Halt's Peril

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the silver Oakleaf on its chain, showing it to the people closest to him. They craned forward to look and then confirmed the fact to those further away.

Tennyson watched the reaction, puzzled. But this wasn't Hibernia, where Rangers were unknown and had no status. This was Araluen, where everyone knew of the Ranger Corps. In Araluen, some people might be nervous around Rangers. But everyone respected them and knew they were the principal protectors of the King's peace.

'My name is Halt,' Halt continued, raising his voice. If the news that he was a Ranger had caused a stir, the name Halt had a more far-reaching effect. Halt was famous throughout the Kingdom. He was a legend. Those who had pulled back from him when he first challenged Alseiass now began to crowd in to get a closer look at him.

Halt decided to up the ante a little. He pointed to the jumble of rocks where Will was concealed.

'And up there is another Ranger you may have heard of. Will Treaty.'

Heads turned and Will rose slowly from his position in the rocks. They could see the well-known Ranger cloak and cowl and the unmistakable longbow, favoured weapon of the Ranger Corps. He pushed the cowl back now so they could see his face in the dim light.

If people had shown interest at Halt's name, it was redoubled when he mentioned Will. They weren't all that far from Macindaw, where Will had defeated a Scotti invasion. Halt might be a national legend, but Will Treaty was a local hero.

'We've been trailing this man,' Halt indicated Tennyson once more, 'for months. He murdered King Ferris, King of Clonmel. He stole from the people of Hibernia and he fled to Picta. Now he's here to steal from you – him and his cohorts who were here before him. Chances are they've already killed friends and neighbours of yours.'

Again, there was an angry reaction from the crowd. People had been killed by the bandit group that worked in parallel with the Outsiders cult. Now those present began to realise who had really been responsible.

'You've been tricked,' Halt told them, after the angry muttering had died down. 'And we're here to take Tennyson and his gang into custody. But first, I wanted to prove to you that Tennyson is a fraud and Alseiass, the god he pretends to worship, is a fake. If you choose to stand by him, well and good. But if not, I'll give you this chance to leave now. Turn your back on him and get out.' Fifty For a moment there was silence in the vast cavern. Then one of the crowd called out.

'What about our gold?'

There was a chorus of assent from the others. They might be prepared to walk away from the false religion they had embraced. But their gold and jewels were another matter. Halt held his hands up for silence.

'You'll have a chance to get it back,' he told them. 'But right now you have to make a decision. You've been fooled by this man. But stupidity isn't a crime. Go now and there'll be no further consequences. Stay and we'll consider you're part of his gang.'

He pointed to the tunnel leading out of the cavern. There was another long pause, then two people began to make their way towards it. They were followed by three more. Then another man on his own. And slowly, the trickle of people leaving the cavern became a flood.

Tennyson, watching, couldn't believe his luck. The stranger was letting them go. And in doing so, he was giving Tennyson and his men an advantage. Against a hundred or so angry country people, they would have stood no chance. But now he had twenty men and they were faced by only three – four if you counted the small, monk-like figure he could now make out at the rear of the cavern. He gestured to his men to wait. And he backed up a few paces to the cavern wall behind him. There was another exit from the cavern. He knew about it but the secret was shared by only a few of his followers. The access to it was high above him, where a tunnel led off from a ledge on the wall.

Once the local people had left, he would order his men to attack. In the confusion, he'd climb quickly to the ledge, go through the tunnel and emerge at the top of the cliffs, free to move on and start again. He'd have to abandon most of the loot they had taken from the local countryside. But he'd stashed a bag of gold and a selection of the more valuable jewels in the tunnel, against such an eventuality as this one. It would be enough for him to escape and start up again somewhere else, far away from here. Perhaps this time he'd head for Gallica. There was no real law and order in that disorganised country. A man could do very well for himself there, he thought.

The last of the local people were making their way out of the cavern now. Halt watched them go. He'd wanted to get them out of the way. He knew Tennyson wouldn't go quietly and with the cave full of people, it would be difficult to tell friend from foe. Besides, as he had said, these people were fools, not criminals, and he didn't want to see any of them injured or killed. Now, he thought, it might be time to pare down the odds even further. He looked at the row of white robes facing him. They were all armed, he saw. A few had swords or maces. Most carried clubs and daggers. There might be a few real fighters among them, he thought, but the majority would be nothing more than thugs. He was confident that he, Horace and Will could handle them relatively easily.

