinking that he knew when he was making a mistake.

He wouldn’t learn if he never made them.

“He bent to the bundle and pulled out a long cuff made of stiff leather. He slid it onto Will’s left arm so that it would protect him from the bowstring.

“Ruefully, Will noticed that Halt was wearing a similar cuff. Even more ruefully, he realized that he’d noticed this before, but never wondered about the reason for it.”

“You’ll break that habit quickly. A Ranger questions everything he sees.”

““Now try it again,” said Halt.

“Will chose another arrow and placed it on the string. As he went to draw it back again, Halt stopped him.

 “Not with the thumb and finger,” he said. “Let the arrow rest between the first and second fingers on the string . . . like this.”

“He showed Will how to nock—the notch at the butt end of the arrow—actually clipped to the string and held the arrow in place. Then he demonstrated how to let the string rest on the first joint of the first, second, and third fingers, with the first finger above the nock point and the others below it. Finally, he showed him how to allow the string to slip loose so that the arrow was released.

““That’s better,” he said and, as Will brought the arrow back, continued, “Try to use your back muscles, not just your arms. Feel as if you’re pushing your shoulder blades together . . .”

“Will tried it and the bow seemed to draw a little easier. He found he could hold it steadier than before.

“He fired again. This time, he just missed the tree trunk he’d been aiming for.”

Will looked pleased with himself. He had only shot a short bow before, and after he’s embarrassing first attempt, thought that the recurve bow might be beyond him. But it seemed he had a little talent with this new weapon too.

““You need to practice,” said Halt.”

“That’s his favorite word,” Gilan told him. Will didn’t disagree.

““Put it down for now.”

“Carefully, Will laid the bow down on the ground. He was eager now to see what Halt would produce next from the bundle.

““These are a Ranger’s knives,” said Halt. He handed Will a double scabbard, like the one he wore on the left-hand side of his own belt.”

“You’re familiar with those now,” Clarke pointed out unnecessarily.

“Will took the double scabbard and examined it. The knives were set one above the other. The top knife was the shorter of the two. It had a thick, heavy grip made of a series of leather discs set one above the other. There was a brass crosspiece between the hilt and the blade and it had a matching brass pummel.

““Take it out,” said Halt. “Do it carefully.”

“Will slid the short knife from the scabbard. It was an unusual shape. Narrow at the hilt, it tapered out sharply, becoming thicker and wider for three quarters of its length to form a broad blade with the weight concentrated toward the tip, then a steep reverse taper created a razor-sharp point. He looked curiously at Halt.

““It’s for throwing,” said the Ranger. “The extra width at the tip balances the weight of the hilt. And the combined weight of the two helps drive the knife home when you throw it. Watch.””

“That’s a better explanation than the one you gave me yesterday,” said Will.

“His hand moved smoothly and swiftly to the broad-bladed knife at his own waist. He flicked it free from the scabbard and, in one smooth action, sent it spinning toward a nearby tree.

“The knife thudded home into the wood with a satisfying thock! Will looked at Halt, impressed with the Ranger’s skill and speed.”

“I hate to break it to you boy,” Gilan said, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, his tone was rather gleeful. “But Halt probably threw it slower than normal so you’d get an idea how to do it.”

Will turned to the aforementioned Ranger. “Can you show me how you’d throw it normally?”

Halt met his gaze, and Will was so busy waiting for some sign of agreement that he completely missed the Ranger withdrawing his throwing knife, which found home in a tree behind Bartell, who sat opposite him.

“You’re supposed to be reading,” he said pointedly when Will kept staring back and forth between him and his thrown knife.

““How do you learn to do that?” he asked.

“Halt looked at him. “Practice.”

“He gestured for Will to inspect the second knife.

“This one was longer. The handle was the same leather disc construction, and there was a short, sturdy crosspiece. The blade was heavy and straight, razor-sharp on one side, thick and heavy on the other.

““This is in case your enemy gets to close quarters,” said Halt.”

“Does that happen often?” Will asked.

“Often enough that we have standard issued knives,” Halt retorted dryly.

““Although if you’re any sort of an archer, he never will. It’s balanced for throwing, but you can also block a sword stroke with that blade. It’s made by the finest smiths in the kingdom. Look after it and keep it sharp.”

““I will,” the apprentice said softly, admiring the knife in his hands.

““It’s similar to what the Skandians call a saxe knife,” Halt told him. Will frowned at the unfamiliar name and Halt went on to explain further.

““It’s both a weapon and a tool—a sea ax originally. But over the years the words sort of slid together to become saxe. Mind you,” he added, “the quality of the steel in ours is a long way superior to the Skandian ones.”

“Will studied the knife more closely, seeing the faint blue tint in the blade, feeling the perfect balance. With its leather and brass hilt, the knife might be plain and functional in appearance. But it was a fine weapon and, Will realized, far superior to the comparatively clumsy swords worn by castle Redmont’s warriors.”

Gilan mockingly clutched at his heart, pretending that Will’s words had physically speared him. “What cruel manner of words!”

Will ignored him.

“Halt showed him how to strap the double scabbard to his belt to that his hand fell katurally to the knife hilts. “Now,” he said, “all you have to do is learn to use them. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“Will nodded his head, grinning.

““A lot of practice,” he said.”

“You sound happy about that,” Gilan said, accusingly.

“I am,” Will answered. “I don’t suppose we could skip to the end of the books so I can start training sooner?”

“Not a chance.”

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

There were only two Rangers who had yet to read, and since Halt and stubbornly insisted he would go last, Will hand the book to Bartell.

He was disappointed when the Ranger started the next chapter and it dealt with Horace again. Will had been looking forward to what else Halt would set him to learning.

“Sir Rodney leaned on the timber fence surrounding the practice area as he watched the new Battleschool cadets going through their weapons drill. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the twenty new recruits, but always returning to one in particular—“

Will knew, even without the foreknowledge that parts of his book focused on Horace, that the Battleschool Master was referring to the boy who enjoyed tormenting him. As much as he disliked the other boy, Will couldn’t deny that he had talent.

Horace would spend every free minute he had when lessons at the Ward let out hovering outside the Battleschool, watching the cadets perform drills just like Sir Rodney was. Will, too, had shadow the cadets, thinking that he might be allowed to show some skill to the Battleschool Master on Choosing Day to prove he was capable of being a knight despite his short stature.

After hours of watching, Horace would return to the Ward and take out the branch he had whittled to a rough sword shape and run through the various hacks and cuts he had seen.

And even though he was happy with becoming a Ranger, more so than he ever was of his knighthood dream, Will didn’t want to hear about how Horace had a special talent with the sword. It didn’t excuse all the times he had mocked Will’s dream.

“the broad-shouldered, tall boy from the Ward, whom Rodney had selected at the Choosing. He thought for a moment, searching for the boy’s name.

“Horace. That was is.

“The drill was standard format. Each boy, wearing a chain mail shirt and helmet and carrying a shield, stood before a padded hardwood post the height of a man. There was no point in practicing sword work unless you were burdened with a shield, helmet, and armor, as would be the case in battle, Rodney believed.”

“You’re not going to make me do that, are you?” Will asked Halt.

His future mentor rewarded him with a dry stare. “What’s the point in making you put on chain mail armor and having you swing a sword at a wooden post?”

“You know what I meant,” he snapped, only to look away chagrined when Halt leveled him with a pointed stare.

“No need to be rude,” he said affably. “Take time to engage your brain before you speak next time.”

Will kept his gaze focused on the grass beneath his feet. He did that a lot, both in person and in the book, but Halt didn’t have to act like he was an idiot by deliberately interpreting his words in a literal manner. Every Ranger in that clearing knew that he was asking if Halt would have a similar philosophy.

In hopes of easing the tension, Bartell started reading again.

“He thought it was best that the boys became used to the restrictions of the armor and weight of the equipment right from the start.”

Several Rangers nodded in agreement with Rodney’s thoughts. It was a sensible decision, one that they would make use of if they wore more than their mottled cloak.

“In addition to the shield, helmet, and mail, each boy also held a drill sword issued by the armorer. The drill swords were made of wood and bore little resemblance to a real sword, aside from the leather-bound hilt and crosspiece on each. In fact, they were long batons, made of seasoned, hardened hickory. But they weighed much the same as a slender steel blade, and the hilts were weighted to approximate the heft and balance of a real sword.”

Currently, only Gilan appeared to be remotely interested in what Bartell was reading, seeing as he was the only Ranger skilled in the use of a sword. And he hadn’t gone to any fief’s Battleschool, training directly under MacNeil. The set up was vastly different, but he supposed a Battleschool would be. They were training multiple students at once whereas he had personal training with the most legendary swordsman Araleun had ever produced.

“Eventually, the recruits would progress to drilling with actual swords—albeit with blunted edges and points. But that was still some months away, by which time the less suitable recruits would have been weeded out.”

Will’s flush was concealed by the fact that he had yet to look up from the ground. No doubt had Sir Rodney taken pity on him and let him join Battleschool he would be one of those less suitable recruits.

“It was quite normal for at least a third of the Battleschool applicants to drop out of the harsh training in the first three months. Sometimes it was the boy’s choice. For others, it was at the discretion of his instructors or, in extreme cases, Sir Rodney himself. Battleschool was harsh and standards were strict.”

“All positions are like that. You won’t find being a Ranger’s apprentice any easier than scribe’s, for example,” Crowley warned the young boy. “Each job has its own reasons for being demanding.”

Will glanced up. He looked at the Commandant first, then Halt. The grizzled Ranger didn’t look angry that Will had lost his temper, but Will wasn’t sure he would be able to tell. So far, Halt seemed to be a very laid-back person, letting Will make his own mistakes and calmly correcting him when he realized he had been wrong.

The teen supposed he was in the wrong here. At this point, he knew Halt well enough to know how he would act to a question like the one he had asked. The Ranger did explain that he was making a point; that Will had to be careful with the words he chose.

Will nodded at Crowley to show that he understood, and titled his head in Halt’s direction as a silent apology. His mentor gave him a sharp nod and all was forgiven.

“The practice yard rang with the thudding of wood against the thick, sun-hardened leather padding on the practice posts. At the head of the yard, drillmaster Sir Karel called the standard strokes that were being practiced.

“Five third-year cadets, under the direction of Sir Morton, an assistant drill instructor, moved among the boys, attending to the detail of the basic sword strokes: correcting a wrong movement here, changing the angle of a stroke there, making sure another boy’s shield wasn’t dropping to far as he struck.

“It was boring, repetitive work under the hot afternoon sun.”

Meralon agreed fully. Reading about brats in training to be knights was worse than reading about Will.

“But it was necessary. These were the basic moves by which these boys might well live or die at some later date and it was vital that they should be totally ingrained as to be instinctive.”

“Now that,” Merron emphasized, “is another important skill. We Rangers have learned to trust our instincts. If something looks wrong it’s usually because something is wrong.”

“It was that thought that had Rodney watching Horace now. As Karel called the basic cadence, Rodney had noticed that Horace was adding an occasional stroke to the sequence, and yet managing to do so without falling behind in his timing.”

Gilan whistled lowly. “That’s impressive. Boy actually has some natural talent. I’d like to spar with him some day.”

Will pushed away the irrational feeling of jealousy of his new friend wanting to match his sword skills against Horace.

“Karel had just begun another sequence and Sir Rodney leaned forward attentively, his eyes fixed on Horace.

““Thrust! Side cut! Backhand side! Overhand!” called the drillmaster. “Overhand backhand!””

Gilan amused that gathering by miming the movements. Without a sword in hand, it looked odd and Will couldn’t help but grin.

“And there it was again! As Karel called for the overhead backhand cut, Horace delivered it, but then almost instantly switched to a backhanded side cut as well, allowing the first to bounce off the post to prepare him instantly for the second. The stroke was delivered with such stunning speed and force that, in real combat, the result would have been devastating. His opponent’s shield, raised to block the overhead cut, could never have responded quickly enough to protect the uncovered ribs from the rapid side cut that followed.”

Will found himself impressed. Sir Rodney’s admiration of Horace’s speed reminded him of Halt’s demonstration just a half hour ago with his throwing knife. And he already had plenty of firsthand experience at how fast a Ranger could shoot multiple arrows in succession.

He hoped that he’d be able to do that by the time he was done training.

“Rodney had become aware over the past few minutes that the trainee was adding these extra strokes to the routine. He had seen it first from the corner of his eye, noticing the slight variation in the strict pattern of the drill, a quick flicker of extra movement that was there and gone almost too quickly to be noticed.

““Rest!” called Karel now, and Rodeny noted that, while most of the others let their weapons drop and stood flatfooted, Horace maintained his ready position, the sword tip slightly above waist height, moving on his toes in the break so as not to lose his own natural rhythm.

“Apparently, someone else had noticed Horace’s extra stroke as well. Sir Morton beckoned over one of the senior cadets and spoke to him, gesturing quickly toward Horace. The first-year trainee, his attention still focused on the training post that was his enemy, didn’t see the exchange. He looked up, startled, as the senior cadet approached and called out to him.”

Gilan and Halt exchange identical looks of wry amusement. It wasn’t hard to see where this was going. At some point, Rodney would step in, but only after Horace humiliated those that were trying to punish him for not following the drill.

It was one of Halt’s favorite methods for dealing with people in general. Let people be stupid and then correctly them bluntly, humiliating them and rendering them a non-threat.

““You there! At post fourteen. What d’you think you’re doing?”

“The look on Horace’s face was one of bewilderment—and worry. No first-year recruit enjoyed gaining the attention of any of the drillmasters or their assistants. They were all too conscious of that thirty percent attrition rate.

““Sir?” he said anxiously, not understanding the question. The senior cadet continued.

““You’re not following the pattern. Follow Sir Karel’s all, understand?”

“Rodney, watching carefully, was convinced that Horace’s bewilderment was genuine. The tall boy made a small movement of the shoulders, almost a shrug but not quite. He was at attention now, the sword resting over his right shoulder and the shield up in the parade position.

““Sir?” he said again, uncertainly. The senior cadet was getting angry now. He hadn’t noticed Horace’s extra moves himself and obviously assumed the younger boy was simply following a random sequence of his own devising. He leaned forward, his face only a few centimeters away from Horace’s, and said, in a voice far too loud for that amount of separation:

““Sir Karel calls the sequence he wants performed! You perform it! Understand?”

““Sir, I . . . did,” Horace replied, very red in the face now. He knew it was a mistake to argue with an instructor, but he also knew that he had performed every one of the strokes Karel had called.”

Crowley shook his head. It was a little unbelievable that Battleschools across Araleun taught their trainees not to question their instructors. The Craftmasters weren’t infallible. If an apprentice noticed something the mentor had not, or didn’t understand, or thought there was a better solution, he shouldn’t be afraid to tell his mentor so.

He understood it was necessary for knights. They were supposed to obey only the baron’s or King Duncan’s commands, and usually, when in battle, they would be following the orders of Battlemasters who had years more experience and capable of discerning the best way forward.

But he still thought it foolish. He would never be able to trust a Ranger to take care of a fief if he didn’t let them why and how things were done the way they were. He especially wouldn’t be able to send them on missions if he couldn’t trust them to think for themselves.

“The senior cadet, Rodney saw, was now at a disadvantage. He hadn’t actually seen what Horace had done. He covered his uncertainty with bluster. “Oh, you did, did you? Well, perhaps you might just repeat the last sequence for me. What sequence did Sir Karel call?”

“Without hesitation, Horace replied. “Sequence five, sir. Thrust. Side cut. Backhand side. Overhand. Overhand backhand.””

“Not the best test if the boy was paying attention,” commented Harrison. “Most of those boys should be able to repeat back the sequence. If he believed Horace wasn’t performing it right he should have asked for him to do so when he could observe.”

“What I’m more interested in,” Clarke began, “is why this senior cadet is under the impression that Horace was swinging at the post uncontrolled? If Sir Morton noticed the extra strokes and talked to this cadet about it, he should only be warning Horace not to be adding them, not berating him for not following the sequence.”

“The senior cadet hesitated. He’d assumed that Horace had simply been in a dream, hacking away at the post in any way he chose. But, as far as he could remember, Horace had just repeated the previous sequence perfectly. At least, he thought he had. The senior cadet wasn’t altogether sure of the sequence himself—“

There were several groans from the Rangers at that sentence. It was frankly unbelievable that one of the cadets on hand to insist with this drill wasn’t well practiced in it.

“How did that boy become a senior cadet if he hasn’t memorized the sequences yet?” Gilan complained.

“by now, but the trainee had replied with no hesitation at all. He was conscious that all of the other trainers were watching with considerable interest. It was a natural reaction. Trainees always enjoyed seeing somebody else being berated for a mistake. It tended to draw attention away from their own deficiencies.

““What’s going on here, Paul?” Sir Morton, the assistant drillmaster, sounded none too pleased with all this discussion. He’d originally ordered the senior cadet to reprimand the trainee for his lack of attention.”

“Well, that answers your question, Clarke. Apparently Morton is just as uninformed as his cadet, despite having witnessed it firsthand himself.”

“That reprimand should have been delivered by now and the matter ended. Instead, the class was being disrupted. Senior Cadet Paul came to attention.

““Sir, the trainee says he performed the sequence,” he replied. Horace was about to reply to the implication obvious in the emphasis the senior cadet placed on the words says. Then he thought better of it and shut his mouth firmly.”

Will bit back a snort. That was the first time he heard of Horace holding his tongue when he had been insulted.

““Just a moment.” Paul and Sir Morton looked around, a little surprised. They hadn’t seen Sir Rodney approaching. Around them, the other trainees came to stiff attention. Sir Rodney was held in awe by all members of Battleschool, particularly the newer ones.”

“Just like Halt here!” Gilan crowed, earning him a baleful glare.

“Morton didn’t quite come to attention, but he straightened a little, squaring his shoulders.

“Horace bit his lip in an agony of concern. He could see the prospect of dismissal from Battleschool looming before him. First, he seemed to have alienated the three second-year cadets who were making his life a misery. Then he had drawn the unwelcome attention of Senior Cadet Paul and Sir Morton. Now this—the Battlemaster himself. And to make matters worse, he had no idea what he had done wrong. He searched his memory and he could distinctly remember performing the sequence as it had been called.

““Do you remember the sequence, Cadet Horace?” said the Battlemaster.

“The cadet nodded emphatically, then, realizing that this wasn’t regarded as an acceptable response to a question from a senior officer, he said:

““Yes, sir. Sequence five, sir.””

Meralon rolled his eyes. This chapter was quickly becoming tedious. The stupid Battlemaster should have stepped in at the beginning and spared them having to read two pages of information that would be repeated.

“That was the second time he had identified the sequence, Rodney noted.”

“I should hope so,” Halt grumbled. “It was only five strokes and he performed it just five minutes ago. If he forgot that quickly he’d deserve to be cut.”

“He would have been willing to bet that not one of the other cadets could have said which sequence from the drill manual they had just completed.”

“So they care that he knows what number sequence it is?” Will said slowly. “Not what strokes it consisted of? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” Geldon asked.

“Well, why does what number it is matter? Should knowing which strokes it involves be enough proof that he was following the drill?”

“I couldn’t tell you why knowing the number is basic information for the cadets, but I can tell you that even small details can be important. Something as simple as a broken branch can tell you what direction your target is moving, whether they are on foot or on horse, how long it’s been since they passed through. It might be something they expect the senior cadets to learn by repetition.”

Since Sir Rodney was present to explain the matter, Will figured that was the best explanation he was going to get.

“He doubted that the senior cadets would have been any better informed.”

Bartell ignored Gilan’s cry of dismay and pretended that the sword wielder hadn’t spoken. Even though everyone clearly heard him say that the cadets should have knowledge memorized before they were even allowed to hold a practice sword.

“Sir Morton went to say something, but Rodney held up a hand to stop him.

““Perhaps you could repeat it for us now,” he said, he stern voice giving no hint of the growing interest he was feeling in this recruit. He gestured to the practice post.

““Take your position. Calling the cadence . . . begin!”

“Horace performed the sequence flawlessly, calling the strokes as he went.

““Thrust! Side cut! Backhand side! Overhand! Overhand backhand!”

“The drill sword thudded into the leather padding in strict timing. The rhythm was perfect. The execution of the strokes was faultless. But this time, Rodney noticed, there was no additional stroke. The lightning-fast reverse side cut didn’t appear. He thought he knew why. Horace was concentrating on getting the sequence correct this time. Previously, he had been acting instinctively.

