Will and Horace took half an hour or so to set up the campsite. There was little to do. They attached their tarpaulin to some scrubby bushes growing out of the stone wall of the gully, weighing down the other end with rocks. At least there were plenty of them. This gave them a triangular shelter in case the rain set in again. Then they prepared a fireplace in front of the shelter. Gilan had said no fires, but if he arrived back in the middle of the night and changed those orders, they might as well be ready.
It took a considerably longer time to stack a supply of firewood. The only real source was the scrubby heather that covered the hillsides. The roots and branches of the bush were tough but highly flammable. The two boys hacked out a reasonable supply, Horace using the small hatchet he carried in his pack and Will his saxe knife. Eventually, with all their housekeeping taken care of, they sat on either side of the empty fireplace, backs leaned against rocks. Will spent a few minutes running his sharpening stone over the saxe knife, restoring its razor-sharp edge.
“I really prefer camping in forest areas,” Horace said, shifting his back for the tenth time against the unyielding rock behind him.
Will grunted in reply. But Horace was bored and kept on talking, more for the sake of having something to do than because he really wanted to.
“After all, in a forest, you have lots of firewood, ready to hand. It just falls out of the trees for you.”
“Not while you wait,” Will disagreed. He too was talking more for the sake of it than anything else.
“No. Not while you wait. Usually it’s already happened before you arrive,” Horace said. “Plus in a forest, you’ve usually got pine needles or leaves on the ground. And that makes for a softer sleeping place. And there are logs and trees to sit on and lean against. And they have a lot fewer sharp edges than rock.”
Again, he wriggled his back to a temporarily more comfortable spot. He glanced up at Will, rather hoping that the apprentice Ranger might disagree with him. Then they could argue to pass the time. Will, however, merely grunted again. He inspected the edge of his saxe knife, slid the knife into its scabbard and lay back. Uncomfortable, he sat up again, undid the knife belt and draped it over his pack, along with his bow and quiver. Then he lay back, his head on a flat piece of stone. He closed his eyes. The sleepless night he had spent had left him drained and flat.
Horace sighed to himself, then took out his sword and began honing its edge—quite unnecessarily, as it was already razor-sharp. But it was something to do. He rasped away, glancing occasionally at Will to see if his friend was asleep. For a moment, he thought he was, but then the smaller boy suddenly squirmed around, sat up and reached for his cloak. Bundling it up, he put it on the flat stone he was using as a headrest, then lay back again.
“You’re right about forests,” he said crankily. “Much more comfortable places to camp.”
Horace said nothing. He decided his sword was sharp enough and slid it back into its oiled leather scabbard, leaning the sheathed weapon against the rock face beside him.
He watched Will again, as he tried to find a comfortable spot. No matter how he twisted and squirmed, there was always a pebble or a piece of rock poking into his back or side. Five or ten minutes passed, then Horace finally said:
“Want to practice? It’ll pass the time.”
Will opened his eyes and considered the idea. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he was never going to get to sleep on this hard, stony ground.
“Why not?” He rummaged in his pack for his practice weapons, then joined Horace on the far side of the tent, where he was scraping a practice circle in the sandy gully floor. The two boys took up their positions, then, at a nod from Horace, they began.
Will was improving, but Horace was definitely the master at this exercise. Will couldn’t help admiring the speed and balance he showed as he wielded the long stick in a dazzling series of backhands, forehands, side cuts and overheads. Furthermore, when he knew he had beaten Will’s defensive posture, he would, at the last moment, hold back from whacking him. Instead, he would lightly touch the spot where his blow would have fallen, to demonstrate the point.
He didn’t do it with any sense of superiority either. Weapons practice, even with wooden weapons, was a serious part of Horace’s life nowadays. It wasn’t something to crow about when you were better than your opponent. Horace had learned only too well in dozens of practice bouts at the Battleschool that it never paid to underestimate an opponent.