'My argument isn't with any of you, either,' he said. 'I want Tennyson, that's all. Any of you who choose to leave now can go freely.'

He saw a few of the white robes exchanging uncertain glances. They'd be Araluans, he thought, people who knew that tangling with two Rangers might not be the best idea in the world. Tennyson's Hibernian followers stood fast.

But before any of his followers could desert him, Tennyson's voice rose in a high-pitched screech.

'Do you think he'll just let you go?' he challenged them. 'He'll hunt you down once you're out of here. There's only one thing to do. We've got them outnumbered! An old man and two boys! Kill them! Kill them!'

And as his voice reached a peak of urgency, the tension broke and the white robes surged forward in a bunch, weapons raised.

Quickly, Halt retreated before their first rush, drawing his saxe to deflect a dagger thrust, then slashing the razor edge across his attacker's forearm. The man yelled in pain and dropped out of the fight, nursing his bloodied arm. But there were others behind him and Halt continued to back away. He had drawn his smaller knife now as well. He blocked a man's sword cut with his saxe, stepped in and rammed the short knife home. Halt saw the man's eyes glaze as his knees slowly gave way. But there was no time to see any more. Another attacker was pressing him and there were two more on his right. He turned to face the new attack.

Then there was space around him as Horace leapt to his aid, his sword flashing in the uncertain light of candles and fire like a giant blazing wheel of light. He cut down three attackers in the space of a few seconds. A fourth staggered away, clutching at the shaft of an arrow that protruded from his chest. Will again, Halt thought.

The white robes drew back to take stock. They had lost nearly a quarter of their number in that first mad rush. Clubs and daggers were no match for Horace's sword and even those among them with swords had no real weapon skill. And the Ranger with the two knives was as fast as a striking snake.

Then one, bolder or angrier than the others, stepped forward, waving them to follow.

'Come on! There's only…'

A deafening BANG! drowned out his words and a vast cloud of brown smoke billowed up right before him. He staggered back in panic. Another loud detonation and another dense cloud of smoke followed as Malcolm hurled a second mudball at the group of men. They fell back, crying out in fear.

Then the first man stopped, shaking his head. The explosion had happened right at his feet, barely a metre away. Yet, apart from a ringing in his ears and the sour smell of the smoke, he was uninjured. The missiles, whatever they were, were harmless.

'They can't hurt you!' he yelled. 'They're just noise and smoke! Come on!'

He led the way forward, but only a few of the others went with him. The rest huddled uncertainly, disoriented by the deafening explosions and the whirling smoke.

Perched on the rocks, Will stood ready to pick off any of the white robes who might pose a threat to Halt and Horace. His instincts cried out for him to scramble down the rocks and join them, but reason told him he would be more use to them up here.

Besides, he could see that the bulk of the white robes were no longer interested in the fight. They were cowed, huddled together in a group, backing slowly away from Halt and Horace. Something rattled against the boulder beside him, then a thin trickle of sand fell from the ceiling of the cavern, lost in the darkness above him. He had noticed this happened with each of the explosions. The mudballs might be harmless, but the noise set up vibrations in the cavern and sent loose rocks and sand falling from the walls and roof.

There was a louder noise of falling rocks now and a small cascade tumbled down from the roof in the centre of the cavern, falling close to the group of dispirited white robes. Will hoped that Malcolm would be a little more circumspect with the explosive balls. The roof seemed to be decidedly unstable. Too much vibration and they could be in trouble. It wouldn't take a lot to…

Where was Tennyson?

The thought struck him out of nowhere. He looked wildly around the cavern. He wasn't with the small group left facing Halt and Horace. He'd been by the altar when Will had last seen him, when he called on his followers to attack. But he…

There! There was a robed figure climbing the far wall, behind the altar. He was nearly six metres from the floor of the cave already. Above Tennyson, Will saw a ledge and the black mouth of another tunnel just a few metres away from the desperately climbing figure. There was no doubt that he was heading for it.

And there was no doubt in Will's mind that the tunnel was an alternative route out of the cavern. In a few more minutes, Tennyson would reach it and he'd be gone.