“Sir Karel, attracted by Sir Rodney’s intervention into a standard drill session,”

“He’s only now just getting involved?”

“strolled through the ranks of trainees standing by their practice posts. His eyebrows arched a question at Sir Rodney. As a senior knight, he was entitled to such informality. The Battlemaster held up a hand again. He didn’t want anything to break Horace’s attention right now.”

“But he’s finished with the sequence,” Alun pointed out.

“But he was glad Karel was here to witness what he was sure to happen.

““Again,” he said, in the same stern voice and, once again, Horace went through the sequence. As he finished, Rodney’s voice cracked like a whip”

““Again.”

“And again Horace performed the fifth sequence. This time, as he finished, Rodney snapped: “Sequence three!”

““Thrust! Thrust! Backstep! Cross parry! Shield block! Side cut!” Horace called as he performed the moves.

“Now Rodney could see that the boy was moving lightly on his toes, the sword a flickering tongue that danced out and in and across. And without realizing it, Horace was calling the cadence for the moves nearly half as quickly again as the drillmaster had been.

“Karel caught Rodney’s eye. He nodded appreciatively. But Rodney wasn’t finished yet. Before Horace had time to think, he called the fifth sequence again and the boy responded.

““Thrust! Side cut! Backhand side! Overhand! Overhand backhand!”

““Backhand side!” snapped Sir Rodney instantly and, in response, almost of its own will, Horace’s sword flickered in that extra deadly move. Sir Rodney heard the small sounds of surprise from Morton and Karel. They realized the significance of what they had seen. Senior Cadet Paul, perhaps understandably, wasn’t quite so fast to grasp it. As far as he was concerned, the trainee had responded to an extra order from the Battlemaster. He’d done it well, admittedly, and he certainly seemed to know which end of the sword was which.”

“Which was never a point of concern,” Crowley remarked dryly.

“But that was all the cadet had seen.

““Rest!” Sir Rodney ordered, and Horace allowed the sword point to drop to the dust, hand on the pommel, standing feet apart with the sword hilt centered against his belt buckle, in the parade rest position.

““Now, Horace,” said the Battlemaster quietly, “do you remember adding that backhand side cut to the sequence the first time?””

“Couldn’t they have just asked him that to begin with? It would have been a lot simpler,” said Berrigan.

“Horace frowned, then understanding dawned in his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but now that the Battlemaster had prompted his memory, he thought that maybe he had.”

“Are you telling me this kid can name the sequence number for every drill he’s performed, but he can’t remember how he performed them?” Gilan asked, more than a little incredulously.

Surprisingly, Will found himself coming to his Wardmate’s defense. “Not everyone has the memory of a Ranger, Gilan.”

“Brat,” was the rejoinder.

““Uh . . . yes, sir. I think so. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to. It just sort of . . . happened.”

“Rodney glanced quickly at his drillmasters. He could see that they understood the significance of what had happened here. He nodded at them, passing a silent message that he wanted nothing made of this—yet.

““Well, no harm done. But pay attention for the rest of the period and just perform the strokes Sir Karel calls for, all right?””

“Why would they do that?” Will asked. “If this is such a big deal, shouldn’t they want Horace to use his instincts? Why would they want to stifle them?”

“Because they don’t want the other trainees trying to copy Horace,” Andross answered. “It’s a natural skill that Horace’s isn’t likely to forget, but the other cadets aren’t capable of it.”

“Horace came to attention. “Yes, sir.” He snapped his eyes toward the drillmaster. “Sorry, sir!” he added, and Karel dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand.

““Pay closer attention in the future.” Karel nodded to Sir Rodney, sensing that the Battlemaster wanted to be on his way. “Thank you, sir. Permission to continue?”

“Sir Rodney nodded assent. “Carry on, drillmaster.” He began to turn away, then, as if he’d remembered something else, he turned back, and added casually, “Oh, by the way, could I see you in my quarters after classes are dismissed this evening?”

““Of course, sir,” said Karel, equally casually, knowing that Sir Rodney wanted to discuss this phenomenon, but didn’t want Horace to be aware of his interest.

“Sir Rodney strolled slowly back to the Battleschool headquarters. Behind him, he heard Karel’s preparatory orders, then the repetitive thud, thud, thud-thud-thud of wood on leather padding began once more.”

The chapter was finished with rather quickly, Just on principle; none of the Rangers aside from Gilan were interested in Horace’s training. They were concerned with the threat of Morgarath that the book had opened with and worry for the boy who would become an apprentice next year, because he was clearly involved.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop them from commenting on parts of Horace’s training that simply didn’t make sense, like needing four people to solve a matter Sir Rodney could have just discussed with his drillmaster afterwards.

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Gilan clapped suddenly. “It’s your turn to read, Halt! No getting out of it! You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

Halt heaved a put upon sigh but accepted the book from Bartell. “But if you speak even once, I’m throwing it at you.”

Gilan gasped. “But that’s not fair!”

“I don’t care,” his former master said.

“Halt—“

“Is it odd referring to yourself in third person?”

Merron groaned. “Gilan, can’t you let the man finish a sentence before you jump in? He only read one word.”

The young Ranger shrugged, unapologetic. “I was curious,” he smiled guilelessly.

“examined the target Will had been shooting at, and nodded.

““Not bad at all,” he said. “Your shooting is definitely improving.””

Unnoticed by all, Will breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to hear from the book the he supposedly had the skills to make a good Ranger. His job was something he had spent the last five years of his life worrying about and it was reassuring to learn that not only did he find one that he enjoyed as much as he thought he would knighthood, but one that he would improve at.

Well, it was more like Halt found him, given how the man had literally brought him to Redmont and caught him stealing from Master Chubb’s kitchen and breaking into Baron Arald’s office, but that was only semantics.

“Will couldn’t help grinning. That was high praise indeed from Halt.”

“What did I tell you?” Gilan cried heartily, slapping the to-be apprentice on the back hard enough to almost knock him sideways. “He’ll praise you when you’ve earned it. Nice and quiet like.”

“This chapter is going to take forever, isn’t it?” Andross asked, question not directed at anyone in particular.

Not that he needed to. Every Ranger knew that Halt’s first apprentice was going to take every opportunity to heckle his once upon a time Master as revenge for the hell Halt no doubt put him through when he showed up and refused to go away.

“Halt saw the expression and immediately add, “With more practice—a lot more practice—you might even achieve mediocrity.””

Crowley exhaled in exasperation. “Was that really necessary?”

Halt shrugged, not looking guilty whatsoever. “Arrogance and ego are deadly poisons. Best to nip it in the bud before they take root.”

“Will wasn’t absolutely sure what mediocrity was, but he sensed that it wasn’t good.”

Meralon wasn’t the only one to frown at that line, though he was the only one to do so because he was one hundred percent fed up with what he viewed as a farce. Geldon and Bartell were stunned to learn that a fifteen year old didn’t know what mediocrity was. Were the kingdom’s Wards so understaffed that the orphans weren’t receiving adequate education?

“The grin faded and Halt dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.

““That’s enough shooting for now. Let’s go,” he said and set off, striding down the narrow path through the forest.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Gilan cautioned. “For now could be as long as four hours.”

“Archery is an important skill,” was Halt’s excuse, delivered in the form of a flat statement. He picked up where he left off before the Meric Ranger could complain. Or speak at all.

““Where are we going?” Will asked, half running to keep up with the Ranger’s longer strides.

“Halt looked up at the trees above him.

““Why does this boy ask so many questions?” he asked the trees.”

“Why do you ask the trees questions?” Will huffed. “You said last chapter inquisitiveness was a good quality in a Ranger, so you aren’t allowed to get disgruntled when I ask questions.”

“You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.”

“Naturally, they didn’t answer.

“They walked for an hour before they came to a small collection of buildings buried deep in the forest.”

Will’s curiosity got the better of him and he tried to read the page over Halt’s shoulder. Said man nudged him without breaking his concentration.

“Will was aching to ask more questions. But he’d learned by now that Halt wasn’t going to answer them, so he held his tongue and bided his time.”

“That’ll be the day,” muttered Halt.

At the same time, Gilan snorted. “You learned quickly. I bet that doesn’t last long.” To which Will pouted, not actually upset by the Ranger’s teasing because he knew it too be true.

“Sooner or later, he knew, he’d learn why they’d come here”

The gather of Rangers shared mischievous grins. “You’ll enjoy learning why,” Alun spoke for all of them.

Meanwhile, Halt was wondering if he could somehow skip over part of this chapter. If he was going to be saddled with an apprentice, he wanted to derive some amusement from their thoughtlessness. Witnessing a cocky Gilan get thrown was one of the highlights of training the boy. It was unfair that Will would be prepared ahead of time. And it wasn’t just fun and games for him. They were life lessons that could only be learned through experience.

The grizzled Ranger exhaled softly. There was nothing he could do. It would be all too obvious if he tried to omit anything.

He wasn’t one to usually rely on luck, finding it better that he knew his own capabilities and what he could do and practiced to overcome any shortcomings, but Halt hoped that Will would forget some of the minor details and secrets of the Ranger Corps that were revealed.

“Halt led the way up to the largest of the ramshackle huts, then stopped, signaling for Will to do likewise.

““Hullo, Old Bob!” he called.”

“Who’s Old Bob?” Will asked, eyes flickering from across the twelve Rangers. “Is he a Ranger for another fief?”

“You walked an hour away from my cabin,” Halt remarked dryly, “not an entire day. You’re still in Redmont.”

Having his mistake pointed out caused Will to blush. What a way to show that he had what it took to be a Ranger. Old Bob couldn’t be a Ranger from another fief, elsewise he wouldn’t live in Redmont.

“Patience, lad,” Crowley said. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Will ducked his head, knowing that his enthusiasm and insatiable need to know things would often have him putting the cart before the horse. Well, he thought sardonically, at least he would have forewarning on what he needed to work on.

“Will heard someone moving inside the hut, then a wrinkled, bent figure appeared in the doorway. His beard was long and matted and a dirty white color. He was almost completely bald. As he moved toward them, grinning and nodding a greeting to Halt, Will caught his breath. Old Bob smelled like a stable. And a none to clean one at that.”

“And there’s a good reason for that,” teased the dark haired Clarke and Will pouted, knowing he would get no answers if he asked.

““Morning to you, Ranger!” said Old Bob. “Who’s this you’ve brung to see me?”

“He looked keenly at Will. The eyes were bright and very alert, despite his dirty, unkempt appearance.”

“Aye, eyes of a horse, that one,” Harrison commented, with a probing look towards the teen.

““This is Will, my new apprentice,” said Halt. “Will, this is Old Bob.”

““Good morning, sir,” said Will politely. The old man cackled.

““Calls me sir! Hear that, Ranger, calls me sir! Make a fine Ranger, this one will!”

“Will smiled at him. Dirty as he might be, there was something likable about Old Bob—perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to be in no way overawed by Halt.” Said man paused minutely to turn a raised eyebrow on Will.

Will stammered about all the people who looked over their shoulders when the Ranger walked by, expressions a mixture of fear and gratitude.

“Will couldn’t remember seeing anyone speaking to the grim-faced Ranger in quite this familiar tone before. Halt grunted impatiently.

““Are they ready?” he asked. The old man cackled again and nodded several times.”

The fourteen year old felt a chill race down his spine.  Having come to understand the dry sense of humor all Rangers shared, he no longer wanted to know the outcome of this trip. It’d probably end with his book self in pain because he acted without thinking.

““Ready they are indeed!” he said. “Step this way and see them.”

“He led them to the back of the hut, where a small paddock was fenced off. At the far side, there was a lean-to shed. Just a roof and supporting post. No walls. Old Bob let out a piercing whistle that made Will jump.

““There they are, see?” he said, pointing to the lean-to.

“Will looked and saw two small horses trotting across the yard to greet the old man. As they came closer, he realized that one was a horse, the other was a pony.”

That was a comfort to Will. He couldn’t see how this could end badly. He had some experience with horses, enough to know how to saddle and ride one, even though he hadn’t ridden one himself until Gilan brought him to the Gathering. But how hard could it be?

Over his head Halt and Crowley shared knowing grins, the forming wondering if the boy would put two and two together and realize that these were the horses that Halt had misappropriated from the Temujai.

“But both were small, shaggy animals, nothing like the fierce, sleek battlehorses that the Baron and his knights rode to war.”

Will groaned lowly, wondering how long his book self was going to be hung up over his non-acceptance to Battleschool.

“The larger of the two trotted immediately to Halt’s side. He patted its neck and handed it an apple from a bin close by the fence. The horse crunched it gratefully. Halt leaned forward and said a few words into its ear. The horse tossed its head and neighed, as if it was sharing some private joke with the Ranger.”

That earned a round of laughter from the Rangers, who knew it to be entirely true. Their horses were intelligent creatures, understanding for more than they let on.

“The pony waited by Old Bob until he had given it an apple to crunch as well. Then it turned one large, intelligent eye on Will.

““This ‘un’s called Tug,” said the old man. “He looks about your size, don’t he?””

Will thought the crack about his height was uncalled for. He was still a growing boy. And it wasn’t like the Rangers were all that much taller than himself. Gilan was the tallest of the lot, but everyone else was short statured.

“He passed the rope bridle to Will, who took it and looked into the horse’s eyes. He was a shaggy little beast. His legs were short, but sturdy. His body was barrel shaped. His mane and tail were ragged and unbrushed. All in all, as horses went, he wasn’t a very impressive sight, thought Will.”

“You won’t be singing that tune for very long,” Gilan chuckled.

“I know,” responded Will, remembering the man explaining how Ranger horses had unique code words.

Will’s confident tone seemed to throw him for a loop, but he must have realized that he had already shared the secret because his wide grin turned into a ridiculously over exaggerated pout.

“He’d always dreamt of the horse he would one day ride into battle: in those dreams, the horse was tall and majestic. It was a fierce and jet black, combed and brushed until it shone like black armor.”

“You won’t find a horse better than a Ranger horse,” Andross said solemnly, to the agreement of his brethren.

Will looked a little doubtful. It was neat that they couldn’t be stolen easily, but that didn’t exactly make them a precious commodity. Unless, of course, he thought, there was still more to them. It would figure that Ranger horses had just as many secrets as their riders.

“The horse almost seemed to sense what he was thinking and butted its head gently against his shoulder.

“I may not be very big, its eyes seemed to say, but I might just surprise you.

“Well,” said Halt. “What do you think of him?” He was fondling the other horse’s soft nose. They were obviously old friends. Will hesitated. He didn’t want to offend anyone.”

“It happens with every new Ranger,” Berrgian said.

“Even you?” Will questioned skeptically.

“Even me,” the jongleur admitted. “You could everything you think there is to know about those horses and they’ll still surprise you a month later.”

““He’s sort of . . . small,” he said finally.

““So are you,” Halt pointed out. Will couldn’t think of an answer to that.”

“That’s for the best,” Gilan piped up. “He’d only tell you that you’re not ready to think.” Will grinned ruefully at Halt’s other apprentice, not doubting his wisdom. He wasn’t a Ranger’s apprentice yet and Halt treated him as though he was, including his oft spoken phrase about him not being ready to think.

Will had only known the man for a few days and already lost count of how many times he had heard it.

“Old Bob wheezed with laughter.

““He ain’t no battlehorse, are he, boy?” he asked.

““Well . . . no, he isn’t,” Will said awkwardly. He liked Bob and he felt any criticism of the pony might be taken personally. But Old Bob simply laughed again.”

“Old Bob’s used to dealing with young boys who think a horse has to be strong, tall, and powerful.”

““But he’ll run any of those fine fancy-looking battlehorses into the ground!” he said proudly. “He’s a strong ‘un. He’ll keep going all day, long after them fancy horses have laid down and died.”

“Will looked at the shaggy little animal doubtfully.

““I’m sure he will,” he said politely.

“Halt leaned against the paddock fence.

““Why don’t you see?” he suggested. “You’re fast on your feet. Turn him loose and see if you can capture him again.””

Gilan leaned forward eagerly, wrapping an arm companionably around Will and digging a fist into his ribs. “This is going to be good,” he said, voice laced with obvious glee.

Will wanted to bury his face in his hands, knowing even without the brunet’s excitement that he was going to screw up in some way they would all find amusing. He only hoped it wasn’t too embarrassing.

“Will sensed the challenge in the Ranger’s voice. He dropped the rope bridle. The horse, as if realizing that this was some sort of test, skipped lightly away into the center of the small enclosure. Will ducked under the fence rails and walked softly toward the pony. He held out his hand invitingly. “Come on, boy,” he said. “Stand still there.”

“He reached out his hand for the bridle and the little horse suddenly wheeled away. It shied to one side, then the other, the sidestepped neatly around Will and danced backward out of reach.

“He tried again.

“Again the horse evaded him easily. Will was beginning to feel foolish.”

And so he was. His face was a bright red. He couldn’t believe he was being outsmarted by a horse. Everyone else appeared to be enjoying his misfortune if their relaxed grins were anything to go by.

“He advanced on the horse and it backed away, moving closer and closer to one of the corners. Then, just when Will thought he had it, it nimbly danced to one side and was away again.

“Will lost his temper now and ran after it.”

“That won’t do you any good, boy.”

“The horse whinnied in amusement and romped easily out of his reach. It was enjoying this game.

“And so it went. Will would approach, the horse would duck and dodge and escape. Even in the close confines of the small paddock, he couldn’t reach it.

“He stopped. He was conscious of the fact that Halt was watching him carefully.”

“He always will be,” Crowley told him. “It’s his job as a mentor to keep an eye on you and see that you’re learning the trade. And that you’re not making a fool of yourself,” he finished smirking.

“He thought for a moment or two. There must be a way to do it. He’d never catch a horse as light on its feet and fast-moving as this one. There must be another way . . .

“His gaze fell on the bin of apples outside the fence. Quickly, he ducked under the rail and seized an apple. Then he went back into the paddock and stood stock-still, holding the apple out.

““Come on, boy,” he said.

“Tug’s ears shot up. He liked apples. He also thought he like this boy—he played this game well.”

Will raised shot the book an incredulous look. It even included a horse’s thoughts?

“Tossing his head approvingly, he trotted forward and took the apple delicately. Will seized hold of the bridle and the pony crunched the apple. If a horse could be said to look blissful, this one did.

“Will looked up and saw Halt nodding approval.

““Well thought out,” said the Ranger. Old Bob elbowed the gray-cloaked man in the ribs.

““Clever boy, that!” he cackled. “Clever and polite! That ‘un’ll make a good team with Tug, won’t he?”

“Will patted the shaggy neck and the pricked-up ears. He looked now at the old man.”

““Why do you call him Tug?” he asked.

“Instantly, Will’s arm was nearly torn from its socket as the pony jerked its head back.”

The Rangers roared with laughter. This time, Will laughed with him. His pony was aptly named. He should have known better than to ask that question. A Ranger horse would prove exactly how it earned its name.

“Will staggered, then regained his balance. Old Bob’s braying laugh rang out around the clearing.

“See if you can guess!” he said delightedly.

“His laughter was infectious and Will couldn’t help smiling himself. Halt glanced up at the sun, which was fast disappearing behind the trees that fringed Old Bob’s clearing and the meadows beyond.

““Take him over to the lean-to and Bob can show you how to groom him and look after his tack,” he said, then added to the old man, “We’ll stay with you tonight, Bob, if that’s not inconvenient?”

“The old horse handler nodded his head in pleasure. “I’ll be glad of the company, Ranger. Sometimes I spend so much time with the horses that I start to think I’m one myself.” Unconsciously, he dipped a hand into the apple barrel and selected one, absentmindedly crunching into it—much as Tug had done a few minutes earlier.”

Will found himself thinking that Old Bob’s appearance and habits did remind him a lot of a horse.

“Is Old Bob Redmont’s horse breeder?” he asked at large.

Crowley turned an approving eye on him. “He breeds horses for the Ranger Corps. Can’t have fifty people knowing the secrets of our magic horses,” he answered lightly. “Not to mention they’re long lived beasts. We couldn’t go through that many.”

He didn’t mention that the horses were specially bred and recycled so that a Ranger had the same horse his entire career. They had to keep back some secrets, and this is one Will would learn after fifteen years.

“Halt watched him, one eyebrow raised.

“We might be just in time,” he observed dryly. “Then, tomorrow, we’ll see if Will can ride Tug as well as catch him,” he said, guessing as he said it that his apprentice would get very little sleep that night.”

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Will asked crossly.

