Ebony was lying by the door, her chin on her outstretched paws, her eyes riveted on him. He glanced at her now and held out his hands.
“How do I look?” he said. She thumped her tail twice on the floor, her eyes never moving from him.
“As good as that?” he mused. Thump, thump went the tail again.
He glanced out the window. The sun was well down, below the tops of the trees that surrounded the little cabin.
“Time to go,” he said. He pulled back the curtain that covered the hanging space in his simple wardrobe and took out his cloak.
This time, Ebony showed some interest. Her head cocked to one side and she looked at him curiously. He hadn’t selected his normal, workaday cloak. He had taken out the formal uniform cloak, with the stylized silver representations of arrows set diagonally across its back. He swung it around his shoulders and grinned at her.
“Special day,” he said. Ebony let her head slump back onto her paws again. He moved to the door and made a shooing motion for her to get out of the way. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and took a few steps to the side as he opened the door and moved out onto the porch. He paused and looked back at her.
“You coming?” he said. “You are invited, after all.” Tail wagging once more, she sidled past the open door and joined him on the porch. She looked up at him in that way that border shepherds have of constantly looking to their master for direction.
Where are we going now? the look said. Will didn’t answer but instead let out a low whistle. Ebony’s ears pricked up at the sound. A few seconds later, they heard the soft clip-clop of hooves as Tug appeared around the end of the little cabin. He had been resting in the stable behind. But since Will never needed to tether him, he was able to answer the whistle immediately.
Unlike Ebony, Tug seemed to know where they were going. He glanced once at Ebony, standing ready beside Will.
Is she coming too?
“Of course,” Will told him. “She’s part of the family, after all. You don’t object, do you?”
Tug shook his mane explosively. Not at all. But she does sometimes lack a sense of decorum. I don’t want her to start scratching herself in the middle of things.
Will grinned at the dog. “Hear that, Eb? No disrespectful scratching.” The dog’s tail moved with the mention of her name. Tug looked sidelong at his master.
The same goes for you.
“I’m glad we have you along as chief of protocol,” Will said. “Are we going?”
Waiting on you.
Will shook his head. After all these years, he thought, you’d think I’d have learned that I’ll never get the last word with this horse.
Never.
He looked at Tug suspiciously. If a horse could be said to have assumed an innocent air, that was what he was doing.
He clicked his fingers to Ebony and stepped off the verandah. She fell into place immediately at his right heel. Tug walked on his left, his head alongside his master’s shoulder. The three of them made their way across the small clearing in front of the cabin to a track that ran through the woods. Space was restricted on the track, so Tug fell back to bring up the rear.
It was dim under the trees, but the path was a familiar one. It meandered down a slight slope, taking the line of least resistance, to a small stream that was a tributary of the Tarbus River. There was a deep pool where he and Halt had fished for trout over the years. There was a grassy clearing by the pool as well, and in more recent times, he and Alyss had often picnicked there on summer evenings—like this one.
The air was soft and warm on his face, and a few birds rustled around in the trees and bushes as they settled in for the night. He glanced off into the darkness among the trees and saw the tiny, darting pinpoints of light that marked the movement of fireflies. One strayed out of the trees, the light in its tail dimming as it moved out of the comparative darkness. It came close to Ebony and there was a sudden clop! as her jaws snapped shut, then she shook her head and pawed at her tongue to remove the debris of the dead insect.
“You’ll never learn, will you?” he said affectionately. Ebony could never resist the temptation to snap at flying insects. This was inevitably followed by frantic efforts to get rid of the results. Somehow, they never seemed to taste as good as Ebony expected.
As they came closer to the clearing by the stream, he was aware of a low buzz of conversation.
“We’re the last ones here,” he commented. But Tug shook his head.
She’ll be last. It’s traditional.
They emerged from the trees. The clearing was lit by torches on poles driven into the ground, and lanterns in different colors were strung among the branches. A small crowd of people was waiting for him. As Will, Tug and Ebony stepped out into the clearing, there was a low smatter of applause and a few softly called words of greeting.
He looked around with a warm sense of pleasure. There weren’t many people here, but they numbered all of those who were important in his life.
Halt, of course. And his beautiful wife beside him, standing half a head taller than he did. Since Will’s sixteenth birthday, Halt had been a father figure to him. And in more recent years, he had begun to think of Lady Pauline as a surrogate mother.
He glanced to one side and his face lit up with a smile. Horace was here. Well, he’d assumed that he would be. And with him was Evanlyn, his wife.
I’m really going to have to start calling her Cassandra, Will thought. He was touched that they’d made the long journey from Castle Araluen to be with him today. It didn’t occur to him that he would have done exactly the same for them without a second thought. He looked keenly at the Princess. He’d had an excited letter from Horace telling him that they were expecting a child. So far, there was no sign of the pregnancy. Evanlyn—Cassandra, he corrected himself—looked as slim as ever.