He nocked an arrow, drew and shot. But the uncertain, flickering firelight, coupled with the roiling brown smoke that filled the cavern, made it almost impossible to shoot accurately. The arrow struck sparks off the rock half a metre above Tennyson, and screeched off into the darkness. Galvanised by the sight and sound of it, Tennyson quickly moved sideways, into the cover of a vertical buttress that protruded from the wall. Will could see only occasional glimpses of him as he continued to climb – not enough to get away an accurate shot. When he reached the ledge, Will would have a second to aim and shoot again. But the flickering light and clouds of smoke would make an accurate shot almost impossible. And if he missed, Tennyson would escape.

He hesitated. Then he was bounding down the rocks to the floor of the cavern, racing across the cleared ground to the boulder where Malcolm was perched, his padded box of mudballs at his feet. Will scrambled up beside him. He had time to register that now there were only three attackers facing Halt and Horace and as he did so, he saw the three men throw down their weapons and call for quarter.

But across the cavern, Tennyson was escaping.

He reached down and grabbed the box of explosive mudballs from Malcolm, glancing into it to see how many there were.

Malcolm had started with a dozen and had used three. Like Will, he had noticed the effect the noise vibrations were having on the cavern and decided it was too risky to continue with them. Besides, Horace and Halt were taking care of things quite admirably, he thought. Now he watched, aghast, as Will seized the box containing nine more mudballs and drew his arm back.

'Will! Don't!' he cried. 'You'll bring down the…'

He got no further. The young Ranger brought his arm forward and sent the box spinning across the cavern. Instinctively, Malcolm fell into a crouch and covered his ears with his hands. The violent movement involved in throwing the box could be enough to rattle the mudballs together and detonate them.

But the box, spinning slowly, sailed across the vast cavern, reaching almost halfway to the altar before it sank to hit the sandy floor. It skipped, bouncing into the air again, then toppled in the air and hit the ground again, this time on one corner.

In the instant before the cavern filled with the massive eruption of noise and smoke, Will saw Tennyson emerge onto the ledge leading to the escape tunnel. The false prophet glanced back once at the scene on the cavern floor.

Then the earth shook beneath their feet and thunder filled the cavern. Rocks and earth fell from the ceiling in ever-increasing amounts. Small landslides started in the jumbled rocks that lined the sides of the cave, rapidly growing in size and violence. A gigantic pillar of brownish yellow smoke shot up. Just before it obscured the far wall, Will saw a massive rock shaken loose from the cavern wall above the ledge where Tennyson stood. It hit beside him, barely a metre from him. Instinctively, the preacher recoiled, stepping back onto empty air and toppling slowly off the ledge. He smashed against the jagged rocks at the base of the rock wall and Will had one final glimpse of his broken, lifeless body.

Then he was hidden from sight by the billowing masses of brown smoke.

Rocks were falling faster and in increasingly greater numbers now and the sand trickle had become a dozen cascades in different parts of the cavern. There was no doubt. The walls and roof were coming down and they had only seconds to get clear. Will grabbed Malcolm's arm and dragged him down from the perch on the boulder.

'Come on!' he yelled.

Malcolm was frozen momentarily. He stared at the falling rocks and tumbling showers of sand. 'Are you mad?' he asked and Will shoved him roughly towards the tunnel entrance.

'Yes! Now get the hell out of here!' Will yelled and, finally, the healer started towards the exit. Satisfied that he was moving, Will ran back to where Halt and Horace still stood, facing the defeated white robes, barring their way to the tunnel. Tennyson's followers, already defeated and demoralised, were now totally disoriented as well by the terrifying sequence of events they had just witnessed.

'Come on!' Will shouted. He grabbed Horace's arm, dragging him along with him. 'Halt! We've got to get out now!'

Horace was moving with him but Halt hesitated.

'Tennyson?' he queried, but Will beckoned him urgently.

'He's finished! I saw him fall. Come on, Halt!'

Still Halt lingered. But then an entire section of roof gave way and came crashing down in a cloud of dust and sand, adding to the masses of brown smoke, and his decision was made. He turned and ran for the tunnel entrance.

In a fatal mistake, the surviving white robes ran in the opposite direction, disappearing into the swirling dust and smoke.