He received an answer by way of Halt ignoring him to continue reading.

“He was right. Old Bob’s tiny cabin had only two rooms, so after their supper, Halt stretched out on the floor by the fireplace and Will bedded down in the warm, clean straw of the barn, listenting to the gentle whiffling sounds of the two horses. The moon rose and fell as he lay wide awake, wondering and worrying over what the next day might bring. Would he be able to ride Tug? He’d never ridden a horse. Would he fall off the minute he tried?”

“Not for the reasons you’re imagining,” Gilan answered, “but yes.”

“Would he be hurt? Worse still, would he embarrass himself?”

“Only your pride,” Gilan answered once more.

“He liked Old Bob and didn’t want to look foolish in front of him. Nor in front of Halt, he realized, with a little surprise. He was still wondering when Halt’s good opinion had come to mean so much to him when he finally fell asleep.”

“That’s it,” said Halt, gently closing the book, not letting on how pleased he was that Will had come to look up to him and wanted to make him proud in such a short time. That was exactly the kind of relationship he wanted to build with his apprentice, one of mutual respect and trust.

“Figures you would get the shortest chapter,” Gilan snorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you leafed through it and chose to go last so you wouldn’t have to read as much.”

Crowley stretched his arms above his head, popping his back with a loud crack. “I think this would be a good place to break for lunch. Everyone’s had a turn to read. I’ll pick it up again after we eat.”

Will was almost vibrating from anxiousness as he waited for the stew to be prepared. He really wanted to know if he could ride Tug.

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

Notes:

Few things before you dive in. Considering the importance they have in later books, I want to bring in the king and princess. I have three places I've been thinking about: the boar hunt, the gathering, or when they're tracking the Kalkara. I'd prefer the Kalkara, but I want to know when you want them to show up.

Also, it's getting time to broaden the numbers of Rangers, so if anyone's interested in submitting a Ranger, I'd really appreciate it. I'd need a name, approximate age, description, fief, and a key personality trait.

Fed and water much like they just read Tug had been, the motley collection of Rangers gathered once more.

““So, you saw it. What did you think?” Sir Rodney asked.”

Will bit the inside of his cheek to keep from complaining. Even before Crowley had said Sir Rodney’s name, he knew this chapter was about Horace. How come he had nearly as many as Will himself had? The books dealt with the Ranger’s apprentice, which meant him. And from what he learned of them already, Rangers worked solo, maybe in pairs, but never with knights.

He was surprised by how bitter he felt. More so than he had ever in the Ward when Horace mocked his dream to be a knight or cruelly pointed out that he was the only one without a second name. He might be talented, but he was nothing more than a bully. He would never change, so why was his training so important?

“Karel reached across and poured himself another tankard from the jug of beer that was on the table between them. Rodney’s quarters were simple enough—even Spartan when it was remembered that he was head of the Battleschool. Battlemasters in other fiefs took advantage of the position to surround themselves with the trappings of luxury, but that wasn’t Rodney’s style. His room was simply furnished, with a pinewood table for a desk and six straight-baked pine chairs around it.

“There was a fireplace in the corner, of course. Rodney might have preferred to live in a simple style, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed discomfort, and winters in Castle Redmont were cold. Right now it was late summer and the think stone walls of the castle buildings served to keep the interiors cool. When the cold weather came, those same thick walls would retain the heat of the fire.”

Meralon was ready to excuse himself for personal matters, never mind that he didn’t need to relieve himself, just to get away from the reading for a few minutes. The redundancy and style of writing, like whoever read it wouldn’t know anything about Araluen, was more than a little annoying. If the book was written for them, the long descriptions and explanations weren’t necessary. Perhaps he would volunteer the next time the Commandant needed one of his Rangers to run a message.

Anything was better than watching the boy’s hero worship of them; how the other Rangers were already treating him like he was an apprentice. Meralon was disgusted by how the rest of his colleagues returned. There were nowhere near as obvious about it as the boy, but, rightfully assuming that the brat would be integral to Morgarath’s defeat, they were already treating him as if he had accomplished it.

Not caring for the second Ward brat, Meralon did excuse himself. With luck, they would finish the chapter before he came back.

“On one wall, a large bay window looked out of the Battleschool’s drill field. Facing the winding, on the opposite wall, was a doorway, screened by a thick curtain, leading to Rodney’s sleeping quarters—a simple soldier’s bed and more wooden furniture.”

“Raise your hand if you have furniture not made of wood.”

Gilan’s sarcastic remark was duly ignored.

“It had been a little more ornate when his wife Antoinette was still alive, but she had died some years previously and the rooms were now unmistakably masculine in character, without any item in them that wasn’t functional and with an absolute minimum of decoration.”

Unbidden, Will tried to imagine Halt, who must be older than the Battlemaster, as a married man. He seemed to gruff to be able to charm any woman into marriage.

““I saw it,” Karel agreed. “Not sure that I believed it, but I saw it.””

“Understandable,” said Geldon.

“Understandable?” Will parroted.

“You’ll find, in our line of work, that what you see isn’t always the truth. Don’t deny it out of hand,” he advised, “but never take it for the truth without further reconnaissance. If someone thinks they’re being watched, they’ll act differently. Overly cautious.”

“Unfortunately for them,” Gilan grinned, “that attitude gives away that they have something to hide. Important secrets that we want to learn.”

““You only saw it once,” said Rodney. “He was doing it constantly throughout the session—and I’m convinced he was doing it unconsciously.”

“As fast as the one I saw?” Karel asked. Rodney nodded emphatically.

“If anything, faster. He was adding an extra stroke to the routines but staying in time with the call.” He hesitated, then finally said what they were both thinking. “The boy’s a natural.””

Will, seeing the thoughtful expressions on the older of the Rangers, didn’t question why Rodney and Karel were treating Horace’s ability like a hidden mistress. He was glad that the Battlemaster would turn him down in a year. Even the experienced ones made no sense.

“Karel inclined his head thoughtfully. Based on what he’d seen, he wasn’t prepared to dispute the fact. And the Battlemaster had been watching the boy for some time during the session, he knew. But natural were few and far between. They were those unique people for whom the skill of swordplay moved into an entirely different dimension. It became not so much a skill as an instinct to them.”

Well, Will supposed that answered his question. But the answer made him burn with jealousy. Horace was proving much more skilled in his apprenticeship than himself. “Is it like that for you, Gilan?” he asked, not wanting to compare himself to his personal bully.

Brown eyes twinkled at him. “I’d imagine you’d find out in these books. I’d give you a demonstration, but none of these gentlemen know one end of a sword from another . . .”

Where he trailed off, Crowley picked up. “What he means to say is that most knights and soldiers attain their skill through years of hard work and conditioning. Those that have natural talent are few and far between. They become legends.”

Will rather liked the sound of that. To be known, to be recognized; it was all that he had ever wanted. And he just might be getting it, if the Rangers’ suspicions of the near future were to be believed.

“They were the ones who became the champions. The sword masters. Experienced warriors like Sir Rodney and Sir Karel were expert swordsmen, but naturals took the skill to a higher plane. It was as if for them, the sword in their hand became a true extension of not just their bodies, but of their personalities as well. The sword seemed to act in instant communion and harmony with the natural’s mind, acting even faster than conscious thought. Naturals were possessed of unique skills in timing and balance and rhythm.

“As such, they presented a heavy responsibility to those who were entrusted with their training. For those natural skills and abilities had to be carefully nurtured and developed in a long-term training program to allow the warrior, already highly proficient as a matter of course, to develop his true potential for genius.”

“This Karel is awfully wordy in his thoughts,” Berrigan commented dryly, one of the few amused by how the man was reiterating his point to himself. It should not be so hard to accept that there was a skill apprentice that year.

““You’re sure?” Karel said eventually and Rodney nodded again, his gaze out the window. In his mind he was seeing the boy training, seeing those extra flickers of lightning-fast movement.

““I’m sure,” he said simply. “We’ll have to let Wallace know that he’ll have another pupil next semester.””

“Who’s Wallace?”

Halt rolled his eyes to the heavens, despite having anticipated the boy would ask the question. He’d have to train that impatience out of him.

In answer, the Commandant continued to read. “Wallace was the sword master at the Redmont Battleschool. He was the one who had the responsibility for adding the final polish to the basic skills that Karel and the others taught. In the event of an outstanding trainee—as Horace obviously was—he would give them private instruction in advanced techniques. Karel curled his bottom lip thoughtfully as he thought about the time frame Rodney had suggested.

““Not until then?” he said. The next semester was almost three months away. “Why not get him started straightaway? From what I saw, he’s already mastered the basic stuff.” But Rodney shook his head.

““We haven’t really assessed his personality yet,” he said. “He seems a nice enough lad, but you never know. If he turns out to be a mist of some kind, I don’t want to give him the sort of advanced instruction that Wallace can provide.””

“Sensible man,” nodded Clarke.

“If only he had managed it with those three second years,” Andross said.

“Though, one could say if Horace was not being tormented by those cadets, he would grow to be them,” Bartell pointed out, inclining his head in the boy’s direction to remind them of how Horace picked on him. “It’s not an ideal situation, but he’ll learn from it.”

“Once he thought of it, Karel agreed with the Battlemaster. After all, if it should turn out that Horace had to be disqualified from Battleschool because of some other failing, it might be embarrassing, not to mention dangerous, if he were already on the road to being a highly trained swordsman. Disqualified trainees often reacted with resentment.”

“Understandable,” Merron sighed, “if immature. No one likes to be told they aren’t good enough.”

““And another thing,” Rodney added. “Let’s keep this to ourselves—and tell Morton the same. I don’t want the boy hearing any word of this yet. It might make him cocky and that could be dangerous for him.””

Too late for that, Will thought, mulish. Whatever sympathy he might have for his Ward mate’s future bullying, he currently was an arrogant git that thought himself the center of the world because he was guaranteed placement at Battleschool, and thus would be a hero.

““That’s true enough,” Karel agreed. He finished the last of his beer in two quick drafts, set his tankard down on the table and stood. “Well, I’d better be getting along. I’ve got reports to finish.”

““Who hasn’t?” the Battlemaster said with some feling, and the two old friends exchanged rueful grins. “I never knew there was so much paper involved in running a Battleschool.” Karel snorted in derision.

““Sometimes I think we should forget the weapons training and just throw all the paper at the enemy—bury them in it.””

That particular comment earned a round of hearty laughter. Crowley found himself quite amenable to the suggestion. His position as Commandant of the Ranger Corps, a highly secretive intelligence organization positioned in all fifty fiefs meant he had fifty times the amount of reports and other paper work than Rodney.

“He gave an informal salute—just touching one finger to his forehead—that was in keeping with his seniority. Then he turned and headed for the door. He paused as Rodney added one last point to their discussion.

““Keep an eye on the boy, of course,” he said. “But don’t let him become aware of it.”

““Of course,” Karel replied. “We don’t want him to start thinking there’s something special about him.”

“At that moment, there was no chance that Horace would think there was anything special about him—at least, not in any positive sense. What he did feel was that there was something about him that attracted trouble.

“Word had gone around about the strange scene at the training ground. His classmates, not understanding what happened, all assumed that Horace had somehow annoyed the Battlemaster and now waited for the inevitable retribution. They knew that the rule during the first semester was that, when one member of a class made a mistake, the entire class paid for it.”

“An effective training method. It promotes unity amongst a group of boys that will likely be serving together,” Bartell explained.

“But isn’t it a little—unfair?” Will decided. “Why should everyone be punished for one person’s mistake?”

“Perhaps,” Seacliff’s Ranger acknowledged, “but individuality is not encouraged in knights. They are soldiers that fight in a unit. Working well together is a necessity for them.”

“As a result, the atmosphere in their dormitory had been strained, to say the least. Horace had finally made his way out of the room, intending to head for the river to escape the condemnation and blame he could feel from the others. Unfortunately, when he did so, he walked straight into the waiting arms of Alda, Bryn, and Jerome.”

“Not quite brainless, then,” was Halt’s biting comment. “They knew the pressure of his peers would drive him to flee the dormitory. All they had to do was lie in wait and the opportunity to further torment Horace would be handed to them on a silver platter,” he explained when Will turned big brown eyes on him, seeing the question shining in them.

“The three older boys had heard a garbled version of the scene at the practice yard. They assumed that Horace had been criticized for his sword work—“

“A correct assumption.”

“—and decided to make him suffer for it.

“However, they knew their attentions would not necessarily meet with the approval of the Battleschool staff. Horace, as a newcomer, had no way of knowing that this sort of systematic bullying was totally disproved of by Sir Rodney and the other instructors. Horace simply assumed that was the way things were supposed to be, and not knowing any better, went along with it, allowing himself to be bullied and insulted.”

Will would be the first to claim Horace was the type of person with more brawn than brain, but considering the high standards and ideals knights and Battlemasters adhered to, it was surprising to hear that he thought the bullying was something Battleschool would allow.

When he posed the question of why to the adults, he received a rather unexpected answer.

“Likely, he views it as a necessary evil, so to speak. That the older boys are not tormenting him for the fun of it, but to make him stronger. That may even be the method he takes with you.”

He didn’t say it, but Will was pretty sure Alun was full of horse shit.

“It was for this reason that the three second-year cadets marched Horace to the riverside, where he had been heading anyway, and away from the sight of instructors. Here, the made him wade thigh-deep into the river, then stand to attention.

““Baby can’t use his sword properly,” said Alda.

“Bryn took up the refrain. “Baby made the Battlemaster angry. Baby doesn’t belong in Battleschool. Babies shouldn’t be given swords to play with.

““Baby should throw stones instead,” Jerome concluded the sarcastic litany. “Pick up a stone, Baby.”

“Horace hesitated, then glanced around. The riverbed was full of stones and he bent to get one. As he did so, his sleeve and the upper part of his jacket became soaked.”

“Did he expect to stay dry?” Meralon, who had just stepped out of the trees lining the clearing, asked incredulously.

Crowley’s lips thinned. He understood that the book could be a little redundant at times, including facts that should be obvious or that they knew without being said. That being said, they must have been included for a reason, and Meralon’s issue should be more with the way it was written and not with Horace.

““Not a small stone, Baby,” Alda said, smiling evilly at him. “You’re a big baby, so you need a big stone.”

““A great big stone,“ Bryn added, indicating with his hands that he wanted Horace to pick up a large rock. Horace looked around him and saw several larger pieces in the crystal-clear water. He bent and retrieved one of them. In doing so, he made a mistake. The rock he chose was easy to lift under the water, but as he brought it above the surface, he grunted with the weight of it.

““Let’s see it Baby,” Jerome said. “Hold it up.”

“Horace braced himself—the swiftly running current of the river made it difficult to keep his balance and hold the heavy rock at the same time—then he lifted it to chest height so his tormentors could see it.

“Right up, Baby,” Alda commanded. “Right over your head.”

“I imagine the wet sleeves make it all the harder to hold aloft.”

“Painfully, Horace obeyed. The rock was feeling heavier by the second, but he held it high above his head and the three boys were satisfied.

““That’s good, Baby,” Jerome said, and Horace, with a relieved sigh, began to let the rock down again.

““What are you doing?” Jerome demanded angrily. “I said that’s god. So that’s where I want the rock to stay.”

“Horace struggled and lifted the rock above his head once more, holding it at arm’s length. Alda, Bryn and Jerome nodded their approval.

““Now you can stay there,” Alda told him, “while you count to five hundred. Then you can go back to the dormitory.”

““Start counting,” Bryn ordered him, grinning at the idea.

““One, two, three . . .,” began Horace, but they all shouted at him almost immediately.

““Not so fast, Baby! Nice and slowly. Start again.”

““One . . . two . . . three . . .,” Horace counted, and they nodded their approval.

““That’s better. Now a nice slow count to five hundred and you can go,” Alda told him.

““Don’t try to fudge it, because we’ll know,” threatened Jerome. “And you’ll be back here counting to one thousand.”

“I doubt that,” Gilan said.

“Laughing among themselves, the three students headed back to their quarters. Horace remained in midstream, arms trembling with the weight of the rock, tears of frustration and humiliation filling his eyes. After that, his heavy, sodden clothing made it all the harder to hold the rock above his head, but he kept at it. He couldn’t be sure that they weren’t concealed somewhere, watching him, and if they were, they’d make him pay for disobeying their instructions.

“If this was the way of things, then so be it, he thought. But he promised himself that, first chance he got, he was going to make somebody pay for the humiliation he was undergoing.”

“It looks like Rodney was right to hold him back,” Halt said, bringing up the Battlemaster’s earlier decision once more. “It seems Horace doesn’t care who pays, so long as somebody does.”

The rest of the Rangers did not care overly much. If the second-year cadets and Sir Rodney’s worry about Horace’s character were any frame of reference, Battleschool typical saw the admittance of many petty lads looking not to protect their country, but throw around their authority.

“Much later, clothes soaked, arms aching and a deep feeling of resentment burning in his heart, he crept back to his quarters. He was too late for the evening meal, but he didn’t care. He was too miserable to eat.”

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Notes:

Sorry it's been so long. I'm so very grateful to still receive reviews about how well enjoyed this story is. I'm doubly grateful to all the readers that created a Ranger for me to use. Some of them appear in this chapter.

Also, this chapters a short one because its contents did give me a lot to comment on.

Last note, this chapter used to be an author's note. I'm simply replacing it with the actual chapter because i don't want to delete it and lose all the wonderful reviews you guys wrote when my life fell apart.

The first of the rangers the Commandant had sent as runners began trickling in that afternoon. As such, Crowley called a brief halt to the readings, resolutely ignoring Gilan’s jab at his friend’s name—he had heard more than enough of it during the lad’s time as an apprentice, allowing for his men to be brought up to pace.

The two newcomers were introduced to Will as Fakir Kochi Sombre—“call me Faye,” and Waylon.

Waylon’s chin whiskers gave away his age. He refused to confirm the exact number but Will had never seen those whiskers on a young man. His light brown hair was beginning to gray, and cut shorter on the sides than the top.

He smiled widely at the bright eyed teen, making the skin around his own blue eyes crinkle. “Glad to have you, kid.”

Will was fascinated by Faye, however.

Fakir was obviously foreign and shorted than even he was at barely over four feet. Shiny shoulder length black hair was tied back in a tail at the base of his neck. His eyes were the color of the sapphire stone he had only seen in the markets on Harvest Day.

Upon learning the book had reached the point of the future apprentice receiving his pony, Fakir had offered a faint smile alongside his comment of, “back in time for the good stuff.”

““Walk him around a little,” said Halt.

“Will glanced back at the shaggy pony, who watched him with intelligent eyes.”

“You won’t find a smarter horse than one of Old Bob’s,” several Rangers agreed.

““Come on, boy,” he said, and pulled on the halter. Instantly, Tug braced his forelegs and refused to move. Will pulled harder on the rope, leaning back in his efforts to make the stubborn little pony move.

“Old Bob cackled with laughter.

““He be stronger than you!” he said.

“Will felt his ears reddening with embarrassment.”

He could feel his own ears burning with the secondhand embarrassment. Horace probably hadn’t—or wouldn’t have—this problem when he learned to ride.

“He pulled harder. Tug twitched his ears and resisted. It was like trying to pull a house along.

““Don’t look at him,” Halt said softly. “Just take the rope and walk away from him. He’ll follow.”

“Will tried it that way. He turned his back on Tug, seized the rope firmly and began walking. The pony trotted easily after him. Will looked at Halt and grinned. The Ranger nodded his head toward the far fence of the paddock. Will glanced across and saw a small saddle, placed across the top rail of the fence.

““Saddle him up,” said the Ranger.”

Knowing grins were shared around the circle. There wasn’t one of them that didn’t enjoy seeing a Ranger horse’s anti-theft trick in action. Even the eldest among them. Crowley, Andross, Berrigan, and Alun had been the first to fall victim to Old Bob and his humor. As such, they delighted in sharing the experience and letting your apprentice make a fool of himself trying to ride one of the shaggy ponies had been cemented as a tradition.

“Tug clip-clopped docilely across to the fence. Will looped the reins around the fence rail and hefted the saddle across the pony’s back. He bent down to fasten the girth straps of the saddle.

““Pull them good and tight!” Old Bob advised him.

“Finally, the saddle was firmly in position. Will looked eagerly at Halt. “Can I ride him now?” he asked.

“The Ranger stroked his uneven beard thoughtfully before he answered. “If you feel that’s a good idea, go ahead,” he said, finally.