Instead, he used his superior ability to help Will, showing him how to anticipate strokes, teaching him the basic combinations that all swordsmen used and the best way to defeat them.
As Will ruefully acknowledged, knowing how to do it was one thing. Actually doing it was an entirely different matter. He realized how much his former enemy had matured and wondered if the same changes were evident in himself. He didn’t think so. He didn’t feel any different. And whenever he saw himself in a mirror, he didn’t seem to look any different either.
“Your left hand is dropping too far,” Horace pointed out as they paused between bouts.
“I know,” Will said. “I’m expecting a side cut and I want to be ready for it.”
Horace shook his head. “That’s all very well, but if you drop it too far, it’s easy for me to feint a side cut, then swing up into an overhand. See?”
He showed Will the action he was describing, beginning the sword in a wide sideways sweep, then, with a powerful wrist movement, taking it up into a high-swinging downward stroke. He stopped the wooden blade a few inches from Will’s head and the Ranger apprentice saw that his counterstroke would have been far too late.
“Sometimes I think I’ll never learn these things,” he said. Horace patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.
“Are you kidding?” he asked. “You’re improving every day. And besides, I could never shoot or use those throwing knives the way you do.”
Even while they had been on the road, Gilan had insisted that Will practice his Ranger skills as often as was practical. Horace had been impressed, to say the least, when he had seen how adept the smaller boy had become. Several times, he had shuddered when he thought what might happen if he had to face an archer such as Will. His accuracy with the bow was uncanny, as far as Horace was concerned. He knew that Will could place arrows into every gap in his armor if he chose. Even into the narrow visor slit of a full-face jousting helmet.
What he didn’t appreciate was that Will’s accuracy was nothing more than average as far as Ranger standards were concerned.
“Let’s try it again,” Will suggested wearily. But another voice interrupted them.
“Let’s not, little boys. Let’s put down our nasty sharp sticks and stand very still, shall us?”
The two apprentices whirled around at the words. There, at the mouth of the small U-shaped gully where they had built their camp, stood two ragged-looking figures. Both were heavily bearded and unkempt and both were dressed in a strange mixture of clothing—some of it tattered and threadbare, while some items were new and obviously very costly. The taller of the two wore a richly brocaded satin vest, but it was thick with dirt. The other sported a scarlet hat with a bedraggled feather in it. He also carried an iron-spiked wooden club, holding it in a hand that was swathed in a dirty bandage. His companion had a long sword, jagged and nicked along the edges. He flourished it now at the two boys.
“Come on now, you boys. Sharp sticks’re dangerorius for the likes of you,” he said, and let go a hoarse, guttural laugh.
Will’s hand dropped automatically to reach for the saxe knife, encountering nothing. With a sinking feeling, he realized that his knife belt, bow and quiver were all neatly piled on the far side of the fireplace, where he had been sitting. The two intruders would stop him before he could reach them. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Halt would be furious, he thought. Then, looking at the sword and club, he realized that Halt’s annoyance might be the least of his worries.
10
THE GIRL WAS SMILING AT HIM AGAIN. HALT SENSED IT. IT was as if he could actually feel the smile radiating at him. He knew if he were to glance sideways at her, where she was riding just a few paces away from him, he would see it once more.
But he couldn’t help himself. He looked and there it was. Wide, friendly and infectious. In spite of himself, it made him want to smile back in return and that would never do. Halt hadn’t spent years cultivating a grim, unapproachable manner just to have it dispelled by this girl and her smile.
He glared at her instead. Alyss’s smile widened.
“Why, Halt,” she said cheerfully, “what a grim face that is to ride alongside.”
They had left Castle Redmont the previous day for the short ride to Cobram Castle. He had agreed readily when Lady Pauline had asked him to escort Alyss on her first assignment—in point of fact, he would have agreed to most things suggested by the head of the Diplomatic Corps. Of course, as a Diplomatic Courier, Alyss rated an official guard of two mounted men-at-arms, and they rode a few yards to the rear. But Pauline had suggested that Alyss might need advice or counsel in dealing with Sir Montague. Halt had agreed to provide it if necessary.