Will, with Horace in tow, reached the tunnel entrance. For a moment, the tall warrior baulked at the dark hole, but Will dragged him forward.

'I'm with you!' he said and he felt Horace's resistance disappear as he followed his friend into the stygian darkness of the tunnel. A shadow filled the entrance as Halt came behind them.

For Horace, the tunnel was even worse than before. The whole space echoed with the thunder of falling rocks and crashing landslides. He could feel the terrifying vibrations in the ground under his feet and in the walls as he brushed against them. And now the tunnel was filling with clouds of choking dust. He couldn't see the dust in the total darkness but it rasped in his throat and nose and set him coughing helplessly. The darkness, the noise, the choking dust – they were all parts of his worst dreams and he was close to losing control. But Will's grip was firm on his arm and he fought back the panic, following his friend.

He felt the downward pressure on his arm and realised they must be close to the low exit from this tunnel. He crouched, following Will, felt something bump against him from behind and after a moment of searing terror realised it was Halt.

Then the three comrades staggered, coughing violently, into the smaller cavern and the blessed relief of the dim grey light that came through the ventilation slits high in the wall. Dust billowed from the aperture they had just come through and they moved away from it as the dust clouds began to fill the smaller cavern. Malcolm was waiting for them at the entrance to the second tunnel, gesturing feverishly for them to join him.

'Come on!' he yelled. 'The whole cave system is unstable. It could all collapse at any minute!'

As if on cue, a section of the inner wall fell away and slid, crumbling into small pieces, to the floor. More dust exploded into the air.

Then it was into the darkness once more and the twisting, turning, narrow tunnel, with the sound of the earth collapsing behind them and Will's steady grip on Horace's arm to lead him. For a moment, Horace had the horrifying thought that the tunnel itself might collapse and he would be buried here inside it. But he forced it away, knowing that if he gave into the sickening sense of panic his limbs would freeze and he would never move from this spot.

Then the blackness around him was not quite so black and he realised he could make out the dim figure of Will, leading him, outlined against the dull grey light that came from the entrance to the tunnel.

With a moan of relief, Horace staggered out of the tunnel. Malcolm, waiting just outside, grabbed his arm and hurried him away. Will waited to make sure that Halt had followed them and the two Rangers ran side by side, coughing and eyes streaming, till they were well clear of the cave entrance.

Wearily, the four turned to view the narrow cleft in the rock face. Dust poured from it. Then there was a huge rumble in the earth and the dust became a massive billowing cloud that jetted in a solid stream from the narrow cleft, vomiting from the high-level vents, forced out by the collapsing cave system behind it.

Halt wiped one hand across his dust-stained face.

'Well,' he said, 'looks as if the Outsiders cult has finally gone underground.'

Then he sank wearily to the ground. Slowly the others joined him and they sat in silence, watching the dust as it continued to vomit from the tunnel. Halt rubbed his knee, aching from where he'd knocked it against a rock outcrop in their headlong, blind dash through the tunnel.

'I really am getting too old for this sort of thing.' Fifty-one They were heading north again, back to Grimsdell Wood.

It was only fair, Will thought, that they should escort Malcolm home. He had been prepared to do this on his own but Halt had announced that they would all make the trip.

'You can see Malcolm back to his forest,' he said. 'Horace and I have some business at Castle Macindaw.' Will looked curiously at him for a few moments, not understanding. Then Halt explained.

'The outlaw band that's been working with Tennyson are still at large,' he said. 'They'll need to be rounded up. We'll arrange for a patrol from Macindaw to take care of it. Harrison can lead them. He's probably itching for something to do.'

Harrison was the newly appointed Ranger to Norgate Fief, Will remembered. The appointment had been announced at the Gathering. He shook his head. It seemed so long since the Gathering. So much had happened in the intervening time.

They had found the horses Tennyson and his men had appropriated, grazing in a meadow close by the ruined cavern system. They took the quietest for Malcolm. As was often the case, the quietest horse was also the biggest and the little healer perched on top of it, his legs not reaching round the barrel of the horse's body, but sticking straight out.