“Will hesitated for a moment. The phrase stirred a vague memory with him. But then eagerness overcame caution and he put one foot in the stirrup and swung himself nimbly onto the pony’s back. Tug stood, unmoving.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll know all his tells beforehand,” Gilan teased.

The teen groaned at the reminder of his cockiness, taking only the slightest comfort that he would know to watch out for when Halt answered a question with a question.

Clarke, however, didn’t hesitate to point out that knowing Halt was letting him make a fool of himself mattered not because Old Bob hadn’t given him the pass phrase. “Old Bob’s witnessed it dozens of times and still laughs like each one is the first.”

““Get up!” Will said, drumming his heels against the pony’s side.

“For a moment, nothing happened. Then Will felt a small tremor of movement go through the pony’s body.

“Suddenly, Tug arched his muscular little back and shot straight into the air, all four feet leaving the ground at the same time. He twisted violently to one side, came down on his front legs and kicked his rear legs high into the sky. Will sailed neatly over the pony’s ears, turned a complete somersault in the air and crashed on his back in the dirt. He picked himself up, rubbing his back.”

Even he couldn’t help but laugh. It was funny, so long as it wasn’t happening for real.

“Tug stood nearby, ears up, watching him intently.

“Now, why did you go and do a silly thing like that? The eyes seemed to say.

“Old Bob leaned against the fence, sides heaving with laughter. Will looked at Halt.

““What did I do wrong?” he asked. Halt ducked under the fence rails and walked across to where Tug stood watching the two of them expectantly. He handed the bridle back to Will, then laid one hand on his shoulder.”

Gilan opened his big mouth. Surprisingly, it was Bartell that spared them from hearing him repeat Halt’s infamous quote. “He’ll learn better with time,” the elderly Ranger assured. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Will shivered, suddenly wary of the stooped man. He knew Bartell was responsible for the apprentices’ assessment test. Now he feared his were going to be much harder because there would be higher expectations of him based on his book self’s accomplishments.

He silently fretted while Waylon, who had eagerly claimed his chance to read, continued. He had finally found the one place where he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

His apprenticeship couldn’t last twelve books, so Will must become a full-fledge member of the Ranger Corps at some point in them. He would just have to practice. A lot.

Halt watched the boy’s expression shift through many emotions as Will sorted through his thoughts. He was proud to see the fire in his eyes, but mentally noted that he would need to work on not revealing all his thoughts and feelings for everyone to see.

““Nothing, if this were an ordinary horse,” he said. “But Tug has been trained as a Ranger horse—“

““What’s the difference?” Will interrupted angrily, and Halt held his hand up for silence.

““The difference is, each Ranger horse has to be asked before a rider mounts him for the first time,” said Halt. “They’re trained that way so that they can never be stolen.”

“Will scratched his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!” he said.

“Old Bob smiled as he walked forward. “Not too many folk have,” he said. “That’s why Ranger horses never get stolen.”

““Well,” said Will, “what do you say to a Ranger horse before you mount him?””

Waylon paused. “Do you want me to skip the next bit? It reveals Abelard’s words”

“It’s fine,” the grizzled Ranger responded. Abelard’s words were trickier, needing to be spoken in Gallican.

It was probably best that they not skip anything. If these books were sent to help them fend off a second invasion from Morgarath, he could only assume that every detail included within was important.

“Halt shrugged. “It varies from horse to horse. Each one responds to a different request.” He gestured toward the larger horse. “My horse, for example, responds to the words permettez moi.”

““Permettez moi?” Will echoed. “What sort of words are they?”

““They’re Gallic. They mean, ‘Will you allow me?’ His parents came from Gallica, you see,” Halt explained. Then he turned to Old Bob. “What are the words for Tug here, Bob?”

“Bob screwed up his eyes, pretending that he couldn’t remember. Then his face cleared.

““Oh, yes, I recall!” he said. “This ‘un here, he needs to be asked, ‘Do you mind?’ afore you get on his back.”

““Do you mind?” Will repeated, and Bob shook his head.

““Don’t say it to me, youngster! Say it in the horse’s ear!”

“Feeling a little silly, and not at all sure that the others weren’t having a joke at his expense, Will stepped forward and said softly in Tug’s ear:

““Do you mind?”

“Tug whinnied softly. Will looked doubtfully at the two men, and Bob nodded encouragement.

““Go on! Climb on now! Young Tug won’t harm ‘ee now.”

“Very carefully, Will swung himself onto the pony’s shaggy back once again. His back still ached from the previous attempt. He sat there a moment. Nothing happened. Then, he tapped his heels gently into Tug’s ribs.

““Come on, boy”, he said softly.

“Tug’s ears twitched up and he stepped forward at an easy walk. Still cautious, Will let him walk around the paddock once or twice, then tapped again with his heels. Tug broke into a gentle trot. Will moved easily to the rhythm of the horse’s movement and Halt looked on approvingly. The boy was an instinctive rider.”

Halt was pleased to hear of another important Ranger skill feeling natural to Will. The man was an active proponent of hard work and keeping your skills sharp. Heck, if he could turn the warrior trained Gilan into a Ranger to be proud of, whipping the boy into shape wouldn’t be an issue.

The level of natural inclination Will had already displayed meant that Halt could push the boy until all the calculation involved in shoot an arrow were rapid fire, instinctually calculating draw weights and angles as if he was breathing.

“The Ranger unclipped the short length of rope that held the paddock gate closed and swung the wide gate open.

““Take him out, Will,” he called, “and see what he can really do!”

“Obediently, Will turned the pony toward the gate and, as they passed through into the open ground beyond, tapped once more with his heels. He felt the muscular little body beneath him bunch momentarily, then Tug broke into a fast gallop.

“The wind rushed past Will’s ears as he leaned forward over the pony’s neck, encouraging him to even greater speed. Tug’s ears pricked upward in response and he went even faster than before.

“He was like the wind. His short legs were a blur of motion as he carried the boy at full seed toward the edge of the trees. Gently, not sure how the pony would react, Will applied pressure to the left-hand rein.”

Unconsciously, Will leaned forward imagining what it must feel like. When Gilan had come to fetch him, they never moved faster than a trot. Out of everything he would be learning in the future, he looked forward to riding Tug the most.

“Instantly, Tug veered to the left, racing away from the trees at an angle. Will kept the gentle pressure on the rein until Tug was headed once again back toward the paddock. Will gasped in amazement as he saw how far they had come. Halt and Old Bob were tiny figures in the distance now. But they grew rapidly larger as Tug flew over the rough grass toward them.

“A fallen log loomed in front of them and, before Will could make any effort to avoid it, Tug had gathered himself, steadied and leaped over the obstacle. Will let out a shout of excitement and the pony whinnied briefly in reply.

“They were almost back to the paddock now and Will pulled gently on both reins. Instantly, Tug slowed to a canter, then a trot, finally coming down to a walking pace as Will maintained the pressure on the reins. He brought the pony to a standstill beside Halt. Tug tossed his shaggy head and whinnied again. Will leaned forward and patted the pony on the neck.

““He’s terrific!” he said breathlessly. “He’s as fast as the wind!”

“Halt nodded gravely. “Perhaps not quite as fast as the wind,” he said, “but he can certainly cover ground.” He turned to the old man. “You’ve done well with him, Bob.””

“You need to lighten up, Halt.”

“Old Bob ducked his head in appreciation and leaned forward to pat the shaggy little pony in his turn. He had spent his life breeding, training and preparing the Ranger Corps’ horses and this one ranked among the best he’d seen.

““He’ll keep that pace all day,” he said fondly. “Run them fat battlehorses into the ground, this ‘un will. Youngster rides him well, too, Ranger, don’t ‘e?”

“Halt stroked his beard. “Not too badly,” he said. Bob was scandalized.

““Not too badly? You’re a hard man, Ranger! Youngster sat him light as a feather through that jump!” The old man looked up at Will, sitting astride the pony, and nodded in appreciation. “ ‘E don’t saw away at them reins like some do, neither. Got a light touch with a horse’s soft mouth, ‘e ‘as.”

“Will grinned at the old horse trainer’s praise. He sneaked a quick look at Halt, but the Ranger was a grave-faced as ever.

“He never smiles, Will thought to himself. He went to dismount, then stopped himself hurriedly.

““Is there anything I should say to him before I get off?””

Meralon rolled his eyes while the rest of his compatriots laughed boisterously. How they found a kid’s bumbling amusing escaped him.

“Bob laughed aloud. “No, youngster. Once said and young Tug here will remember—as long as it’s you who’s riding him.” Relieved, Will climbed down. He stood beside the pony and Tug shoved him affectionately with his head. Will glanced at the apple barrel.

““Could I give him another?” he asked.

“Halt nodded. “Just one more,” he said. “But don’t go making a habit of it. He’ll be too fat to run if you feed him all the time.”

“Tug snorted loudly. Apparently he and Halt were at odds over how many apples a pony should have in a day.

“Will spent the rest of the day getting tips on riding technique from Old Bob, and learning how to look after and repair Tug’s saddle and harness, as well as the finer points of caring for the little horse.

“He brushed and curried the shaggy coat until it shone and Tug seemed to appreciate his efforts. Finally, worn-out, his arms aching with the effort, he had slumped into a seat on a hay bale. Which, of course, had to be the exact moment when Halt walked into the stable.

““Come along,” he said. “No time to be lolling around doing nothing. We’d best get moving if we’re to be home before dark.”

“And, so saying, he tossed a saddle across the back of his horse. Will didn’t bother to protest that he hadn’t been “lolling around,” as the Ranger put it. For a start, he knew it would be no use. And secondly, he was excited by the fact that they would be riding back to Halt’s little cottage by the edge of the forest. It seemed that the two horses were to become a permanent part of their establishment. He realized now that Halt’s horse had obviously been so before and that the Ranger had only been waiting until Will had shown his ability to ride and bond with Tug before reclaiming him from his temporary home in Old Bob’s stable.”

“Why would you stable your horse with Old Bob for several months?”

The question came from Vivian Woods, the most recently appointed Ranger. His youth meant he was unaware of the recycling program that their horsemaster used.

“I think it best if we let the books explain.” Crowley glared with narrowed eyes, deciding that it was too soon for that particular secret to be revealed. He was certain that it would come up at some point.

Besides, it was much too late in the day to deal with the overly emotional reaction.

For his part, Will recognized that information was being deliberately kept from him. He thought it rather unfair. If it was going to be revealed anyway, why did he have to wait until the books mentioned it?

“The horses whinnied to each other from time to time as the trotted back through the dim green forest, for all the world as if they were carrying on their own conversation. Will was bursting with questions he wanted to ask. But, by now, he was wary of chattering too much in the Ranger’s presence.”

“See what you’ve done, Halt?” Gilan said, effecting a despairing tone. “He’s too frightened to ask you questions.”

“I am not!” Will protested.

“Perhaps he learned not to ask pointless questions faster than you.”

Gilan mockingly clutched at his heart, pretending that his former mentor’s words had wounded him before slumping to the earth.

“Finally, he could contain himself no longer.

““Halt?” he said, experimentally.

“The Ranger grunted. Will took that as a sign that he could continue speaking.

““What’s your horse’s name?” the boy asked.

“Halt looked down at him. His horse was slightly larger than Tug, although nowhere near the size of the giant battlehorses kept in the Baron’s stable.

““I believe it’s Abelard,” he said.”

“Believe?” asked Will.

He received no answer.

““Abelard?” Will repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

““It’s Gallic,” said the Ranger, obviously putting an end to the conversation.

“They rode a few kilometers farther in silence. The sun was lowering over the trees now and their shadows were long and distorted on the ground in front of them. Will studied Tug’s shadow. The pony seemed to have enormously long legs and a ridiculously short body. He wanted to call Halt’s attention to it but thought that such a frivolous observation would not impress the Ranger. Instead, he summoned the courage to aske another question that had been occupying his thoughts for some days.

““Halt?” he said again.

“The Ranger sighed briefly.

““What now?” he asked. His tone definitely did not encourage further conversation. However, Will pressed on.

““Remember you told me how a Ranger was responsible for Morgarath’s defeat?”

““Mmmm,” Halt grunted.

““Well, I was just wondering, what was the Ranger’s name?” the boy asked.

““Names aren’t important,” Halt said. “I really can’t remember.””

Crowley smirked at his old friend, nonplussed by his dark glower. Will’s fascination with history was amusing. Somehow, he picked up on the parts Halt did his best to dismiss. Halt’s humility was admirable. It was a rare man that was willing to let the fact that he turned the tide of the war go uncredited.

He still thought the man could be modest while being written into the history books.

““Was it you?” Will continued, sure that it was. Halt turned that level, unsmiling gaze on him again.

““I said, names aren’t important,” he repeated. There was a silence between them for some seconds, then the Ranger said: “Do you know what is important?”

“Will shook his head.

““Supper is important!” said the Ranger. “And we’ll be late for it if we don’t hurry.”

“He clapped his heels into Abelard’s side and the horse shot away like an arrow from Halt’s own bow, leaving Will and Tug far behind in a matter of seconds.

“Will touched Tug’s sides with his own heels and the little pony raced off in pursuit of his bigger friend.

““Come on, Tug!” Will urged. “Let’s show them how a real Ranger horse can run.””

Will peered at Redmont’s Ranger with wide, sparkling eyes. “So was it you?”

“Why does he persist in asking questions?”

His rhetorical question received several answers, ranging from asking questions being a good thing to Geldon mocking Halt for displaying the same behavior his book self did by asking questions to the trees.

“Yes, it was me,” he huffed. “Anything else you want to know about my life?”

Will’s spine straightened, disbelieving that Halt had willingly invited him to ask as many questions as he wanted.

“Just one.”

“Ask him about that time he got seasick—” the rest of Gilan’s suggestion was cut off courtesy of Harrison’s boot in his back.

“When are you going to take me to get Tug?”

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

Notes:

So, I'm alive. Still fighting for inspiration most days. Your comments keep me going. It's heartwarming to get a review that mentions how the reader likes my story, or how I portray the characters. You all rock and remind me that I'm good at what I do, that someone out there enjoys reading this enough to tell me that, and I really appreciate all the sympathy and understanding I've received over the years and that even years sans an update I still get those comments.

This chapter is for every one of you that commented and subscribe knowing that it would likely be ages before I posted again.

On that note, I hope everyone is taking care of themselves during this pandemic.

Halt, who had been prepared to hear something along the lines of ‘Why do you keep giving book-me the runaround? Why don’t you want me to know what you did?’ was taken aback.

He deliberately effected an exaggerated slouch, throwing an inquisitive look at his oldest friend. Crowley’s eyes flickered to the bottom-right and back twice. Permission denied, Halt shifted to face the boy who would be his apprentice, possibly at the end of this Gathering if the Commandant had his way.

Will was surprising him, mostly in good ways. But still, it was every so slightly disconcerting that after all these years of watching over the boy from afar that he could do so. Crowley would laugh if he ever admitted to feeling that way, claiming the lad would be good for Halt.

The boy was good for all of them.

Ignoring the annual Gathering where the Rangers met in mass numbers, Rangers operated solo for the most part. The fief he was assigned to was his to patrol, his to defend, his to manage. Only Crowley or King Duncan himself give them orders. As such, despite knowing each man that bore the silver oakleaf, Halt couldn’t claim to truly know them.

These readings were enlightening. Not just for the insight and advantage they provided about the near future, but about his fellow Rangers.

There was a noticeable separation amongst the Rangers whenever they Gathered. Of course, previous apprentices still tended toward their former masters as he was the most familiar, and those Rangers tended towards who joined up around the same time, himself, Crowley, Leander, Berrigan, Egon, Farrel, Norris, creating this invisible barrier between the original Rangers that Crowley had liberated from Morgarath’s schemes and corruption and the new blood.

Halt already knew that these books would reveal a fair bit of personal information about himself once they knew Will was the subject matter. You don’t take in a boy for five years and raise him up into a respected Ranger without creating a connection.

This Gathering, these books, Will’s bright personality were slowly bringing the Ranger Corps together. They all rallied behind him as the books rode the wave from uncertainty and desperation in the face of the unknown to the unbridled joy of finding a place where he belonged. They cheered his accomplishments, praised his skills and sharp mind, but also offered fair criticisms and pointed encouragement to better himself.

Essentially, Will was an apprentice to all of the Rangers.

Halt determinedly ignored the spark of jealousy that flared in his chest at that thought. This would only result in the boy being well-trained. It was a good opportunity that he would be remiss to take advantage of. Every Ranger present had a skill that Will could learn.

And, at the end of the day, Will would be his apprentice, sleeping in his cabin and giving Halt knowing smiles when the grizzled Ranger made innocuous comments about housekeeping duties.

“Unfortunately, Tug’s not ready yet,” he deflected.

Will deflated like a popped balloon. Every other time something like this had come up in the books the Rangers had wasted no time in arranging a hand on lesson, and he had hoped that would be the same for Tug. But he understood that nothing could be done if the shaggy horse wasn’t fully trained yet.

The book was offered to the newcomers and taken by the exotic Fakir.

“Will rode Tug slowly through the crowded fairground that had been set up outside the castle walls. All the villagers and inhabitant of the castle itself seemed to be out and he had to ride carefully to ensure that Tug didn’t step on somebody’s foot.”

Will leaned forward, excited, as Fakir started. Harvest Day was his favorite day of the year. It was essentially an entire day of celebration. The Wards only had lessons in the morning and were giving the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy the attractions and games. Baron Arald was even generous enough give each Ward a little bit of spending money.

It was the rare day that Will and Horace actually got along with arguments. They would join the throng of spectators to observe the mock fights and jousts, critiquing form and skill like a pair of teenaged boys knew all there was to know about sword fighting.

He could only imagine how awesome such a scene would sound in Fakir’s rich accent.0o

“It was Harvest Day, the day when all the crops had been gathered and stored for the winter months ahead. After a hard month of harvesting, the Baron traditionally allowed his people a holiday. Every year, at this time, the travelling fair came to the castle and set up its booths and stalls. There were fire-eaters and jugglers, singers and storytellers. There were stalls where you could attempt to win prizes by throwing soft leather balls at pyramids made from bottle-shaped pieces of wood or by throwing hoops over squares. Will sometimes thought that the squares were perhaps just a little larger than the hoops that one was given to throw and he had never actually seen anyone win one of the prizes. But it was all fun and the Baron paid for it from his own purse.”

Berrigan hummed a cheerful tune. He was often asked to perform during Harvest Day at many fiefs. He’s rotated through the fiefs near Coledale. Coledale was a small and sleepy fief, typically an easy post for injured Rangers or one near retiring, like himself. Perhaps, once he retired officially, he could travel further from his fief.

“I love Harvest Day,” Gilan commented cheerfully. “I can ditch the Ranger cloak and be just another face in the crowd. And none of the event organizers ban my participation.”

“Ban your participation?” echoed Will. He didn’t know that was a thing.

The youthful Ranger shrugged. “They think Rangers have an unfair advantage. Without the cloak however, I’m just Gil, a strapping young man talented with a sword, a bow, throwing knives . . .”

“But not a battleax!” Andross teased.

Crowley snorted. “That’s because Farrel is the only bastard crazy enough. Damn thing’s nearly as tall as he is.”

“Right now, however, Will was not concerned with the fair and its attractions. There would be time later in the day for that. At the moment, he was on his way to meet his former wardmates.”

Will grinned at the thought. It would be great to be able to show his wardmates the skills he had been learning—would be learning. He knew Alyss would be stoked for him, and he might even impress Horace with his saxe knives.

“By tradition, all the Craftmasters gave their apprentices the day off on Harvest Day, even though they had taken no part in the actual harvest themselves. Will had been wondering for weeks whether or not Halt would conform to the practice.”

Halt raised a single eyebrow. “Why would you believe I wouldn’t let you have the day off?”

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged, helplessly. “It’s not like I really know you, but you’re always talking about practicing until I never get it wrong. Would I even have time for a holiday?”

“Halt’s not that miserly,” said Alun.

“The Ranger seemed to take no notice of tradition and had his own way of doing thing.”

“He’s got you there, Mister-an-apprentice-is responsible-for-all-the-chores.”

“But, two nights before, his anxiety had been settled. Halt had gruffly told him that he could have the holiday, adding that he would probably forget everything that he had learned in the past three months.

“Those three months had been a time of constant practice with his bow and the knives that Halt had given him. Three months of stalking through the fields outside the castle, moving from one scant patch of cover to the next, trying to make his way unobserved by Halt’s eagle eyes. Three months of riding and caring for Tug, of forming a special bond of friendship with the little pony.