Standing by a podium set up beside the river was Baron Arald, grinning widely at the most famous of all his wards. Will nodded a respectful greeting to him, and his gaze scanned the rest of the people assembled. Jenny and Gilan, he noticed, standing hand in hand, Jenny beaming proudly at him and from time to time looking up with adoring eyes at the tall, handsome Ranger by her side.
You’ll be next, Will thought. Gilan seemed to read his thoughts and smiled widely at him. The prospect didn’t seem to bother him at all.
He stopped in midstride as he made out the next two guests, standing back in the shadows behind Gilan and Jenny. Two totally disparate forms—one small and slightly built, looking as if a strong wind would blow him away, the other tall and broad. Huge, in fact. And between them, a black-and-white shape that rose from the ground and advanced toward Ebony, her heavy tail sweeping back and forth as she came.
As Ebony and her mother, Shadow, reacquainted themselves, tails wagging slowly, heads lowered, Will stepped forward quickly to embrace Malcolm, then to be crushed in return by Trobar’s bear hug.
“You made it!” he said, delighted to see them.“I wasn’t sure you’d come so far!”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for worlds!” the birdlike healer told him, smiling fondly at the young man.
Trobar’s huge voice rumbled as softly as the giant could manage. “Co’gra-lashuns, Will Treaty.”
“Thanks, Trobar,” Will said. “The day is better for the fact that you’re here.”
The Baron coughed meaningfully and Will realized that it was time to get matters under way. Disengaging himself from the healer and his giant bodyguard, he moved to where Arald was waiting, a sheaf of official papers on the podium before him.
Tug and Ebony followed him.
“Well,” said the Baron fondly,“it’s a beautiful night for a wedding, Will Treaty.”
“Can’t think of a better one, sir,” Will replied.
“I’m reminded of a rather amusing story . . . ,” the Baron began. But his wife, Lady Sandra, made a low warning noise—subtle but unmistakable—and he looked at her guiltily. “Eh? Oh . . . yes . . . of course, my dear. Perhap
s later, young Will.”
“Later would probably be better, sir,” Will agreed, hiding a smile.
“Right . . . well, you’re here. We can all see that. Do we have a best man?”
In answer, Horace stepped forward and stood by Will’s side, putting his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. The two looked at each other—a look that spoke more than any number of words could convey.
“Excellent,” the Baron continued. “Excellent choice.” He looked at the shaggy horse and sleek dog standing behind Will. “And these are . . . ?”
Before Will could reply, Horace spoke up. “Best horse and best dog,” he said.
“Excellent!” said the Baron. “A little unconventional, but excellent—so long as they don’t have to sign anything!” He laughed at his own witticism. Tug pushed his head forward to study him more closely. The Baron became aware of the horse’s scrutiny and looked down, hurriedly rearranging his papers.
“Behave,” Will said quietly to the horse, and Tug withdrew. Will was sure he was smirking.
Arald took a few moments to recover his normal ebullience, then he rubbed his hands together and scanned the assembly before him. Without being asked, those present had moved to form a loose half circle, facing the podium.
“Well then,” he said briskly. “It seems we’re all here. Groom. Best man. Witnesses. Celebrant.” He paused and looked sidelong at Tug. “Best horse and best dog. Now all we need is the bride.”
And suddenly, without warning, Alyss was there. She stepped out of the trees to stand in a pool of light thrown by a lantern hanging from a branch.
Will caught his breath at the sight of her. She was beautiful, there was no other word for it. She was dressed in a simple white gown, with one shoulder bare. Her long blond hair, surmounted by a circlet of yellow flowers, gleamed in the lantern light, seeming to have its own light from within.
Later, thinking about it, he realized that this must have been a prearranged piece of theater on the Baron’s part. And a very effective one too. Sometimes, he thought, Arald got it right. Alyss caught Will’s gaze and smiled at him. He felt his heart turn over.
Quickly, Cassandra crossed the clearing to stand before Alyss as her matron of honor. Halt moved to Alyss’s side and took her arm. Since Alyss was an orphan, she had asked Halt to act in place of her father and to give her away. He beamed at her. She was one of the few people who could elicit a smile so easily from the dour gray-bearded Ranger.
Seeing that everyone was ready, Baron Arald made a signal with one hand and a trio of musicians from the castle, previously concealed among the trees to one side, moved into the clearing and began to play. Alyss had selected the song and Will smiled as he recognized the gentle strains of “Cabin in the Trees.” It was the unofficial song of the Ranger Corps, the one they sang at every important event. She couldn’t have chosen better.
He continued to smile at Alyss as she walked gracefully to stand beside him. It was a day for smiling, he thought happily. Halt took her hand from where it rested on his arm and placed it in Will’s hand, then withdrew. Cassandra and Horace stepped back a pace to leave the bride and groom standing alone before Baron Arald.
“Well then,” he said, a huge smile on his face as he gazed at the two young people. “What a day this is! What a day indeed!”