Before they left, Halt had addressed the ex-converts to the Outsiders cult, lecturing them on the need to be more suspicious of religious leaders who offered to solve all their problems in return for their gold. The people hung their heads and shuffled their feet in embarrassment and he finally dismissed them to return to their farms.

'Looks like they've learned their lesson,' Horace said.

Halt snorted dismissively. 'Right until the next charlatan arrives and promises them heaven on earth.'

Malcolm smiled at his cynicism. 'You don't have a great deal of respect for your fellow man's common sense, do you?'

Halt shook his head. 'I've been around too long. Greed and fear will always win out over common sense.'

Malcolm nodded his agreement. His own experience bore out the truth of Halt's words. 'I'm afraid you're right.'

'How long before they're all back here, do you think?' Will asked. Horace looked at him, not understanding.

'What would they come back here for?'

Will grinned at him. 'Their gold,' he said. 'It's buried under that cliff there, remember? I wager they'll be back here digging for it within a week.'

Horace laughed, understanding. 'That should keep them busy for the next ten years or so.'

So they rode north and, several days later, they saw the solid bulk of Castle Macindaw before them, crouching astride the entry route from Picta, barring the way to the fierce northern tribes. Halt turned in his saddle to face Malcolm.

'In all the excitement,' he said, 'I may have forgotten something important. Thank you for saving my life,' he said simply.

Malcolm smiled. 'It was my pleasure,' he said. 'I always enjoy rubbing shoulders with legends.'

But Halt wasn't going to let Malcolm pass it off so casually.

'Nonetheless, if you ever need help in any form, send for me. I'll come. You have my word on it.'

Malcolm grew serious. He met Halt's steady gaze and nodded once.

'I'll remember it,' he said.

The two men clasped hands in farewell. They held the grip for long seconds. Then Malcolm released Halt's hand and turned to Horace, the smile creeping back onto his face.

'As for you, Horace, try to stay out of trouble, won't you? And don't eat poor Xander out of house and home.'

Xander was the steward at Macindaw and he guarded the castle lord's supplies more keenly than a miser would hoard his gold. Horace grinned in return and shook hands.

'Thanks for everything, Malcolm. If it hadn't been for you, Will and I would never be able to face Lady Pauline again.'

'I'm going to have to meet this remarkable woman one of these days,' he said. 'Come on then, Will, there are people waiting to see you again.'

And as Halt and Horace continued north, Will and the little healer angled their horses off to the east, and the dark line on the horizon that marked the beginning of Grimsdell Wood.

As they rode in under the dark canopy once more, Will marvelled at Malcolm's sure sense of direction. Once they were surrounded by the tangle of trees and foliage, with no sign of the sun, Will rapidly lost his orientation. But Malcolm pressed on and in a surprisingly short space of time, they emerged into the clearing where Malcolm's thatched cottage stood.

First to greet them was a black and white shape who slipped across the clearing towards them, heavy tail sweeping back and forth. Tug whinnied a short greeting and Will swung down from the saddle to fondle the dog's head, and the soft fur under her chin and neck. She closed her eyes blissfully at his touch. A massive shadow fell over him and he glanced up.

'Hello, Trobar,' he said. 'You're taking good care of her. She looks wonderful.'

Indeed, Shadow was sleek and glossy, and her long coat was obviously groomed regularly. Trobar smiled at the compliment to his best friend.

'We'come, Wi' Trea'y,' he said, his words distorted by the deformation of his mouth and palate. Will stood and Trobar enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. Malcolm smiled at the contrast between the slightly built Ranger and the massive Trobar.

Then more familiar faces emerged shyly from the trees around the clearing and Will greeted them all, noticing their smiles as he remembered names and events that had taken place on his previous visit. Under Trobar's direction, a table was set up in the middle of the clearing and food was prepared. An impromptu feast ensued and lasted until long after sunset. Will looked around at these happy, welcoming people. They had been rejected by the world outside, because of their infirmities or the fact that their bodies were deformed. Because they were different, he thought. But really, that was a falsehood. These people were no different to any others.

Eventually, exhausted by the feast and the days of travel, he took himself off to bed in the spare room in Malcolm's cabin. As he drifted off to sleep, he could hear the distant hooting of an owl somewhere in the forest, and the soft whisper of the wind in the trees.

He bade farewell to Malcolm early the following morning, before too many of the inhabitants of Healer's Clearing were up and moving.