“That, he thought, had been the most enjoyable part of it all.”

Halt permitted a smile. It was good to know that the boy was truly enjoying his new life. Taking into account his orphan situation and his lingering feelings that familial connection, it would have been easy for Will to become as bitter and disillusioned as Horace currently was. Thankfully, Will had taken the knowledge of his simple past with grace, forgiving Halt for his part in concealing it.

“Now, he was ready for a holiday and ready to enjoy himself a little. Even the thought that Horace would be there couldn’t dim the pleasure. Maybe, he thought, a few months’ hard training in Battleschool had changed Horace’s aggressive manner a little.”

“Unlikely,” Merron was quick to claim. “Having the tables suddenly turn on him to make him the one downtrodden upon had clearly put him in a dark mood. He’s more likely to come after you because of it.”

“Really? Why?” asked Will.

“You’re a safe outlet for all his rage and frustration. He’s gone after you before with no consequences. Since he can’t confront his own torments without being punished, he’ll try to transfer that to you so he can feel like he has power again,” explained Bartell.

Years of training and assessing apprentices had made the older Ranger a quick study when it came to getting into a person’s head and figuring out their motivations.

Horace was unprepared for the rigidity of Battleschool. He was arrogant in his skill, perhaps deservedly so from the little insight Bartell had seen. But arrogance and ego were deadly poisons. Horace had thought because he was stronger than George and Will that he was better than them. He had assumed, because he had been the top of the chain amongst his wardmates, that would hold true with the cohort of boys he would be training with. He had believed, from Sir Rodney’s quick and willing acceptance, that he would have an easy time of training.

None of which held to be true. He had been singled out and called out for his skill in a way that painted him as a troublemaker. He had no friends, thanks to his being better. With the way Battleschool was structured, Horace spent little time with his bunk mates because he was always finishing exercises faster or better, feeding into his sense of superiority but simultaneously isolating him, contrary to what Battleschool was trying to achieve with their arrangement of students. It also left him wide open to the hazing from upper years, likely jealous and threatened by the talented newcomer, that hoped to push him to his breaking point until Horace ran with his tail between his legs.

The trainee was trapped in an unending cycle of misery. Harvest Day would be his chance to escape, to regain the sense of self he had lost. Not only was he more likely to return to old habits, Horace would actively be trying to instigate a scenario in which he felt he could win because he thought he needed that.

He wondered how young Will would handle it. Would he, too, fall back into the pattern of the victim when Horace turned his pent up anger at him? Of all the Ranger skills, learning to think like a Ranger took the longest time to learn. Three months wasn’t enough time to expect the lad to now be capable of outmaneuvering his childhood bully.

Bartell hoped he didn’t run. Nothing wrong with a tactical retreat when it was called for, but it would be a shame to put as much effort as they had into this boy only for him cower in the face of his tormenter.

“It was Jenny who arranged the meeting for the holiday, encouraging the others to join her with the promise of a batch of fresh mince pies that she would bring from the kitchen. She was already one of Master Chubb’s prize pupils and he boasted of her artistry to anyone who would listen—giving suitable emphasis to the vital role his training had played in developing her skill, of course.

“Will’s stomach grumbled with pleasure at the thought of those pies.” A sentiment that was echoed in reality. He knew it would be time to start supper soon, but he was a growing boy. It was expected for him to be hungry all the time. “He was starving, since he had intentionally gone without breakfast so as to leave room for them. Jenny’s pies were already legendary in Castle Redmont.

“He had arrived at the meeting point early, so he dismounted and led Tug into the shade of an apple tree. The little pony craned his head and looked wistfully at the apples on the branches, well out of his reach. Will grinned at him and scrambled quickly up the tree, picking an apple and handing it to the pony.”

Halt gave him a firm stare, to which Will responded with a sheepish shrug. Little point in admonishing him for something that had yet to happen, especially when it was as harmless as rewarding his horse.

““That’s all you get,” he said. “You know what Halt says about eating too much.”

“Tug shook his head impatiently. That was still a matter of disagreement between him and the Ranger. Will looked around. There was no sign of the others, so he sat down in the shade of the tree, leaning his back against the knobby trunk to wait.

““Why, it’s young Will, isn’t it?” said a deep voice close behind him.

“Will scrambled hastily to his feet and touched his forehead in a polite salute. It was Baron Arald himself, seated astride his giant battlehorse and accompanied by several of his senior knights.

““Yes, sir,” said Will nervously. He wasn’t used to being addressed by the Baron.”

“That’ll change quickly, lad,” Geldon said. “We work closely with the barony, some a little too closely.”

He didn’t name any names, but Will couldn’t miss how several Ranger’s eyes darted in Meralon’s direction, who despite being in a circle of people gave off the air of someone skulking on the edge of the group. Was that the issue they had with him? It would certainly explain why the man was so prickly.

““A happy Harvest day to you, sir.””

“The Baron nodded in acknowledgement and leaned forward, slouching comfortably in his saddle. Will had to crane his neck to look up at him.

““I must say, young man, you look quite the part there,” the Baron said. “I hardly saw you in that gray Ranger cloak. Has Halt been teaching you all his tricks already?”

“Will glanced down at the gray and green mottled cloak that he was wearing. Halt had given it to him some weeks ago. He’d shown Will how the gray and green mottling broke up the shape of the wearing and helped him blend into the landscape. It was one of the reasons, he’d said, why Rangers could move unseen with such ease.

““It’s the cloak, sir,” Will said. “Halt calls it camouflage.” The Baron nodded, obviously familiar with the term, which had been a new concept to Will.

““Just make sure you don’t use it to steal more cakes,” he said with mock severity, and Will shook his head hurriedly.”

“I would never!”

“You’ve done it once before,” pointed out Harrison.

“I was just a boy!” Will defended, to the amusement of the older Rangers. He was still a boy, despite his many protests.

““Oh, no, sir!” he said immediately. “Halt told me that if I did anything like that, he’d tan the skin off my backsid—“ He stopped awkwardly. He wasn’t sure if backside was the sort of word you used in the presence of someone as exalted as a Baron.”

Will opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it. He could only imagine what Halt would answer with. He had gone so long without hearing that ‘apprentices weren’t ready to think’ line. It had come up seven times already, between Halt and Gil, equating to once every second chapter. Will really wanted to prove he was curbing his impulse to spit out the first thing that came to mind without considering it.

Unnoticed to him was Gilan’s look of glee as his former mentor was denied the chance to utter his favorite phrase. Halt, for his part, was silently proud. The boy could be taught. Now he wouldn’t have to endure so many questions.

“The Baron nodded again, trying not to let a wide grin break through.

““I’m sure he did,” he said. “And how are you getting on with Halt, Will? Are you enjoying learning to be a Ranger?”

“Will paused. To be honest, he hadn’t had time to think if he was enjoying himself or not. His days were too busy learning new skills, practicing with bow and knives and working with Tug. This was the first time in three months he’d had a moment to actually think about it.”

Will felt his face flame as the assembled Rangers turned to him. “Yes, tell me,” Crowley pressed, large grin stretching across his face, “are you enjoying learning to be a Ranger.”

“Don’t be afraid to be honest,” Geldon encouraged.

“Of course I am!” Will rushed to assure them, fearing for a moment they might deny him and cut him loose if he said no, completely forgetting that he was unofficially one of them and that they were unlikely to let him go with all the Ranger secrets he had learned already. “It’s been a blast so far.”

Easy enough when it mostly consisted of ready about himself. Although, he had really enjoyed the climbing and unseen movement drills, when they weren’t launching arrows at him.

““I suppose so,” he said hesitantly. “Only . . .” His voice trailed off and the Baron looked at him more closely.

““Only what?” he prompted.

“Will shifted from one foot to the other, wishing that his mouth didn’t continually get him into these situations by talking too much. Words had a way of emerging before he’d really had time to consider whether he wanted to say them or not.”

“So we’ve noticed,” Meralon said dryly, uncaring if his comment embarrassed the child. Honestly, how the boy would ever come to make it as a Ranger he couldn’t imagine.

““Only . . . Halt never smiles at all,” he went on awkwardly. He’s always so serious about things.””

Said man leveled him with an impressing stare. “As it should be. We are the kingdom’s first line of defense,” he reminded.

Gil nudged Will with an elbow before he could slip inside his own head and worry about what Halt thought of him. “Remember that he rarely speaks his praise. He prefers to show it in other ways.” It was said just loud enough for only Will to hear, and he gave his comrade a grateful smile, knowing that he would know, as Halt’s previous apprentice.

“He had the impression that the Baron was suppressing another grin.

““Well,” said Baron Arald, “being a Ranger is a serious business, you know. I’m sure Halt has impressed that on you.””

“Absolutely,” the teen affirmed. “I won’t let you down,” he vowed.

Halt inclined his head. He imagined there would be several times over the course of the next five or six years that Will would make mistakes. It was inevitable. But there wouldn’t be nearly as many books for them to read if the boy turned out to be a mediocre Ranger.

It would take time, but Will was going to become great. Halt could never be anything less than proud.

““All the time,” Will said ruefully and, this time, the Baron couldn’t help smiling.

““Just pay attention to what he tells you, youngster,” he said. “You’re learning a very important job there.”

““Yes, sir.” Will was a little surprised to realize that he did agree with the Baron. Baron Arald reached forward to gather up his reins. On an impulse, before the nobleman could ride away, Will stepped forward.

““Excuse me, sir,” he said hesitantly, and the Baron turned back to him.

““Yes, Will?” he asked.

“Will shuffled his feet again, then went on. “Sir, remember when our armies fought Morgarath?”

“Baron Arald’s cheerful face was clouded by a thoughtful frown. “I’ll not forget that in a hurry, boy,” he said. “What about it?”

““Sir, Halt tells me that a Ranger showed the cavalry a secret way across the Slipsunder, so they were able to attack the enemy’s rear . . .”

““That’s true,” said Arald.

““I’ve been wondering, sir, what was the Ranger’s name?” Will finished, feeling himself flush with his boldness.”

“Should have known you wouldn’t let that go,” muttered Halt.

““Didn’t Halt tell you?” the Baron asked. Will shrugged his shoulders.

““He said names weren’t important. He said supper was important, but not names.”

““But you think names are important, in spite of what you master has told you?” said the Baron, seeming to frown again. Will gulped and went on.

““I think it was Halt himself, sir,” he said. “And I wondered why he hadn’t been decorated or honored for his skill.””

“That kind of recognition hinders a Ranger, Will. If Baron Arald had pressed his wishes, the king would have made a ceremony out of the affair. All of our enemies would have sent spies. They would return to their homes carrying news of Halt’s appearance and how critical the Ranger Corps is to Araleun and what exactly we’re capable,” Crowley explained, understanding the young boy still thought of war as a chance to earn glory.

That simply wasn’t the way the Ranger’s operated. Halt’s deeds would never be forgotten. All of Araleun knew it was a Ranger that lead that charge, even if they didn’t know which one specifically. And, of course, the Rangers themselves would use his actions as an example for future apprentices as what just one man with their training is capable of and what they should strive to achieve.

He didn’t need a fancy ceremony or title or medal of honor to leave a legacy.

““Well, you’re right, Will,” he said. “It was Halt. And I wanted to honor him for it, but he wouldn’t allow me. He said that wasn’t the Rangers’ way.”

““But . . .,” Will began in a perplexed tone, but the Baron’s upraised hand stopped him from speaking any further.

““You Rangers have your own ways, Will, as I’m sure you’re learning. Sometimes other people don’t understand them. Just listen to Halt and do as he does and I’m sure you’ll have an honorable life ahead of you.”

““Yes, sir.” Will saluted again as the Baron slapped his reins lightly on his horse’s neck and turned him away toward the fairground.

““Now, enough of this,” said the Baron. “We can’t chatter all day. I’m off to the fair. Maybe this year I’ll get a hoop over one of those damned squares!”

“The Baron started to ride away. Then a thought seemed to strike him and he reined in for a second.

““Will,” he called back.

““Yes, sir?”

““Don’t tell Halt that I told you he led the cavalry. I don’t want him angry at me.””

“Too late for that,” Gilan chuckled. “I hope you didn’t share any other secrets like that with the baron Halt. He doesn’t seem to have any issue with confiding in your apprentice.”

Halt shrugged. It was a minor issue. Baron Arald hardly knew anything personal. Honestly, he didn’t mind the boy knowing, or begrudge him for going to another source to find the information he wanted. Halt simply wasn’t one to brag. He didn’t do it for glory or any kind of reward. It needed to be done and he was the only one available to do it.

Rewarding someone for doing their job invited corruption and taught them work was only worth doing when they got something out of it. It was a mentality he abhorred. Crowley, Halt, Leander, Egon, Berrigan, Norris, Berwick, and Farrel had worked hard to weed out those that bought their way into the Ranger Corps or thought they deserved compensation for doing their duty, and doubly so on instilling their philosophy in every apprentice they took on.

Some, like Meralon, would find a way to fall through the cracks.

He didn’t want Will to be another Meralon.

The rest of the Corps might mock his methods, but Gilan turned out fantastic. And he’d be damned if Will didn’t turn out the same.

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

“Can we do one more chapter before supper?” Gilan asked the group of Rangers at large.

“Why’s that?” Meric asked, suspicious. Gil showed all the signs of a lad eager to impress; leaning forward with his shoulders and a gleam in his eye, but none of his usual theatrics that he typically employed.

Gilan’s flashed a bright smile at their Commandant. “Because it’s Crowley’s turn to read again, and Will missed it last time.”

Will sat up straight at that announcement. They had started reading without him? He had assumed that the first chapter he had been present for was the first chapter. They had known the books were about him, so why didn’t Gilan fetch him immediately. Was there Ranger secrets in the first chapter he wasn’t allowed to know? Only, they had enthusiastically brought him into the fold with training exercises, and anecdotes, and assigning him a portion of the chores. Even though most of his time was spent reading about what he would get up to in the future, Will felt like he was already a Ranger’s Apprentice.

And Gilan’s comment had him reconsidering. What if the books caused Halt to change his mind? What if he did something horrible in the books and the Rangers decided to kick him out because of it? Was the grizzled Ranger being forced to take him as an apprentice?

Will had no desire to attend Battleschool anymore, not after reading about Horace’s experience. While Will was used to being bullied, he didn’t want to go through another four years of it. Not to mention, Will seriously debated his ability to keep up.

His dreams of being a famous knight and wielding a sword and shield were just that. The bow felt right in his hand. Will looked forward to the hour each day Bartell, Halt, and Andross took him out of the clearing and into the woods to practice his shooting or knife throwing.  

His catastrophizing went unnoticed as Crowley conceded his junior’s point and accepted the book Fakir walked over.

“Jenny, Alyss, and George arrived shortly after. As she had promised, Jenny was carrying a batch of fresh pies wrapped in a red cloth. She laid them carefully on the ground under the apple tree as the others crowded around. Even Alyss, usually so poised and dignified, seemed anxious to get her hands on one of Jenny’s masterpieces.”

Gilan groaned, rubbing a hand over his stomach in circles. “I’m regretting pushing for another chapter already.”

“You’re more than welcome to start a pot of stew,” Halt said placidly. “Your ears should still work at a distance.”

“Just for that, I will,” Gilan sniffed haughtily at his former master. “And I’m going to use the chanterelle mushrooms you don’t like.”

“I actually like chanterelles,” Halt said under his breath to Will once Gilan had set to his chopping. “They add a nice nutty flavor.”

““Come on!” George said. “I’m starving.”

“Jenny shook her head. “We should wait for Horace,” she said, looking around for him but not seeing him in the passing crowds of people.”

“Of course they should. It’s not about the food,” Clarke pointed out. “This is their first time meeting up since Choosing Day. If they start eating without Horace, he’s going to feel left out.”

“That will do wonders for his temper, I’m sure.”

Geldon sighed. “And here I thought will Gil otherwise occupied, we would have less interuptions.”

““On, come on,” George pleaded. “I’ve been slaving over a hot petition to the Baron all morning!”

“Alyss rolled her eyes to heaven. “Perhaps we should start,” she said. “Otherwise he’ll begin a legal argument and we’ll be here all day. We can always put a couple aside for Horace.””

“It’s a sound compromise,” Merron ascertained. “She’s learning well. A true credit to Pauline.”

“Lady Pauline.”

Crowley wanted nothing more than to rib his old friend for his unrequited crush on his fief’s chief diplomat, but this wasn’t the time or place.

“Will grinned. George was a different kettle of fish now to the shy, stammering boy at the Choosing. Scribeschool obviously had caused him to bloom.” Will was pleased to hear that he wasn’t the only one finding his stride under his Craftmaster. “Jenny served out two pies each, setting two aside for Horace.

““That’ll do for starters,” she said. The others eagerly tucked in and soon began to chorus their praise for the pies. Jenny’s reputation was well founded.

““This,” said George, standing above them and spreading his arms wide as he addressed an imaginary court, “cannot be described as a mere pie, your honor. To describe this as a pie would be a gross miscarriage of justice, the like of which this court has never seen before!”

“Will turned to Alyss. “How long has he been like this?” he asked.

“She smiled. “They all get this way with a few months’ legal training. These days, the main problem with George is getting him to shut up.”

““Oh, sit down, George,” said Jenny, blushing at his praise but delighted nonetheless. “You are a complete idiot.”

““Perhaps, my fair miss. But it is the sheer magic of these works of art that has turned my brain. These are not pies, these are symphonies!” He raised his remaining half pie to the others in a mock toast.”

“I vote we bring her out here one day. I want to taste one of these pies for myself,” Gilan called over.

Harrison chuckled. “She could be Fakir’s apprentice.”

“I don’t think I could teach her as much about cooking as her master,” Fakir said humbly.

“Nonsense, I’m pretty sure you work magic when you cook.”

““I give you . . . Miss Jenny’s symphony of pies!”

“Alyss and Will, grinning at each other and at George, raised their own pies in response, and echoed the toast. Then all four apprentices burst out laughing.

“It was a pity that Horace chose that precise moment to arrive. Alone among them, he was miserable in his new situation. The work was hard and unremitting and the discipline was unwavering. He had expected that, of course, and under normal circumstances he could have handled it. But being the focus for Bryn, Alda, and Jerome’s spite was making his life a nightmare—literally. The three second-year cadets would rouse him from his bed at all hours of the night, dragging him out to perform the most humiliating and exhausting tasks.”

“The lack of sleep and the worry of never knowing when they might appear to torment him further was causing him to fall behind in his classroom work. His roommates, sensing that if they showed any sympathy for him they might become targets along with him, had cast him adrift, so that he felt totally alone in his misery. The one thing he had always aspired to was rapidly becoming ashes in his mouth. He hated Battleschool, but he could see no way out of his predicament without embarrassing and humiliating himself even further.”

Meralon wasn’t the only Ranger to roll his eyes, though his was out of frustration and not the sympathetic ‘I’ve done that and yes it sucks, but shit happens and what matters is how you deal with it,’ like the others.

This Horace boy and his constant whining and complaining about unfairness and his treatment at the hands of his torments was more annoying than the new not-yet-apprentice boy.

If he was so unhappy with his lot, he should do something to change it. Instead, he was stewing in his anger and letting the older cadets run roughshod over him.

The paranoia was the lest that he deserved for not taking matters into his own hands.

“Now, on the one day when he could escape from the restrictions and the tensions of Battleschool, he arrived to find his former wardmates already busy at their feast, and he was angry and hurt that they hadn’t bothered to wait for him. He had no idea that Jenny had set some of the pies aside for him. He assumed that she had divided them up already and that hurt more than anything. Of all his former wardmates, she was the one he felt closet to. Jenny was always cheerful, always friendly, always willing to listen to another’s trouble. He realized that he had been looking forward to seeing her again today and now he felt that she had let him down.”

Will stared down at his knees, shamefaced. He may not have like Horace, but knew that if it had been him arriving late to find they had started without him, that he would have been just as hurt. For him, though, it would have been Alyss. She was the one always in his corner, running interference between him and Horace.

It was like he had felt at the start of this chapter, realizing that, despite welcoming him into their ranks and declaring Will was one of them, the Rangers were hiding things from him.

“He was predisposed to think badly of the others. Alyss had always seemed to hold herself aloof from him, as if he weren’t good enough for her, and Will had spent his time playing tricks on him, then running away and climbing into that immense tree where Horace couldn’t follow. At least, that was how Horace saw things in his current vulnerable state. He conveniently forgot the times he had cuffed Will over the ear, or held him in a headlock until the smaller boy was forced to cry “Yield!””