What Lady Pauline hadn’t mentioned was Alyss’s innate friendliness and the fact that she was so eminently likable. And cheerful, he thought, and that reminded him of someone else. He had been missing Will’s lively presence over the past week or so, he admitted. After years of living by himself, attending to the secret and sometimes frightening business of the kingdom, he had enjoyed the light and laughter that Will brought to his life. Now Will was far away, on his way to the Celtic court, and Halt himself had sent him there. He realized that the boy’s absence left a void in his life. Reluctantly, he told himself that he must be growing old—and sentimental.
Now here was this girl, barely sixteen but already poised and sure of herself, chiding him gently for his black mood and grim countenance and fixing him with that damned smile.
“And such a silent face as well,” she mused to herself. He realized that he had been ill-mannered and she didn’t deserve that.
“My apologies, Lady Alyss,” he said curtly. Traveling on official business, Alyss was entitled to be addressed as “Lady Alyss.” She frowned at his formality.
“Oh, come now, Halt. Is that any way for friends to speak to each other?”
He glanced at her now. The smile was still lurking there at the corners of her mouth. The frown was an artifice. She was gently teasing him, he realized, and he determined that he would not give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait.
“Are we friends, Lady Alyss?” he said, and she inclined her head thoughtfully. The action reminded him of Lady Pauline and he realized how much this girl was like her mentor. He remembered Pauline when she was much younger. It could have been her riding beside him, he thought.
“I would hope so, Halt. After all, I am a friend of Will’s and I’m apprenticed to one of your oldest friends, I believe. Doesn’t this give us some kind of…special relationship?”
“I am your escort, Lady,” he replied and his tone left no doubt that the conversation should end there.
With most people, that would have been the result. Halt could be quite a forbidding figure when he chose. And many people clung to the belief that Rangers dabbled in black magic, and so, were people who should not be annoyed. Obviously, however, this girl wasn’t one of those people.
“As you say, you’re my escort. And I’m very grateful that you are. But that’s not to say that we can’t be friends as well. After all, it’s quite daunting to be on my first assignment.” She paused, and then said quietly, “I’m not altogether sure that I’m up to it, as a matter of fact.”
“Of course you are!” Halt said immediately. “Pauline knows her business. If you weren’t ‘up to it,’ as you put it, she would never have entrusted the mission to you. She thinks very highly of you, you know,” he added.
“She’s an amazing woman,” Alyss said, and the admiration in her voice was obvious. “I’ve looked up to her for years, you know. She’s succeeded so well in what is generally regarded as a man’s world.”
Halt nodded agreement. “Amazing is a good word for her. She’s courageous, honest and enormously intelligent. Smarter than most men too. Baron Arald saw those qualities in her years ago. She was the one who convinced him that women are more suited to the diplomatic role than men.”
“I’ve heard people say that. Why does he think that way?”
Halt shrugged. “He feels women are more inclined to talk things through, whereas men tend to resort to physical methods more quickly.”
“So, for example, Lady Pauline would never resort to throwing someone into a moat if they were being objectionable?” she said, and Halt glanced up at her sharply. Her face was totally deadpan. Pauline had trained her well, he thought.
“No,” he agreed. “But I didn’t say that she’s always right. Some people deserve to be thrown into moats.”
He realized now that he had been chattering on with her for some minutes, in spite of his determination to maintain his usual grim, tight-lipped manner. She had drawn him out like an angler luring a fish to the hook, he realized, and he wasn’t sure how she had done it. And now she was smiling at him again. He harrumphed noisily and turned away to scan the woods on either side.
This far to the west, there was little danger to be expected. And his horse Abelard would alert him if there were any enemies or wild beasts lurking in the bushes nearby. But scanning the terrain gave him an opportunity to break off the conversation.