'You know how much I owe you,' he said. 'I want to thank you not just for what you did, but for the way you did it.'

Malcolm frowned, not quite understanding, so Will elaborated.

'I arrived here unannounced, asking for help for a friend miles away. You didn't ask questions. You didn't hesitate. You packed your things and came with me.'

The frown disappeared. 'We're friends,' Malcolm said simply. 'That's what friends do for each other.'

'Just remember what Halt said. If you ever need help…'

'I'll send for the two of you.' Malcolm embraced Will quickly. 'Good luck, Will. Travel safely. I'd say stay out of trouble but I doubt you'll ever do that.'

Will stepped back. He always felt awkward at farewells. He turned towards Tug, saddled and ready to go. But a voice stopped him.

'Wi' Trea'y!'

It was Trobar, standing on the far side of the clearing. He was beckoning to Will. Malcolm smiled at some secret knowledge.

'I think Trobar has something to show you,' he said. Will started across the clearing towards the giant. Something was amiss, he thought, then realised what it was. There was no sign of Shadow, who usually never let Trobar out of her sight.

As Will drew closer, Trobar turned and led him in under the trees. A few metres inside the treeline, a low hut stood. Will realised this was where Trobar slept. Off to one side was a smaller structure, barely a metre high, with a large opening facing them. Trobar gestured towards it and Will went down on his knees to peer inside.

Shadow's blue and brown eyes looked back at him and he saw the slow wag of her tail. Then he saw other movement as well and made out four small black and white shapes tumbling around her, climbing over her, fastening their needle-sharp teeth on any loose part of her flesh they could find.

'Puppies!' he said in delight. 'She's had puppies!'

Trobar grinned at him and reached one giant hand into the kennel. Gently pushing the others aside, he took hold of one and lifted her, yipping in excitement, out of the kennel. Shadow watched him carefully as he held the little ball of black and white fluff out to Will.

'Pi' o' the li'er,' he said and for a moment Will frowned, trying to decipher the words. Then he had it. When he had left Shadow with Trobar, he had told the giant, 'If she ever has pups, I want the pick of the litter.'

'Pick of the litter?' he translated now and Trobar beamed, holding the little, squirming shape out to him.

'For you, Wi' Trea'y.'

He took the pup, who immediately fastened her teeth on the ball of his thumb, growling and yipping alternately. He studied her. She was still covered in soft puppy fur and her tail, which would later become a bushy, slow-sweeping extension of her body, was now a whip-shaped narrow affair, with a white tip at the end. She glared up at him and he laughed in delight as he saw that she had inherited her mother's eyes – one blue, one brown. The blue eye had a peculiar, manic look to it. He smoothed the fur on her head and she stopped worrying at his thumb. The whip tail went back and forth in pleasure.

'She's beautiful!' he said. 'Thanks, Trobar. Thank you so much.' He grinned down at the struggling little pup. 'I wonder what I should call her?' he mused.

'Eb'ny.' Trobar said firmly. 'Her na' i' Eb'ny.'

Again Will frowned as he tried to interpret the word. Then he had it.

'Ebony,' he said and Trobar grinned confirmation. 'That's a good name. I like it.'

Then Trobar, still grinning, said. 'Be'er tha' Bla'hy.'

'Better than Blackie?' Will asked. That was the first name he had come up with for Shadow. Trobar had been scathing about it when he renamed the dog.

Trobar nodded vigorously.

'I suppose I'll never live that down, will I?' Will asked.

'Ne'er,' Trobar replied with great conviction. He smiled down at the pup, then put a massive hand on Will's shoulder.

'Ne'er,' he repeated. Will raised an eyebrow at him.

'I got it the first time,' he said. Fifty-two Will found the others waiting for him on the road south of Macindaw.

As the young Ranger rode up to join them, Horace couldn't help smiling when he saw the small black and white bundle perched on Will's saddle bow. He knew how much it had torn Will's heart to give Shadow away to Trobar all those months ago.

'From Trobar?' he asked and Will nodded, grinning.

'Who else?' he said. Then he added, 'Her name is Ebony.'

'Good name,' Halt said. 'Did you pick it?'

Will shook his head. 'Trobar's choice.'