All his feelings of sympathy vanished, and Will wanted nothing more than to wring Horace’s fat neck.

“As for George, Horace had never taken much notice of him. The thin boy was studious and devoted to his books and Horace had always considered him a pallid, uninteresting person. Now here he was performing for them while they laughed and at the pies and left nothing for him and suddenly he hated them all.”

“Called it,” Clarke sing-songed.

““Well, this is very nice, isn’t it?” he said bitterly, and they turned to him, the laughter dying on their faces. As was inevitable, Jenny was the first one to recover.

““Horace! You’re here at last!” she said. She started toward him, but the cold look on his face stopped her.

““At last?” he said. “I’m a few minutes late and suddenly I’m here ‘at last’? And just too late because you’ve already pigged out on all the pies.”

“Which was hardly fair to poor Jenny. Like most cooks, once she had prepared a meal, she had little interest in eating it. Her real pleasure lay in watching others enjoy the results of her work—and listening to their praise. Consequently, she hadn’t had any of the pies. She turned back now to the two she had covered in a napkin to keep for him.

““No, no,” she said quickly. “There are still some left! Look!”

“But Horace’s pent-up anger prevented him from acting or speaking rationally. “Well,” he said, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, “maybe I ought to come back later and give you time to finish them as well.””

Gilan frowned into his pot of stew as he stirred. He had been impressed by the lad’s natural talent in previous chapters, though his personality left something to be desired. He wasn’t denying that Horace had a right to be hurt by his wardmates’ choice in not waiting for him, but he would need a cooler head if he truly wished to become a knight.

It was something that he would learn with time. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury. Horace had a short window to prove to his instructors at Battleschool that he was worth investing in. And even with justifiable reason, falling back into old destructive patterns and flying off into a rage when he felt wronged would see that Sir Rodney saw him trained to be another rank-and-file soldier when Horace had the potential to be one of those legendary swordsmen he so admired.

But, perhaps the fault lay with Battleschool itself. They couldn’t afford the one-on-one instruction Gilan had received with MacNeil and the Ranger Corps.

““Horace!” Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. She had no idea what was wrong with Horace. All she knew was that her plan for a pleasant reunion with her old wardmates was falling in ruins.

“George stepped forward now, peering curiously at Horace. The tall, thin boy cocked his head to one side, to study the apprentice warrior more closely—as if he were an exhibit or a piece of evidence in a law court.

““There’s no call to be so unpleasant,” he said reasonably. But reason wasn’t what Horace wanted to hear. He shoved the other boy aside angrily.

““Get away from me,” he said. “And mind how you talk to a warrior.””

Several Rangers frowned at that sentence. No one appreciated an apprentice that thought himself to big for his britches. It was one thing to acknowledge that his profession deserved respect, but another entirely to demand it owed to him.

““You’re not a warrior yet,” Will told him scornfully. “You’re still only an apprentice like the rest of us.””

“You tell him, Will!” cheered Gilan.

“Jenny made a small gesture with her hands, urging Will to drop the matter. Horace, who was in the act of helping himself to the remaining pies, looked up slowly. He measured Will up and down for a second or two.

““Oho!” he said. “I see the apprentice spy is with us today!” He looked to see if the others were laughing at his wit. They weren’t and it only served to make him more unpleasant.

““I suppose Halt is teaching you to slink around, spying on everyone, is he?” Horace stepped forward, without waiting for an answer, and fingered Will’s mottled cloak sarcastically.

““What’s this? Didn’t you have enough dye to make it all one color?”

““It’s a Ranger cloak,” Will said quietly, holding down the anger that was building inside him.”

Halt looked at the young man with quite approval in his black eyes. Will flushed, inordinately pleased.

“Horace snorted scornfully, cramming half of one of the pies into his mouth and spraying crumbs as he did so.

““Don’t be so unpleasant,” George said. Horace rounded on the apprentice scribe his face red.

““Watch your tongue, boy!” he snapped. “You’re talking to a warrior, you know!”

““An apprentice warrior,” Will repeated firmly, laying stress on the word apprentice.

“Horace went redder and looked angrily between the two of them. Will tensed himself, sensing that the bigger boy was about to launch an attack. But there was something in Will’s eyes and his ready stance that made Horace think twice about it. He had never seen that look of defiance before. In the past, if he’d threatened Will, he had always seen fear. This newfound confidence unsettled him a little.”

Will’s flush spread down his cheeks to his neck. He was grateful just to be away from the boy that treated bullying him like a hobby. Even when he ‘won’ a battle between the two of them, it was more a parting witty comment and a tactical retreat than a true win.

Never had he made Horace hesitate and think twice about confronting him, but Will rather liked the sound of it.

“Instead, he turned back to George and gave him a hearty shove in the chest.

““How’s that for unpleasant?” he said as the tall, thin boy staggered back.” Alun muttered darkly under his breath about hot-blooded teens. What he wouldn’t give some days to start training children from the cradle. “George’s arms windmilled as he tried to save himself from falling. Accidentally, he struck Tug a glancing blow on the side. The little pony, grazing peacefully, reared suddenly against his bridle.

““Steady, Tug,” Will said, and Tug quieted immediately. But now Horace had noticed him for the first time. He stepped forward and looked more closely at the shaggy pony.

““What’s this?” he asked in mock disbelief. “Has someone brought a big ugly dog to the party?”

“Will clenched his fists.” An action that was mimicked in reality. He hadn’t gotten Tug yet, but he had already seen and heard what the inconspicuous horses were capable of. He wasn’t about stand by and let Horace insult his partner. ““He’s my horse,” he said quietly. He could put up with Horace sneering at him, but he wasn’t going to stand by and see his horse insulted.

“Horace let out a braying laugh.”

“Rather apropos, considering the subject matter.” Bartell hummed lightly, imagining a jaunty tune of a braggart warrior being thrown from a horse.

““A horse?” he said. “That’s not a horse! In the Battleschool we ride real horses! Not shaggy dogs! Looks like he needs a good bath to me too!” He wrinkled his nose and pretend to sniff closer to Tug.

“The pony glanced sideways at Will. Who is this unpleasant clod? his eyes seemed to say. Then Will, carefully hiding the wicked grin that he was trying to show on his face, said casually:

““He’s a Ranger horse. Only a Ranger can ride him.”

“Horace laughed again. “My grandmother could ride that shaggy dog!”

““Maybe she could,” said Will, “but I’ll bet you can’t.””

Halt let out a bark of laughter. “Turning my tricks against your enemy, eh?”

Will shrugged. “If it worked on me, no reason it wouldn’t work on him.”

“Before he’d even finished the challenge, Horace was untying the bridle. Tug looked at Will and the boy could have sworn the horse nodded slightly.

“Horace swung himself easily up onto Tug’s back.  The pony stood, unmoving.

““Nothing to it!” Horace crowed. Then he dug his heels into Tug’s sides. “Come on, doggy! Let’s have a run.”

“Will saw the familiar, preparatory bunching of muscles in Tug’s legs and body. Then the pony sprang into the air off all four feet, twisted violently, came down on his front legs and shot his hindquarters high into the air.

“Horace flew like a bird for several seconds. Then he crashed flat on his back in the dust. George and Alyss looked on in delighted disbelief as the bully lay there for a second or two, stunned and winded. Jenny went to step forward to see if he was all right. Then her mouth set in a determined line and she stopped. Horace had asked for it, she thought.”

The Gather dissolved into good natured laughter, able to imagine the young warrior in flight with ease. It was a scene every Ranger present had either lived through himself or witnessed of someone else. Horace would be unharmed, aside from the massive blow to his pride, but it was no less than he deserved. Whatever enmity he shared with Will should have been put aside upon being Chosen.

With his status as a castle ward, once apprenticed, he was considered an adult. If he flunked out of Battleschool, there would be no returning to the Ward and living on the baron’s generosity. Horace would have been put to work in the fields, a position which he would have found utterly demeaning.

Regardless of his feud with Will, Will was a Ranger’s apprentice. The Ranger’s were an elite taskforce charged with foreign and domestic intelligence gathering, enforcing the laws within Araluen's borders, and all sorts of special operations.

Both boys had been chosen to serve honorable positions that, yes by nature of being a knight or Ranger, were afforded blanket respect. Anything beyond that had to be earned by honorable deeds and integrity.

Some liked to theoretically argue which group held more importance in the grand scheme of serving Araluen. The older generation of Rangers, Halt and Crowley and the rest of the crew that had rebuilt the Corps into something to be proud of, took a neutral stance, saying that both served in vitally different ways. Though Crowley would often throw a sly wink at the end and claim “a Ranger with his silver oakleaf was worth as many knights as arrows he carried.’

“There was a chance then, just a chance, that the whole incident might end there. But Will couldn’t resist the temptation to have one last word.

““Maybe you’d better ask your grandmother if she’ll teach you to ride,” he said, straight-faced. George and Alyss managed to hide their smiles, but unfortunately, it was Jenny who couldn’t stop the small giggle that escaped her.”

“Can’t blame you for that, kid. You’ll never have the last word with Halt.”

“In an instant, Horace scrambled to his feet, his face dark with rage. He looked around, saw a fallen branch from the apple tree and grabbed it, brandishing it over his head as he rushed at Tug.

““I’ll show you, and your damned horse!” he yelled furiously, swinging the stick wildly at Tug. The pony danced sideways out of harm’s way, and before Horace could strike again, Will was on him.

“He landed on Horace’s back and his weight and the force of his leap drove them both to the ground. They rolled there, grappling with each other, each trying to gain an advantage. Tug, alarmed to see his master in danger, whinnied nervously and reared.

“One of Horace’s wildly flailing arms caught Will a ringing blow across the ear. Then Will managed to get his right arm free and punched Horace hard in the nose.

“Blood ran down the bigger boy’s face. Will’s arms were hard and well-muscled after his three months’ training with Halt. But Horace was being taught in a hard school too. He drove a fist into Will’s stomach and Will gasped as the air was driven out of him.

“Horace scrambled to his feet but Wil, in a move that Halt had shown him, swung his own legs in a wide arc, cutting Horace’s feet from under him and sending him tumbling again.

“Always strike first, Halt had dinned into his brain in the hours they’d spent practicing unarmed combat. Now, as the other boy crashed to the ground again, Will dived upon him, trying to pin his arms beneath his knees.

“Then will felt an iron grip on the back of his collar and he was being hauled in the air, like a fish upon a hook, wriggling and protesting.”

“While I wouldn’t have intended for you to be starting fights friends, my advice stands. He who attacks first controls the battle. The defender has to work twice as hard to create an opportunity to strike.”

Will valiantly suppressed a snort at Halt’s lecture. Horace was not a friend, nor would he ever be one, if his behavior in these books were anything to judge by.

““What’s going on here, you two hooligans?” said a loud, angry voice in his ear.

“Will twisted around and realized that he was being held by Sir Rodney, the Battlemaster. And the big warrior looked extremely angry. Horace scrambled to his feet and stood at attention. Sir Rodney released Will’s collar and the Ranger’s apprentice dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Then he too stood to attention.

““Two apprentices,” said Sir Rodney angrily, “brawling like hooligans and spoiling the holiday! And to make things worse, one of them is my own apprentice!””

“Looks like he was right to wait on recommending his apprentice to Wallace,” said Bartell. “Mere days after being impressed by his swordsmanship, he’s caught brawling with another apprentice. It’s precisely the attitude he feared the boy hid.”

“Will and Horace shuffled their feet, eyes down, unable to meet the Battlemaster’s furious gaze.

““All right, Horace, what’s going on here?”

“Horace shuffled his feet again and went red. He didn’t answer. Sir Rodney looked at Will.

““All right, you, the Ranger’s boy! What’s this all about?”

“Will hesitated. “Just a fight, sir,” he mumbled.”

Will met his mentor’s eyes, easily reading the command that he never try to lie to him. Satisfied that his message had been received, Halt turned his gaze away, and Will released the breathe he had unconsciously been holding.”

““I can see that!” the Battlemaster shouted. “I’m not an idiot, you know!” He paused for a moment, waiting to see if either boy had anything further to add. They were both silent. Sir Rodney sighed in exasperation. Boys! If they weren’t getting under your feet, they were fighting. And if they weren’t fighting, they were stealing or breaking something.

““All right,” he said finally. “The fight’s over. Now shake hands and be done with it.” He paused and, as neither boy made a move to shake hands, roared in his parade-ground voice:

““Get on with it!”

“Galvanized into action, Will and Horace reluctantly shook hands. But as Will looked into Horace’s eyes, he saw that the matter was far from settled.

“We’ll finish this another time, the angry look in Horace’s eyes said.

“Any time you like, the apprentice Ranger’s eyes replied.”

“Perfect timing!” Gilan claimed, cheerfully. “Stew’s ready.”

The stew was hearty and delicious and filled his belly with warmth. After he had assisted in cleaning up, Will was directed by Halt to follow him into the trees. The boy danced in delight when he found the recurve bow waiting for him.

“We’ve got about an hour of sunlight left. Let’s see how many decent shots you can get off.” Halt drew his saxe knife and carved an ‘x’ into the bark of a tree. “This is your target.”

Will hefted the bow, admiring its unique shape, pulling experimentally at the string and then easing it back without ever actually releasing. He had no desire to mark the inside of his forearm with viciously throbbing welts.

Speaking of. “Wait a moment!” Will exclaimed. “Where’s that arm cuff?”

Halt, visible behind the young boy only from the corner of his eye as the safest place to observe and critique his apprentice, quirked his loops. A familiar leather arm brace hung from his fingertips. “You mean this cuff?”

He threw it with an underhand toss and Will snatched it out of the air. Then he turned to frown at his master. “Why didn’t you give me this to start with?”

“Wanted to see if you would make the same mistake twice. You didn’t.” Will glowed at the praise, not minding it was sparse. “Now, get shooting.”

Will lifted the bow and loaded an arrow. His first hit too high, the second miss outright, and the third was down and to right.

Halt took out a whetstone and set to sharpening his two blades while Will practiced his archery, quietly approving when the lad took to muttering “ a ranger practices until he never gets it wrong,” when he had a particularly bad shot.

The appearance of the books had made it clear that Will would grow to be a Ranger to be proud of, and the boy still needed to be trained, so it wasn’t like he was going to miss out his part in shaping Will, but it pleased him to witness Will’s dedication.

Chapter 18: Chapter 17

Notes:

I'm keeping with the metric system as it is what's used in the books. Bear in mind I'm from the US and metric is not the unit of measurement here, so I'm relying on google to convert things. Basically, forgive me if somethings wrong math wise.

Will crawled from his bedroll before morning broke, heading for the latrine on the edge of camp. He relieved himself quickly, not wanting to linger. He had gotten enough of the stench when he had been assigned to dig it deeper alongside Waylon and Meric. Typically, it was a task assigned to the apprentices, but there wasn’t any this year. Not counting himself.

Before attending this Gathering, Will wouldn’t have thought it odd. After all, he had believed magic to be involved and he had never heard of a Ranger apprentice before, so it was only natural to assume that the magic involved made it so no training was necessary.

His ignorance had been quickly corrected. The Rangers had proven to Will that a tremendous amount of training and drilling and practice went into shaping Araluen’s reconnaissance task force.

Will was determined to prove that he deserved the attention these adults showering him with on his own merits.

He appreciated these books, grateful beyond words for proof that he was destined for greater things, and incredibly more so for the answers they gave him. Answers he never thought he would get. But he didn’t want the books to be the only reason Halt and Gilan and everyone else took interest in him.

He had been terrified when Gilan had come and collected him—it was never a good thing when a mysterious Ranger appeared for you—claiming that Will was to come with him because  it was decided the boy was to join the Rangers. Or, that was how it appeared until the duo had arrived at the Gathering and Commandant Crowley explained the revelation of these strange books.

The Rangers welcomed him with open arms, readily instructing him in their ways, only further solidifying Will’s fears that they had no choice. Gilan had said when he fetched him that only Rangers were allowed at the Gathering. Why else would fifty men who had earned their positions accept him, scrawny Will with no second name? Had to make sure Will wouldn’t be an embarrassment to their reputation.

They were halfway through the first book now, and Will had concluded how he came to become a Ranger didn’t matter. Now or in the future. He quite honestly appeared to have little choice either way. But he could choose to apply himself, take his mentors’ lessons to heart, and hopefully become a fraction of the Ranger that he would be in these books. He didn’t have the option of failing out, like Horace. Nor did he want to become as bitter and jaded as his wardmate in the future.

Will thought he would be upset with being denied the freedom to choose, like the version of himself in the book had been when Choosing Day arrived, but a few days of self-reflection and all of the Rangers’ genuine willingness to chip in when it came to teaching him had swept away those feelings, replacing them with the determination to make them proud.

Hence, his waking before the sun rose and grabbing his saxe knives so he could practice his throwing technique before they dove back into reading.

“You can practice all you want, but it’ll mean nothing in the end.”

Will startled. Aim thrown, his knife went wide, hurtling past the intended target and into the forest. Frowning, now he would have to sweep the trees to find his missing equipment, he turned to face whoever interrupted him.

“Meralon,” he said flatly.

Said man rested faux casually against a tree, watching the teen with a hard look in his eyes. “I don’t know why you bother. Acting like they’ve already inducted you. You’re nobody special. An unwanted orphan. Whatever deeds you were going to accomplish won’t happen. We’re here to prevent whatever those books reveal.”

A hollow sensation settled in Will’s stomach. Messaged delivered, Meralon sauntered away.

Distractedly, he searched for his lost knife. How had he not considered what these books meant for the future? Enraptured by truths being revealed—both personal and about the ever-elusive Ranger Corps--he had forgotten that their purpose was to uncover Morgarath’s plot and prevent it. Anything that came of these books was a side effect of their existing. What if they showed that Will didn’t deserve the special treatment he was currently receiving? Just because he was in the books didn’t mean he had an important role to play. Really, what was the likelihood that all the books were about his deeds? None whatsoever. No, it definitely made more sense for it to be about Halt. The old Ranger was already a hero, miraculously snatching victory from Morgarath once.  It made more sense for it to be him than Will.

Will’s despondency didn’t go unnoticed when he returned, finally successful in locating the mis-thrown knife, but before Halt could comment, Alun, following the pattern established, took up the book.

Halt effected a slouch, resolving to keep an eye on the boy. He was shit at hiding his reactions and Halt would let him learn that lesson in his own time, because he didn’t want Will to be able to hide his emotions from him.

Will would undoubtedly reveal the reason for his sudden depression if Halt was patient enough.

“Snow lay thick on the ground as Will and Halt rode slowly home from the forest.”

“Skipping all of the fall season, huh.”

“Gilan, please can we get through more than one sentence before you open your mouth?”

The swordsman smiled cheekily, miming locking his lips and throwing away the key. Crowley snorted, knowing the youngest wouldn’t hold his silence for long.

“The situation between Will and Horace remained unresolved as time passed. There had been little chance for the two boys to resume the argument, as their respective masters kept them busy and their paths seldom crossed.

“Will had seen the apprentice warrior occasionally, but always at a distance. They hadn’t spoken or even had the chance to acknowledge each other’s presence. But the ill feeling was still there, Will knew, and one day it would come to a head.”

Much like it just had with Meralon, apparently. Will imagined the heaviness he felt in his gut now was comparable to the unresolved tension between himself and Horace. From his admittance to the Gathering, Meralon had been vocal about his reluctance to have an unconnected an unsworn peasant boy in their ranks, and made it quite clear he believed the boy’s importance to be arbitrary and that Will didn’t belong.

Was it too late to accept a life of plowing fields? If it was good enough for his father, it should be good enough for Will.

And yet he ached for the life his book self had and mourned that it was no longer possible.

“Strangely, he found that the prospect didn’t disturb him nearly as much as it might have a few months ago.”

“Not unsurprising,” Clarke commented. “You’ve proven yourself capable of matching him in a controlled setting. Not,” he continued pointedly with a stern glance at the teen, “that I’m advocating arranging a meeting.”

Will nodded because it was expected of him. Perhaps, if he was a better apprentice now, he wouldn’t be sidelined when it came time to act upon all the information these books revealed. He didn’t need to be the hero. He just wanted to be involved.