The vows they spoke were simple and to the point. There’s no need to repeat them here—suffice to say that they concerned love and loyalty and honesty. And duty to each other and caring. They came from the heart and their direct simplicity caught at the hearts of all those in attendance. Lady Pauline smiled gently as she noticed Halt surreptitiously wiping his eyes with a corner of his cloak.
She nudged him with her elbow. “You old fraud,” she whispered, and he nodded sheepishly. Halt had spent his life maintaining a bleak, forbidding demeanor. On this day, he simply couldn’t keep it up.
Once the vows were exchanged, Arald pronounced the official, legal words that sealed the marriage. It seemed that only seconds had passed before he stepped back, smiling at the young couple, and spread his arms to them. For a moment, Will was nonplussed. He’d gone through the ceremony in a sort of a daze, captured by the presence of Alyss beside him, amazed at the thought that this day had come at last.
Now, he realized with a jolt, the day had come, and the ceremony was done. He and Alyss were bound to each other and he felt a warm, comforting glow deep within himself at the thought of it.
The Baron had said something, he realized, and people were looking at him expectantly.
Arald leaned forward and said, in a stage whisper that everyone could hear, “I said, you may kiss the bride.”
Will did so, with a degree of enthusiasm. He was delighted that Alyss responded in kind as the cheers and applause of his closest friends rang around the clearing.
Slowly the sound died down, and in the ensuing silence, one voice rang out.
“And about time too!”
Halt meant to say it jokingly, but before he realized it, there was a lump in his throat and a catch in his voice and he had to disguise it as a small coughing fit, turning away as he did so.
That way, he hoped, people would never notice the tears running so freely down his cheeks.
Hal nudged the steering oar gently and swung onto a diagonal course away from the coast, heading to the left, away from Hallasholm. Heron rose and fell smoothly under his feet as the swell rolled under her keel. The other boys had settled into a smooth rowing rhythm—one they could maintain for hours if necessary—and he exulted in the feeling of being under way, at the helm of his own ship.
Stig glanced up at him from his rowing bench.
“How does she handle?” he asked.
Hal grinned back at him. “Like a bird.”
AFTERWORD
MACFARLANE GENTLY PLACED THE FRAGMENT OF PARCHMENT ON the surface of his desk. The other nine stories found in the trunk had been carefully assembled, copied and preserved. Now this was all that was left—a tattered fragment with a few words written on it—barely a hundred words. In places, the ink was so faint that he could barely decipher it.
He had left this one till last—partly because it was incomplete and partly because, after his first quick inspection, he sensed that this was something different.
Using a long pair of tweezers, he moved the page until it was underneath his magnifying lens. Then he leaned forward and peered at the words, his lips moving soundlessly as he read them, hesitating when he reached the fainter sections and grateful for the strong light and the magnification.
Finally, he sat back, drumming his fingers on the table.
Audrey was sitting opposite him, in a fever of anticipation. As she had been the one to uncover the trunk, he thought it was only fair that she should be here when he finally transcribed this, the final piece.
“What is it, Professor?” she asked. “Is it important?”
There was no need for the second question, she thought. His expression and body language told her that it was. He looked at her.
“Yes, Audrey. As a matter of fact, it is.”
She waited, knowing that he would elaborate. After some seconds had passed, he continued.
“For some time now, those of us who have studied the world of Araluen and its heroes have been aware of another legend from that time. It’s a legend of a young boy, half Araluen and half Skandian, who revolutionized the design of the Skandians’ wolfships. But we’ve known little about him.”
Audrey frowned thoughtfully.“I think I recall a brief mention of him in the chronicle of Will’s journey to Nihon-Ja,” she said thoughtfully, and the professor smiled at her.
“Precisely. But aside from that one fleeting reference, we’ve known nothing else about him. Now, it seems, we might have discovered a further clue to his story.”
“This fragment?” she said, nodding toward the tattered page on the desk between them.
“This fragment,” he said, nodding.“And if there is one page, there must
have been others. And perhaps they still exist somewhere.”
Her eyes widened in excitement.“Do you think we could find the rest of his story, Professor?” she asked.
He smiled indulgently at her, enjoying her youth and her enthusiasm.
“Well, I certainly plan to try,” he said.
Also by John Flanagan:
THE RANGER’S APPRENTICE EPIC
BOOK 1: THE RUINS OF GORLAN
BOOK 2: THE BURNING BRIDGE
BOOK 3: THE ICEBOUND LAND
BOOK 4: THE BATTLE FOR SKANDIA
BOOK 5: THE SORCERER OF THE NORTH
BOOK 6: THE SIEGE OF MACINDAW
BOOK 7: ERAK’S RANSOM
BOOK 8: THE KINGS OF CLONMEL
BOOK 9: HALT’S PERIL
BOOK 10: THE EMPEROR OF NIHON-JA
THE BROTHERBAND CHRONICLES
BOOK 1: THE OUTCASTS
John Flanagan, The Lost Stories
(Series: # )
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