Horace nodded sagely. 'That figures.'

Will considered glaring at him but decided it wasn't worth the effort. For the first time in months, they were free of any pressing obligation.

'What do we do now?' he asked.

It was Halt who replied. 'We go home.' And there was a wealth of contentment in his voice as he said it.

So they turned their horses south and rode at an easy pace for home. There was no need to hurry, no emergencies waiting to be dealt with, so they took their time, enjoying each other's company. Horace would be heading back to Castle Araluen and they didn't know when they would see him again. So they made the most of their time together, with Halt as often as not sitting back and watching and listening to the conversation between his two young friends. They were a good pair, he thought, just as he and Crowley had been in their younger days, when the Ranger Corps had fallen on bad times and needed to be reinvigorated. He was glad to think that Will had a friend like Horace. He had a vague memory that in his delirium, he had told an imaginary Crowley that these two young men might well hold the future of Araluen in their hands. If he had said that, he thought, he had been right.

The atmosphere around the camp fire each evening was lightened by the puppy. She seemed to attach herself to Tug, crouching in front of the shaggy horse, her chin on her paws and her rump high in the air, tail waving as she challenged him with a fierce growl. If Tug made the slightest move towards her, she would dart away, sidestepping and twisting furiously as she ran in a circle to escape. Then she would return to crouch before him and challenge once again, her manic blue eye fixed on the animal that towered over her.

Tug, for his part, treated the little pup with good-humoured tolerance. On one occasion, Horace was convinced that he saw the horse raise an eyebrow at Ebony. The others didn't believe him, but he knew he was right.

Occasionally, she would growl and crouch in front of Abelard as well. But they noticed that she never tried it with Kicker. Small and pugnacious she might be, but border shepherds were never stupid and she sensed that while the smaller horses would tolerate her approaches, the battlehorse was likely to unthinkingly kick her into the middle of next week.

His name was 'Kicker', after all.

On one occasion, she crouched before Tug, snarling and yipping and making little forward darting movements at the horse, who eyed her with an air of amusement. Slowly, Tug lowered his head until his muzzle was a few centimetres away from the tiny black and white face. Then he suddenly snorted, and the dog, caught by surprise, was bowled over backwards in shock, scrambling to her feet and shaking herself to make sure everything was still in place and still working.

Don't annoy me, little dog, Tug seemed to say. I know your mother.

Later that night, making the rounds of the camp before turning in, Will found Tug lying quietly under a tree, his legs folded up beneath him. Nestled between his front upper legs was a small black and white shape, its sides rising and falling as it breathed. Tug looked up as Will approached.

She's had a long day. She's tired.

All too soon, they reached the junction in the highway where Horace would branch off for Castle Araluen. They camped there, the two young men talking long into the night. As they went to turn in, Will dropped a hand on Horace's well-muscled shoulder.

'I wish we could get you assigned to Redmont,' he said. 'I'm sure Crowley could arrange it.'

Horace allowed a smile to touch the corner of his mouth. 'I'll come visit,' he said. 'But you know, there are some things I like about life at Castle Araluen.'

Will looked at him, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered the statement.

'Like Evanlyn?'

'Maybe,' Horace said, trying to sound casual. But he couldn't stop the smile widening into a grin as he said it.

Will smiled in return. He'd long suspected that there was something special growing between Horace and the princess.

'Good for you,' he said.

In the morning, they went their separate ways and for once, as he rode away after a farewell, Will did look back as he reached the crest of a hill. He saw Horace turned in his saddle looking back at him and they waved, then turned and rode on.

The two Rangers were spotted long before they reached Castle Redmont and by the time they rode in under the portcullis, their horses' hooves clattering on the flagstones, a sizeable crowd had gathered to greet them.

In the forefront, of course, was the bulky form of Baron Arald. But as Halt and Will swung wearily down from their saddles, the Baron grinned at them and stepped aside, bowing as he ushered two other people forward.

Both tall. Both elegant. Both clad in the white gowns that marked them as King's Couriers.

Halt stood, unmoving, as his wife approached. Normally, he was a person who avoided public display. But he felt his heart rise into his throat as he saw her now – the woman he had loved all his life. He remembered how close to death he had been as he lay on his bedroll in the north, fighting a losing battle against the Genovesan poison. He had only just found Pauline and he had come so close to leaving her behind. Casting aside his usual reticence, he stepped forward to meet her, swept her into his arms and kissed her for a long, long time.