“It was not that he looked forward to renewing the fight with Horace,” as Halt’s eyebrows pointedly told him he had better not, “but he found he could face the idea with a certain amount of equanimity. He felt a deep satisfaction when he recalled that good, solid punch he had landed on Horace’s nose.”

“Be careful that taking pride in your skills does not transform you into a bully,” warned Andross.

“He also realized, with a slight sense of surprise, that the memory of the incident was made more enjoyable by the fact that it had happened in the presence of Jenny and—this was where the surprise lay—Alyss.”

Gilan nudged the young boy with an elbow. “I see now. It was really about impressing the ladies with your fighting skills.”

Willl blushed furiously. “It wasn’t—I wouldn’t—I don’t care about—I just wanted to shut him up, I’m sure.”

“Inconclusive as the event might have been, there was still a lot about it to set Will thinking and remembering.”

Halt debated quipping once more about how Will wasn’t ready to think, for the boy was prone to overthinking himself into a corner but decided against it. Reading the tense line of his shoulders, he knew he wouldn’t be getting a fond eye roll in response.

“But not right now, he realized, as Halt’s angry tone dragged him back to the present.

““Could we possibly continue with our tracking, or did you have something more important to do?” he inquired. Instantly, Will cast around, trying to see what Halt had point out. As they rode through the crisp, white snow, their horses’ hooves making only the smallest of sounds, Halt had been pointing to disturbances in the even white cover. They were tracks left by animals and it was Will’s task to identify them. He had sharp eyes and a good mind for the task. He normally enjoyed these tracking lessons, but now his attention had wandered and he had no idea where he was supposed to be looking.

““There,” Halt said, his tone leaving no doubt that he didn’t expect to have to repeat such things, as he pointed to the left. Will stood in his stirrups to see the disturbed snow more clearly.

““Rabbit,” he said promptly. Halt turned to look sidelong at him.

““Rabbit?” he asked, and Will looked again, correcting himself almost immediately.

““Rabbits,” he said, stressing the plural ending. Halt insisted on accuracy.”

“Of course, I would,” the Ranger explained before Will had a chance to question why. “Miss a rabbit track and you go hungry for a night. Miss a person, it may be your last night.”

Harrison barked out a rough laugh. “Do you scare all your apprentices into being their best?”

Halt shrugged nonchalantly. He wouldn’t call it scaring per say. He was offering up genuine advice based on his own personal experiences. Many of the Rangers currently sat around the fire pit hadn’t been a part of the Corps when he and Crowley had headed a mini revolution to oust Morgarath and the incompetent nobles that bought their way into wearing an oakleaf.

That kind of corruption stayed with you. Halt never wanted to see it happen again, which was why the Rangers in charge of evaluating the apprentices were chosen from the old crowd. Halt would trust every Ranger in the Corps to have his back on the battlefield, but this younger generation that joined after Morgarath’s attempted takeover simply didn’t understand the difference between keeping skills sharp and ensuring they never wavered. And it wasn’t just physical skills. It was mentally taxing to always be on high alert, forever searching the shadows for the threats that hide within them.

He was grateful for the near decade and a half of peace Araluen had, but lead to some members becoming lax. Hell, the newest members had thought Morgarath to be nothing more than an old wives’ tale created to scare children into behaving.

Thankfully they had these books, otherwise Halt feared just how unprepared they would have been for when the exiled baron struck.

““I should think so,” Halt muttered at him. “After all, if they were Skandian tracks there, you’d need to be sure you knew how many there were.”

“I suppose so,” said Will, meekly.”

Gilan clapped the boy on the back. “No worries, lad. Halt will fix that right up. You’ll soon be spotting Skandian tracks in a thunderstorm.

Will’s lips pulled into a half-smile. The excitement he had about joining the Rangers was steadily wearing off. Every chapter presented a version of himself that was blooming in skills and confidence, and the more he listened the harder it was to imagine himself growing into that person. All the pride for his accomplishments that he would no longer achieve. With each one that was revealed, Will could feel the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders. It was matched by the heavy feeling of disappointment in his gut that Meralon was right. None of this would be his. Now Will’s only claim to fame would be he was supposed to be important, but because of these books he wasn’t necessary.

Why would they need an untrained, not even an apprentice, when they already had an array of talented Rangers trained to do whatever his future self would achieve?

““You suppose so!” Halt replied sarcastically. “Believe me, Will, there’s a big difference between knowing there’s one Skandian about and knowing there are half a dozen.”

“Will nodded apologetically. One of the changes that had come over their relationship lately was the fact that Halt almost never referred to him as “boy” anymore. These days, it was always “Will.” Will liked that. It made him feel that somehow he’d been accepted by the grim-faced Ranger. All the same, he did wish that Halt would smile once or twice when he said it.”

Will ducked his head, cheeks flushed a deep red, as several Rangers rushed to assure him that Halt was naturally taciturn, and of course Gilan’s emphasis that Will would know he earned it when he got the old man to smile and that would make it worth it.

“Or even once.”

“Not once in all those months?” questioned Clarke. “Isn’t that a little harsh, Halt? It wouldn’t hurt to give the boy a little encouragement.”

Halt grumbled. “He’s probably just not seen it, what with his head being in the clouds.”

“Halt’s low voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

““So . . . rabbits. Is that all?”

Noticed only by his future mentor, Will’s shoulders rose until they almost brushed his ears. Will knew he wouldn’t be anywhere near perfect after just a few months of training, but it was getting harder to listen to all the mistakes he would make.

“Will looked again. In the disturbed snow, difficult to see, but there now that Halt had pointed it out to him, was another set of tracks.

““A stoat!” he said triumphantly and Halt nodded again.

““A stoat,” he agreed. “But you should have known there was something else there, Will. Look at how deep those rabbit tracks are. It’s obvious that something had frightened them. When you see a sign like that, it’s a hint to look for something extra.”

“Don’t worry, Will,” Berrigan tried to assuage. “These are things that you will pick up over time until they eventually become instinctive.”

Will smiled weakly. Contrary to their intentions, the constant reassurances and compliments only made the boy feel even more uneasy. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was learning their expectations now.  Hopefully, he would be less of a disappointment.

““I see,” said Will. But Halt shook his head.

““No. All too often, you don’t see, because you don’t maintain your concentration. You’ll have to work on that.”

“Will said nothing. He merely accepted the criticism. He’d learn by now that Halt didn’t criticize without reason. And when there was reason, no amount of excuses could save him.”

Looking around the circle, it was easy to see which Rangers agreed with Halt’s methods and which didn’t by the frown. Not counting Meralon, whose scowl was likely a permanent fixture, and Gilan, whom had lived with Halt’s attitude for five years, the younger Rangers seemed to be in an agreement that Halt was a harsh taskmaster and they were lucky to not live in Redmont Fief.

“They rode on in silence. Will strained his eyes at the ground around them, looking for more tracks, more animal signs. They went another kilometer or so and were starting to see some of the familiar landmarks that told him he was close to their cottage when he saw something.

““Look!” he cried, pointed to a tumbled section of snow just off the path. “What’s that?”

“Halt turned to look. The tracks, if they were tracks, were like no others that Will has seen so far. The Ranger urged his horse nearer to the edge of the path and looked more closely.

““Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s one I haven’t shown you yet. Don’t see too many of them these days, so take a good look, Will.”

“He swung easily down from the saddle and walked through the knee-deep snow toward the disturbance. Will followed him.

““What is it?” the boy asked.

““Wild boar,” said Halt briefly. “And a big one.”

“Will glanced nervously around them. He mightn’t know what wild boar’s tracks looked like in the snow, but he knew enough about the creatures to know they were very, very dangerous.”

“Sounds like there will be a hunt soon,” Fakir said softly. “Haven’t had boar stew or jerky in a while.”

“We’ll have to do some hunting here soon,” Crowley acknowledge. “We haven’t nearly enough meat to last twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks?” echoed Will. Just how many books did they have to go through?

“Aye. We’re averaging about five or six chapters a day, but the books appear to get longer as you grow, so they’ll even out to about a book a week, I’d wager.

Will sat back in a daze as Alun picked up where he left off. Twelve books about his life. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that would cover.

“Halt noticed the look and made a reassuring movement with his hand.

““Relax,” he said. “He’s nowhere near us.”

““Can you tell that from the tracks?” Will asked. He stared, fascinated, at the snow. The deep ruts and furrows had obviously been made by a very large animal. And it looked as if it were a very large, very angry animal.

““No,” said Halt evenly. “I can tell it from our horses. If a boar that size where anywhere in the district, those two would be snuffling and pawing and whinnying so hard, we wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves think.

““Oh,” said Will, feeling a little foolish. He relaxed the grip he’d taken on his bow. However, in spite of the Ranger’s assurances, he couldn’t resist taking just one more look around behind them. And as he did so, his heart began pounding faster and faster.

“The thick undergrowth on the other side of the track was moving, ever so slightly. Normally, he might have passed the movement off as due to the breeze, but his training with Halt had heightened his reasoning and his observation. At the moment, there was no breeze. Not the slightest breath.”

Halt dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “You’ve got good instincts, Will. Trust them.”

“But still, the bushes continued to move.

“Will’s hand went slowly to his quiver. Moving deliberately, so as to avoid startling the creatures in the bushes, he drew an arrow and placed it on the string of his bow.

““Halt?” He tried to keep his voice down, but couldn’t prevent it from quaking just a little. He wondered if his bow would stop a charging boar. He didn’t think so.”

“Need special pikes for a boar hunt,” Gilan said, smiling reminiscently. He had been on several as a teen and quite enjoyed the thrill being charged at by a 200kg beast with only a four-and-a-half meter pike between you and its tusks.

“Halt looked around, his gaze taking in the arrow nocked to Will’s bowstring and noting the direction in which Will was looking.

““I hope you’re not thinking of shooting the poor old farmer who’s hiding behind those bushes,” he said seriously. Yet he pitched his voice so that it carried clearly across the track to the thick clump of bushes on the other side.

“Instantly, there was a scuffle of movement from the bush and Will heard a nervous voice crying out:

““Don’t shoot, good sir! Please, don’t shoot! It’s only me!”

“The bushes parted as a disheveled and frightened-looking old man stood up and hurried forward. His haste was his undoing and he sprawled forward into the snow. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, hands held out, palms first, to show that he carried no weapons. As he came, he continued a nonstop babble of words:

““Only me, sir! No need for shootin’, sir! Only me, I swear, and I’m no danger to the likes of you!”

“He hurried forward into the center on the tracks, his eyes fixed on the bow in Will’s hands and the gleaming, razor-sharp tip of the arrow. Slowly, Will released the tension on the string and lowered the bow as he took a closer look at the interloper. He was skinny in the extreme. Dressed in a ragged and dirty farmer’s smock, he had long, awkward arms and legs and knobby elbows and knees. His beard was gray and matted and he was going bald on top of his head.”

“What do you think, Halt? Might be you if you ever let yourself go,” Alun paused reading to joke, earning chortles from several of his comrades. “Ever wanted to be a farmer?”

Halt glowered. “No,” he said shortly.

“The man stopped a few meters from them and smiled nervously at the two cloaked figures.

““Only me,” he repeated, one last time.”

“Props to the man,” Gilan said. “Not many men would be willing to follow two Rangers into the woods.”

“And what does that mean for me, young man?”

Will startled at the unfamiliar voice. He was the only one to. He scrambled to follow the rest of the Rangers to his feet and bowed to the stranger.

Crowley crossed the clearing, heartily clapping the blond man on the back. When he withdrew, Will spotted the leopard insignia on the clasp that held the man’s cloak together, and was struck with the realization that he was face to face with the king.

He had never met royalty before. How was he supposed to address the king? Will never thought he would be in this position.

“What brings you to our gathering? I’m going to have to induct you too, now, sire.”

King Duncan laughed gaily. “Killian brought your message of these mysterious books and how you decided to read them and how you planned to send a messenger to summarize each book. It simply seemed more efficient for me to come hear them in person.”

The Ranger Commandant accepted that explanation. “Sensible, indeed, your majesty. I didn’t think you could spare several weeks, but we’re happy to host you.”

The king frowned. “No, you’re right I can’t spare several weeks. Will it truly take that long to get through all these books?”

“It’s a high estimate,” Crowley admitted. “If we read all day, we could probably do it in half the time.”

“Or perhaps we could relocate to the king’s castle? If that pleases you, your majesty?” suggested Andross.

Gilan wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulders, pulling the young boy away from the slowly developing debate. “Grab you gear, Will. We can practice while the royal retinue gets themselves settled.”

Will still had his knives on him from this morning, and hadn’t take the cloak off since Crowley had given him permission to keep it, but left the bow he had been given in the tent he shared with Halt. When he returned with weapon in hand, he found another young boy standing beside Gilan, blond hair peeking out beneath the cap he wore. Assuming him to be a squire of some kind, Will hardly paid him any attention.

Until he demanded to be brought along. “Wait a moment!” he called out, voice unnaturally high. Will felt momentarily envious that his voice was already breaking and maturing, for he appeared to be even younger than Will himself was, but honestly felt more embarrassed for him. Must be teased something awful for how much he sounded like a girl. “I’m coming with you.”

Will turned to cock an eyebrow at the imposing interloper. “You can’t. You’re not a Ranger.”

“Neither are you,” the boy shot back.

Now Will frowned. “No, but I am an apprentice.” He glanced at Gilan, expecting the Ranger to support him. After all, he was the one who said Will would have to be trained up as one of them if he was going to learn all their secrets anyway.

Gilan opened his mouth, to defend or cool the rising argument, Will didn’t know, for the other young boy cut across him haughtily.

“Well, I’m the princess, and I said I’m coming with you.”

 

Chapter 19: Chapter 18

A slim hand reached up to tug the woolen cap from her head, allowing blonde locks to tumble free. Hair free to frame her face, Will was abruptly hit with the similarities between her and the King, who he had just met minutes ago.

Feeling mighty stupid, Will shut his mouth, teeth clacking together.

Was he going to get in trouble for trying to deny a princess?

Gilan, too, looked flummoxed by the sight of her. He threw a pleading look towards Halt and Crowley, still discussing matters with the girl’s father, hoping one of them would come to his rescue. He wouldn’t mind showing the young lass a few tricks to help defend herself if she wanted, but letting her watch Ranger training? That was uncharted territory.

He didn’t care that a woman had never joined their ranks—in fact he thought they might rather improve if a few could be convinced to sign on—but the princess? Royalty had never, not once, asked to be included.

Seeing as no help would be coming from his mentor or commander, Gilan ushered the two teens into the area set aside for letting Will practice his archery and knife skills. He tasked the boy with continuing his aim. By the end of the evening, Will had been consistently hitting the tree. Only two out of seven shots would sail into the forest.

He stood with Princess Cassandra, quietly reminding her to stay well back and out of sight to reduce the chance of her potentially distracting the lad while he had an arrow ready to go.

She seemed content to watch at first, silently observing as Will readied an arrow, drew it back—“Remember to engage your back muscles. Bring those shoulder blades together!” coached Gilan—released, and repeated, over and over again.

Perhaps bored, not used to being sidelined in favor of an orphan boy, or simply tired of watching Will repeat the same motion, Cassandra stood, pulling a sling out of her pocket. She quickly gathered a handful of small stones and acorns and set about her own target practice.

Her first attempts were just as wildly uncoordinated as Will’s, but Gilan watched appraisingly as she shook off the rust and targeted a specific knot on her chosen tree. A sling wasn’t what the Ranger pictured when he thought of a concealed weapon. It was more of a toy truly, for making trick shots and knocking bottles off of fences. Even in the hands of a Ranger, who trained accuracy until it was near as instinctual as breathing, the sling would only be useful for one or two surprise attacks.

And completely useless against a fully armored knight. But he could see it as a handy distraction tool, however.

Cassandra’s wrist snapped out again. Her pebble soared not for her tree, but the one Will aimed it, slamming on the crude ‘x’ Halt had cut into the bark to serve as the boy’s bullseye.

Startled, Will’s arrow flew wide, thankfully in the opposite direction of where Gilan was monitoring from. Meric’s Ranger hesitated, wondering how to scold a princess for interfering and potentially inviting injury if Will had spun her way with that arrow still in position instead of being startled into releasing it early.

Will dropped his bow. “What was that for?”

Cassandra pointed her chin high and crossed her arms, the picture of teenage defiance. “You were trying to hit that mark. I did it for you. Can we do something interesting now?”

“I’m training my accuracy,” he snapped back. “I’m supposed to hit that mark until I never miss.”

“Never miss?” the princess repeated, mockingly. “You haven’t even hit it once yet.”

Will seethed, unimpressed by her bratty attitude. She was supposed to be a princess? What did she know about shooting a bow? She was playing around with a sling. A child’s toy. Leagues easier than a real weapon. He bet she wouldn’t even be able to draw the string back.

“Why don’t you do it then, if you’re so good at it.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I just did. Are you blind? Is that why you keep missing?”

Scooping up his dropped bow, Will held it out for her. “With this. If it’s so easy, you shouldn’t have any problem repeating that performance with a bow and arrow.”

She looked from the bow to his face, disbelieving. “I’ve never shot a bow before!”

“Of course not. Because it’s much harder to use than a sling.”

The princess scowled, stomping over to rip the recurve bow from his hand. “The first two shots are practice shots,” she declared. “Only the third one will count.”

Will offered up three arrows and stepped back. “As you say, princess.”

Seemingly forgotten, Gilan allowed Will to bait the princess into the very same mistake Will himself made when offered an unfamiliar weapon. He probably could have stepped in earlier to prevent it from escalating to this point, but, well, Halt’s teachings were rather effective. Once Gil learned a lesson, he never forgot it.

So, he figured this would serve as a good lesson for the princess. To follow instructions when given, to be careful about making assumptions, and to never try an unfamiliar weapon without seeking proper, expert guidance.

She couldn’t draw it back fully in her first attempt. Tossing blonde hair back over her shoulders, she insisted to the smirking Will that it didn’t count as one of her three because she hadn’t released an arrow.

Will, unbothered by the assertation because he knew she had been set up for failure, conceded with grace.

Confident that she had negotiated herself unlimited attempts to practice drawing the bow before she made an honest attempt, Cassanda lifted the bow, struggling with all her might to pull the string far enough back for a successful shot. She didn’t want to embarrass herself by dropping the arrow at her feet because she couldn’t do it.

Will was reluctantly impressed. The princess might be a brat, but she was a tenacious one. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would ever see a princess persist in trying to draw a bow when she had to know she wasn’t cut out for it. She was too short for that bow, he reckoned, and, while stronger than he would expect from a princess, clearly not strong enough for a full draw.

Her first ‘true’ attempt came after several frustrating minutes—for Cassandra—in which she realized her arms were beginning to tire from the repeated motions she was subjecting them too. She managed to pull the string back, halfway at best. She didn’t want to admit she was wrong. Instead, she would blame the bow itself. Clearly, if neither of them could manage a decently aimed shot, it was probably a subpar bow. Then she could demand a rematch once they returned to the castle, and she convinced her father to assign someone to train her.

Cassandra let go of the arrow. She had a fleeting moment to be giddy at her success. For someone who only picked up a bow fifteen minutes ago, she thought it was pretty impressive for her to shoot it at all.

That joy turned to pain immediately. She dropped the bow like it had burned her, which from the pain radiating from her left arm, it may as well have!

“That hurt! Is the stupid thing defective?”

“Not as easy as it looks, eh?”

Cassandra whirled on the other teen. “This is your fault!”

Will felt his anger rise at the accusation. “Is not! You’re the one that butted in on my training. You’re the one distracted me while I was trying to shoot!”

“But you challenged me!” was her defense.

“Enough. Quit it, both of you,” Gilan snapped when Will’s face became mulish. “Will set you up to look the fool, Princess Cassandra,” he ignored her gasp of outrage, “and you let it happen instead of admitting that you couldn’t do it. A bow is nothing like a sling. Even if the string hadn’t snapped back on you, you were never going to hit the target.”

Cassandra stared, silent and teary eyed, as the Ranger continued to criticize her actions. “Will could have easily hurt himself when you pulled that stunt shooting at his target. He’s only just started his training, too. He could have hurt you if he had turned before releasing that arrow.”

Gilan moved to kneel in front of her, looking her dead in the eye. “I could have easily told you to return to your father and let him know how you endangered yourself so recklessly. I could have prevent Will from giving you that challenge, for we both knew you would hurt yourself without protective equipment.”