Alyss watched him curiously. She had seen him around Redmont for years, of course. But when Lady Pauline had introduced them the day before, she had been surprised to realize that he was at least a head shorter than she was. A lot of men were, though. She was an exceptionally tall girl and she carried herself erect. But Halt had an amazing reputation—a seven-foot-tall reputation, she mused. He was famous throughout the kingdom and one tended to think of him as a larger-than-life character. Seen close-up, he was surprisingly small in stature. Like Will, she thought, and that set her to wondering.
“What qualities does a Ranger need, Halt?” she asked.
He glanced back at her. Once bitten, twice shy, he thought. She wasn’t going to draw him out into an extended conversation again.
“A propensity for silence is a good one,” he said, and she smiled, genuinely amused at something.
“Somehow I can’t see Will managing that,” she said. She and Will had grown up together as orphans in the Castle Ward. He was probably her oldest friend. In spite of himself, Halt’s lips twitched in what was almost a smile.
“No. He does tend to chatter, doesn’t he?” he agreed. Then, realizing that she might think he was criticizing the boy, he continued quickly, “But that’s part of being a Ranger as well. He’s always asking questions. He’s always curious, always ready to learn more. A good Ranger needs that. Eventually, he’ll learn to curb his tongue a little.”
“Not entirely, I hope,” said Alyss. “I can’t imagine Will becoming grim and forbidding and taciturn, like”—she hesitated and amended what she was about to say—“some people.”
Halt raised one eyebrow at her. “Some people?” he repeated, and she shrugged.
“Nobody particular in mind,” she said. Then, changing tack, she said, “He’s very brave, isn’t he? I mean, you must be proud of what he’s done.”
Halt nodded. “He has true courage,” he said. “He can feel fear, he can be afraid. But it doesn’t stop him from doing what he has to. Mindless courage isn’t any sort of real courage at all.”
“You’ve trained him well,” Alyss said, but Halt shook his head.
“The training is important. But the qualities have to be there from the beginning. You can’t teach courage and honesty. There’s a basic openness and lack of malice in Will.”
“You know,” she said confidentially, “when I was a child, I always said I was going to marry him.”
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Inwardly, he smiled at her words. When I was a child. She was barely more than a child now, he thought. Then he changed his mind. She was a Courier. A Diplomatic apprentice. She wore the bronze laurel branch and that meant she was very much more than a child.
“You could do a lot worse,” he said finally, and she glanced across at him.
“Really?” she said. “Do you think diplomats and Rangers make a good match, Halt?” Her tone was just too innocent, too casual. He knew exactly what she was getting at and this time he wasn’t going to be drawn. He was not going to discuss any relationship that might or might not have existed between himself and the beautiful Lady Pauline.
He met her gaze very evenly for some moments, then said, “I think we might stop here for lunch. This is as good a place as any.”
Alyss’s mouth twitched with a smile again. But this time it was a slightly rueful one.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said.
11
WILL FELT HORACE’S HAND ON HIS SHOULDER AS THE BIGGER boy began to pull him back from the two bandits.
“Back away, Will,” Horace said quietly.
The man with the club laughed. “Yes, Will, you back away. You stay away from that nasty little bow I see over there. We don’t hold no truck with bows, do us, Carney?”
Carney grinned at his companion. “That we don’t, Bart, that we don’t.” He looked back at the two boys and frowned angrily. “Didn’t we tell you to drop those sticks?” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch and very, very ugly in tone. Together, the two men began to advance across the clearing.
Horace’s grip now tightened and he jerked Will to one side, sending him sprawling. As he fell, he saw Horace turn to the rocks behind him and grab up his sword. He flicked it once and the scabbard sailed clear of the blade. That easy action alone should have warned Bart and Carney that they were facing someone who knew more than a little about handling weapons. But neither of them was overly bright. They simply saw a boy of about sixteen. A big boy, perhaps, but still a boy. A child, really, with a grown-up weapon in his hand.