Cassanadra’s eyes dropped, ashamed, and landed on the leather cuff on Gilan’s arm. A cuff she confirmed the apprentice boy was wearing too. But any rage she might have felt at the deception deserted her with the knowledge she could only blame herself for needling the boy unnecessarily and rising to his bait.

“The next time you disobey my orders to stay safe, you won’t get off so lightly.”

Grabbing each child by the shoulder, Gilan steered the two downtrodden teens back to the Gathering. He had only meant to distract the children, knowing Will at least would be vibrating with energy if his only option was to wait for a decision to be made.

The two teens split as soon as the hit the clearing. Will, slinking to his tent to stow his weapons, and Cassandra to her father’s side, perhaps guiltily but mostly unsuccessfully, trying to hide the blooming welt.

“I wasn’t aware you had an interest in becoming a Ranger, Cassie.”

The princess flushed red. “Not like I could even if I wanted to.”

King Duncan ignored the sarcasm with aplomb. “You may not be able to devote yourself to the Corps, but I can arrange for them to teach some basic skills, if that is your desire. Would there be any issue with my daughter joining your apprentice for the normal aspects of Ranger training?”

Halt and Crowley shared a look, silently communicating through a series of microfacial expressions. Gilan knew the king knew more than most people about Rangers and their skillsets, but he wasn’t privy to all the secrets. After the Ranger Corp had been created by King Herbert, he left the particulars of how they managed to fulfill their duties up to them.

They could teach the girl to use a bow, maybe a saxe knife if they wanted to be generous, and a few other tricks like moving quietly and unseen and basic survival skills.

Gil figured the girl’s temper would win out within a week of training under Halt, so it wasn’t like she would learn anything meant for Rangers only.

Crowley and Halt seemed to agree. “If she’s serious about it,” the Commandant prevaricated.

The king turned to his daughter. “Well, Cassandra? We’ll being staying at least until the end of the week.”

The princess seemed suddenly unsure of herself now that the opportunity had been presented to her. Or perhaps wary of learning anything else from the secret Ranger Corps when they had already proved willing to disrespect—nay, bully!—her.

“I’ll decide at the end of the book.”

Will took his usual place between Gilan and Halt. Crowley chose to sit near the two royals. He noticed a few Rangers he hadn’t been introduced to yet. Presumably they had arrived with the royal entourage. A quick headcount told him there were still less than the fifty Rangers, even with the three newcomers.

Had they even had a chance to catch up to where they were? They were halfway through the book already.

“My turn!” Gilan said cheerfully, bounding up from his seat to collect the book from the Commandant.

“Will couldn’t help smiling to himself. Anything less like a ferocious, charging wild boar, he couldn’t imagine.

““How did you know he was there?” he asked Halt in a soft voice. The Ranger shrugged.”

He repeated the action when several pointed eyebrows were flung his way. “I’m not going to explain myself twice. I’m sure I’m about to teach the boy a valuable lesson.”

““Saw him a few minutes ago. You’ll learn eventually to sense when someone’s watching you. Then you know to look for them.””

Will hope they started teaching him that skill soon. It would be quite handy for avoiding Horace around the Ward until the official Choosing Day.

Unbidden, his heart fluttered. Unless, since they were training him already, maybe Will would be permitted to make this official after the Gathering. He would miss the rest of his wardmates, especially Alyss and Jenny, but it only seemed sensible to keep his training going now that they started.

He bit his lip as the story continued, fervently hoping that they wouldn’t put him on hold for almost a year.

“Will shook his head in admiration. Halt’s powers of observation were uncanny.”

“You’re telling me,” laughed Gilan. “I never got one over on him.”

“And you never will,” his former mentor said solemnly. “Nor will you,” he directed the last part at Will. “I see everything. I know everything.”

He demonstrated his amazing observational skills by dodging the pinecone Crowley aimed at him.

“No wonder the people at the castle held him in such awe!”

“No, I think they’re just scared of Rangers, kid.”

““Now then,” Halt said sternly, “why are you skulking there? Who told you to spy on us?”

“The old man rubbed his hands nervously together, his eyes flicking from Halt’s forbidding expression to the arrow tip, lowered now but still nocked to the string on Will’s bow.”

“Point proven, I believe.”

““Not spying, sir! No, no! Not spying. I heard you coming back and thought you was that monster porker coming back!””

That invited a round of laughter at Halt’s expense. “Good thing we started him on undetected movement already, if Halt is teaching him to mimic a boar’s gait,” Andross joked.

Berrigan rubbed his beard. “Not a bad strategy. Sometimes the lack of noise is a giveaway to something is not right.”

“Halt’s eyebrows drew together. “You thought I was a wild boar?” he asked. Again, the farmer shook his head.

““No. No. No. No,” he gabbled. “Leastways, not once I’d saw you! But then I wasn’t sure who you might be. Could be bandits, like.”

““What are you doing here?” Halt asked. “You’re not a local, are you?””

“How could you tell?” Will asked. “Nothing has been said about his description, so I wouldn’t think anything stood out about him.

Halt pondered for a moment. “It could have been that and the book isn’t pointing it out for some reason. Similarly, it could be an accent or his speech pattern. But honestly, I most likely didn’t recognize him as living in Redmont.”

Will looked at him with admiration. “Do you know everyone that lives in Redmont?”

The grizzled Ranger shrugged. “Not personally, mind you, but I would recognize most of them on sight. It’s important to be able to retain names, faces, and identifying characters. A good Ranger could walk into a room and tell if someone had moved his coffee cup an inch to the left.”

“The farmer, anxious to please, shook his head once again.

““Come from over Willowtree Creek, I do!” he said. “Been trailing that poker and hoping to find someone a could turn him into bacon.””

“He wanted you to kill it for him?” Meralon scoffed. “Why would he think he had any right to the meat in that case?”

Will disliked that he kind of agreed with the bitter Ranger from Drayden. The kill belonged to the man who slayed the beast.

“Halt was suddenly vitally interested. He dropped the mock severe tone in which he had been talking.”

“I knew it! There was no way you weren’t give him some kind of attitude for call you a fat porker!” Gilan exclaimed, before quickly getting back to the book to prevent Halt from retaliating.

For his part, Halt didn’t react. Now that he had Will to train, he had a ready-made excuse to incorporate his former apprentice in some of his less favored training exercises. It would pop his ego and remind Gil that he still had a long ways to go before he could beat Halt—at anything other than swordsman ship and height—and simultaneously improve the kid’s mood.

““You’ve seen the boar, then?” he asked, and the farmer rubbed his hands again and looked fearfully around, as if nervous that the “porker” would appear from the trees any minute.

““Seen him. Heard him. Don’t want to see him no more. He’s a bud ‘un, sir, mark my words.”

“Halt glanced back at the tracks again.

““He’s certainly a big one, anyway,” he mused.”

“I wonder how big,” mused Fakir, quietly. It had been a while since he had a chance to cook with boar. One the size the book implied might even be enough to feed everyone present for two or three days. He had foraged some sage on his way to the Gathering, which would pair quite nicely with wild boar.

Around him, many Rangers seemed to be daydreaming about organizing a boar hunt. The beauty of a beast that mated year-round meant it could be hunted year round as well, so long as they were careful to leave the piglets alive.

Even King Duncan looked a little wistful. He was oft too busy to participate in any kind of hunt, even the safer, staged, hunts within the castle’s nearby woods. And, when he did get a chance to partake, he typically relegated himself to the back, so his knights’ focus wouldn’t be split between hunting wild animals and protecting his royal person.

““And evil, sir!” the farmer went on. “That ‘un has a real devil of a temper in him. Why, he’d as soon tear up a man or horse as have his breakfast, he would!”

““So what did you have in mind for him? Halt asked, then added, “What’s your name, by the way?”

“The farmer bobbed his head and knuckled his forehead in salute.

““Peter, sir. Salt Peter, the calls me, on account of I likes a little salt on my meat, I do.””

Fakir nodded, solemnly. Salt was very versatile. It preserved meats so they last longer, but also enhanced the flavor so long as it wasn’t overdone.

“Halt nodded. “I’m sure you do,” he said, patiently. “But what where you hoping to do about this boar?”

“Salt Peter scratched his head and looked a little lost. “Don’t rightly know. Hoped maybe I’d find a soldier or warrior or knight to get rid of him. Or maybe a Ranger,” he added as an afterthought.”

“How come the farmer didn’t kill it himself? Why was he trying to find someone to do it for him?” Will asked, looking puzzled.

“He probably tried and failed, lad. He’s just a farmer,” Clarke reminded. “I take it you’ve never seen a boar hunt.” Will shook his head in confirmation. “They’re typically done in groups, so the hunters can control which way the boar goes. Wild boars also have a tendency to charge, and they’re speedy bastards in close range. An average man is more like to get gored by its tusks while the pig walks away clean.”

Norris scoffed. “Much easier to fish for your meat, I say.”

“Will grinned.”

The teen mimicked his book-self. It was funny to imagine this farmer, which must have been taller than Halt for Halt was the shortest Ranger, trying to appease the scary-magic Ranger he happened to find by pretending that he was looking for one. No one went looking for Rangers; too scared of their reputation.

Will eyed Halt up and down. They were roughly the same height seated, so probably around the same height overall. Would he be taller than Halt one day? It would be a new experience for Will, who had always been the shortest of the wards. Picking on his stature was Horace’s go-to jab whenever Will outsmarted the other boy.

“Halt stood up from where he’d gone down on one knee to examine the tracks in the snow. He dusted a little snow from his knee and walked back to where Salt Peter stood, nervously shifting from one foot to another.

““Has he been causing a lot of trouble?” the Ranger asked, and the old farmer nodded rapidly, several times.

““That he has, sir! That he has! Killed three dogs. Tore up fields and fences, he has. And nears as anything killed my son-in-law when he tried to stop him. Like I said, sir, he’s a bad ‘un!””

“Not afraid of going near human settlements. Makes him more dangerous,” Harrison concluded.

“Halt rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

““Hmmm,” he said. “Well, there’s no questioning that we’d better do something about it.” He looked up at the sun, sitting low to the horizon in the western sky, then turned on Will. “How much daylight would you say is left, Will?””

Halt turned to the size, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the boy.

“What? You can’t expect me to answer!” Will’s quick rebuttal earned quite a bit of laughter.

“Can you determine how much daylight we have left?”

Will paused, open-mouthed. Right, he should have expected that Halt would immediately test him on whatever skills his future counterpart was learning. He glanced up towards the sky, but it was hard to make out the sun behind the trees. The sun hadn’t had time to climb very high yet. Rangers seemed to rise with the sun, which at this time of year was somewhere between the sixth and seventh hour, and this was only their second chapter today.

Accounting for the arrival of the royal entourage, Will guessed they were in the eighth or nineth hour currently, which would leave:

“Eleven hours?” he said.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Eleven hours,” repeated Will, tonelessly, hoping it would mask that he wasn’t any more certain of his answer.

“You’re right,” Halt congratulated him evenly.

“Cut the kid a break, Halt,” urged Merron. “He got it right despite not having been taught to calculate the sun’s position based on the length of relative shadows.”

Will’s eyes widened, staring at the middle-aged Ranger in disbelief. He was expected to what now?

“Oh no,” Halt was quick to deny. “He did fine guessing the time of day. The boy’s got good intuition. But, if I’m going to be starting his training now, I’m going to train him out of that bad habit of answering a question with a question.”

“Will studied the position of the sun. These days, Halt never missed an opportunity to teach him or question him or test his knowledge and developing skills. He knew it was best to consider carefully before making an answer. Halt preferred accurate replies, not fast ones.”

Halt remained silent as the rest of the Corp seemed to expect him to make a comment defending his teaching style. Halt had nothing to say. The results spoke for themselves. Gilan was ‘rising through the ranks,’ as much as one could considering the Ranger Corps had no true ranking system beyond apprentice and Ranger, other than years served. But Gilan had performed impressively when it came time to test for his silver oakleaf.

Of course, these books would be the true testament of Halt’s skills as a mentor, and logically, if Will lived long enough to fill twelve books, he must have taught the boy well.

““A little over an hour?” Will said. He saw Halt’s eyebrows draw together in a frown and remembered that the Ranger also disliked being answered with a question.

““Are you asking me, or telling me?” Halt said. Will shook his head, annoyed at himself.

“A little over an hour,” he replied more confidently and, this time, the Ranger nodded in agreement.

“Correct.” He turned to the old farmer again. “Very well, Salt Peter, I want you to take a message to Baron Arald.”

“Baron Arald?” the farmer asked nervously. Halt frowned again.

“See what you’ve done?” he said to Will. “You’ve got him answering questions with questions now!””

“That’s not fair!” Will exclaimed. “He was probably asking ‘cause he doesn’t know who Baron Arald is. You didn’t recognize him as being from Redmont, so how can the farmer be expected to know Redmont’s baron?”

Halt hm’ed. He had expected Will to say that he couldn’t be blamed for the farmer’s poorly toned responses when the farmer was so obviously terrified of the Ranger, so the blame should belong to Halt instead. But Will wasn’t wrong in thinking that Salt Peter was asking for clarification.

““Sorry,” Will mumbled, grinning in spite of himself. Halt shook his head and continued speaking to Salt Peter.

““That’s right, Baron Arald. You’ll find his castle a couple of kilometers along this track.”

“Salt Peter peered under one hand, looking along the track as if he could see the castle already. “A castle, you say?” he said, in a wondering voice. “I’ve never seen a castle!”

“Halt sighed impatiently. Keeping this old chatterbox’s mind on the subject was beginning to make him short-tempered. “That’s right, a castle. Now, go to the guard at the gate . . .”

““Is it a big castle?” asked the old fellow.

““It’s a huge castle!” Halt roared at him. Salt Peter bounded back in fright. He had a hurt look on his face.”

“Really, Halt?” Crowley addressed his oldest friend with a hint of disappointment. “There’s no call for yelling at civilians. I should hope you don’t roar at your apprentices when they ask you questions. How else will they learn?”

Halt grumbled, inaudibly. He didn’t mind questions, so long as they were sensible ones. He was more bothered by the constant interruptions.

““No need to bellow, young man,” he said huffily.” “You tell him, Salt Peter!” Gilan cheered. “I were only asking, is all.”

““Well then, stop interrupting me,” said the Ranger, “We’re wasting time here. Now, are you listening?”

“Salt Peter nodded.

““Good,” Halt continued. “Go to the guard on the gate and say you have a message from Halt for Baron Arald.”

“A look of recognition spread across the old man’s face.” Will crossed his arms, satisfied with the evidence that he had been right in thinking Salt Peter hadn’t know who Baron Arald was. If not for his circumstances as the baron’s ward, Will wouldn’t be as familiar as he was with the man. As it was, he couldn’t name the barons in charge of all fifty fiefs, so how could the farmer be expected too?

““Halt?” he asked. “Not the Ranger Halt?”

““Yes,” replied Halt wearily. “The Ranger Halt.”

““The one who led the ambush on Morgarath’s Wargals?”asked Salt Peter.”

Gilan’s voice grew increasingly giddy. It was impossible not to take in other details on the page as he read. Being a Ranger meant the brain was trained just as much as physical skills. Had to be an intelligent intelligence force. Tracking, reading maps, history, navigation by the sun and stars were just the tip of the iceberg. Counting enemy forces accurately with only a glance. Discerning which details were important and worth remembering, and which were miscellaneous.

As a result, every time he turned a page, Gilan scanned both new pages presented and sometimes, certain phrases jumped out at him.

This one in particular had because it was rare for Halt to lose his composure.

““The same,” said Halt, in a dangerously low voice. Salt Peter looked around him.

““Well,” he said. “Where is he?””

Crowley howled with laughter, along with a handful of the older Rangers. Halt had a love-hate relationship with the fame he had earned during the Battle of Hackham Heath. He was a Ranger performing his duty, not some lauded hero to write songs about. He didn’t care to make his accomplishment well known, but bristled like a wet cat when people who knew the story refused to believe it was him because the common folk had exaggerated his description beyond realistic recognition.

““I’m Halt!” The Ranger thundered at him, placing his face a few centimeters from Salt Peter’s as he did so. Again, the old farmer recoiled a few steps. Then he gathered his courage and shook his head in disbelief.

““No, no, no,” he said definitely. “You can’t be him. Why, the Ranger Halt is a tall as two men—and as broad. A giant of man, he is! Brave, fierce in battle, he is. You couldn’t be him.”

“Yeah, Halt’s supposed to be eight-foot tall, isn’t he?” Berrigan asked innocently, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Halt turned away, trying to regain his temper. Will couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face again.

““I . . . am . . . Halt,” said the Ranger, spacing his words out so that Salt Peter couldn’t make any mistake. “I was taller when I was young, and a lot broader. But now I’m this size.” He thrust his glittering eyes close to the farmer’s and glared at him. “Do you understand?”

““Well, if you say so . . .,” said Salt Peter. He still didn’t believe that Ranger, but there was a very dangerous gleam in Halt’s eye that warned him it would not be wise to disagree any further.”

Thankfully, that gleam did not exist in his eye currently. Instead, Halt weathered the good-natured ribbing.

It wasn’t hard to see the writing on the wall. Halt would be featured predominantly in the early books as Will’s mentor. His thoughts and emotions would be on display just as much as Will’s, decipherable in the way he interacted and instructed they boy.

Halt was a mystery within the Ranger Corps. As one of the few involved in removing Morgarath’s influence from the Corps, combined with his role turning the tide of the battle and putting the fear of horses into the Wargals, the ‘story’ of Halt was larger than the man himself.

By nature, he was reclusive. As the scene with the farmer showcased, he could also be short-tempered. He wasn’t a people person. He wasn’t charming like Gil or jovial like Berrigan or just genial like Andross.

He was a good Ranger. Just out of practice interacting with people who did not already understand his personality.

““Good,” said Halt icily. “Now, tell the Baron that Halt and Will . . .”

“Salt Peter opened his mouth to ask another question. Halt clamped his hand over the old man’s mouth immediately and pointed to where Will stood beside Tug.

““That’s Will there.” Salt Peter nodded, his eyes wide over the hand that was clamped firmly over his mouth, stopping any further questions or interruptions. The Ranger continued:

““Tell him Halt and Will are tracking a wild boar. When we find its lair, we’ll return to the castle. In the meantime, the Baron should gather his men for a hunt tomorrow morning.”

“He slowly took his hand down from the farmer’s mouth. “Have you got all that?” the Ranger asked. Salt Peter nodded carefully. “Then repeat it back to me,” Halt prompted.

““Go to the castle, tell the gate guard I have a message from you . . . Halt . . . for the Baron. Tell the Baron that you . . . Halt . . . and him . . . Will  . . . are tracking a wild boar to find its lair. Tell him to have his men ready for a hunt tomorrow.”

““Good,” said Halt. He gestured to Will and the two of them swung back into their saddles. Salt Peter stood uncertainly on the track, looking up at them.

““Off you go,” said Halt, pointing in the direction of the castle. The old farmer went a few paces, then, when he judged he was at a safe distance, turned around and called back at the grim-faced Ranger:

““I don’t believes you, you know! Nobody grows shorter and thinner!”

“Halt sighed and turned his horse away into the forest.”

Gilan marked where the chapter ended as he closed the book, doing nothing to hid his amusement at Halt’s misfortune and lack of composure. “That poor farmer. Doesn’t he know there is no safe distance with a Ranger?”

“Not unless he was on the opposite side of Araulen,” the new arrival with green eyes interjected. “I don’t think even Halt could shot a man from across the country.”

“Can’t I, Luca?” Halt drawled, sardonically.

Luca smirked. “Would you like to prove it now?”

The older Ranger hummed, consideringly. “I don’t have to make the shot physically to convince people that it can be done. The legend of “Ranger Halt’ would do the work for me. Drop a rumor or two in a bar and everyone from Norgate to Trelleth will believe that the Ranger Halt can shoot a man all the way across Araulen.”

“I hate how you’re not wrong. Gilan, have I ever mentioned how terrifying your master is and how remarkably well adjusted you turned out after five years living with him?”

A blonde head suddenly sprang out of the ground in front of Halt. The princess peered at him, skepticism in every line of her face. “You don’t look that terrifying.”

Halt appeared flummoxed. He wasn’t meant to be terrifying to Cassandra, but it made his job a little easier if folks were afraid he might pop out of the shadows any moment.

Luca put a friendly hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “You haven’t seen him when we run out of coffee.”

Halt took the book from Gilan and threw it at Luca. “If you want to talk so much, you can have the next chapter.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Rangers read the Ranger's Apprentice