'Ooooooooooooh!' went the assembled crowd.

Will, watching in no little surprise, felt a gentle hand on his arm and looked up slightly to meet Alyss's smiling eyes.

'Looks like a good idea,' she said, inclining her head towards Halt and Lady Pauline. Will had to agree. He stepped forward, embraced her and kissed her. His head swam a little as she responded enthusiastically.

'Oooooooooooh!' went the crowd again.

Finally, the two couples separated, and stood back, hands joined, looking deep into each other's eyes. Baron Arald stepped forward and cleared his throat.

'My friends! An occasion such as this deserves a speech to mark it…'

'Ohhhhhhhhhhh,' sighed the crowd, this time with a disappointed inflection. The Baron smiled beatifically.

'But perhaps not,' he concluded, and the disappointed sigh turned into a giant 'Aaaaaah' of relief. Arald might like the sound of his own voice, Will thought. But he knew how to work a crowd.

'Instead,' the Baron continued, 'I'll announce a welcome home feast in the hall tonight.'

And now the crowd broke out in cheers.

'Who's this?' Alyss asked, noticing a little bundle squirming in the open neck of Will's jacket.

'This is Ebony.' He took the puppy out of his jacket and Alyss patted her head gently.

'Careful! She'll nip you,' Will warned but Alyss rolled her eyes at him.

'Of course she won't,' she said. 'She's a lady.'

And true to Alyss's words, Ebony allowed herself to be patted without her usual growling and yipping and nipping. Will raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'You just have to know how to treat a lady,' Alyss told him, smiling. He nodded acknowledgement and set the little dog down on the cobbles. For a moment, she stood there, feet braced, studying the scene around her. Her world was suddenly filled with a forest of legs and feet and massive beings. Her tail went down and she scuttled into the sanctuary between Tug's front hooves. Once there, the tail went up and she decided it was safe to yip at the world once more. Tug rolled his head to one side in order to look down at her. Then he looked up at Will and Alyss.

You go ahead and enjoy yourselves. I'll keep an eye on her.

Baron Arald loved a good banquet. And the best ones were those when Master Chubb, the Head Chef at Castle Redmont, and Jenny, his former pupil, competed with each other to create the finest dishes. Which was why he suggested that they share the catering responsibilities for Halt and Will's welcome home feast.

The food was magnificent and honours were declared even between the Head Chef and his former apprentice. Both of them fussed over the head table, where the guests of honour sat, both offering increasingly wonderful titbits to the two Rangers.

A succession of well-wishers filed past the table, welcoming Halt and his former apprentice home. People in Redmont were inordinately proud of their two famous Rangers. Sir Rodney, the Battlemaster, was one of the first. He immediately asked Halt for a report on Horace, his own former apprentice. He glowed with pleasure when Halt assured him that Horace had performed magnificently on their mission.

Gilan arrived halfway through the meal and was a welcome addition. He'd been the temporary Ranger for Redmont in their absence and he'd been called away to attend to a band of highway thieves. Knowing the fief 's Rangers had been sent on a mission, the thieves had begun to bother travellers on Redmont's roads. They were surprised to find that Halt's place had been taken by Gilan, an equally skilled and possibly even more energetic nemesis. Gilan had tracked them down to their lair and then led a cavalry patrol to arrest them.

It was noticeable that once Gilan joined their table, young Jenny concentrated less on offering choice food items to Halt and Will and more on presenting them to the tall, handsome Ranger.

As was always the case, Halt and Will said little about the details of their mission. They gave a brief outline to the Baron, who nodded his approval of their actions. Their detailed report would go to Crowley and then to the King. But people were accustomed to the usual Ranger reluctance to be in the spotlight. They were simply glad to see them home safe.

One person, of course, heard the full story of the mission from Halt's lips. Later that night, when the dining hall at Redmont was almost empty and the last guests were noisily heading for their beds, Lady Pauline beckoned to Will and drew him aside to speak privately to him. Her normally grave expression was more serious than ever and Will realised that she had worried about her husband the whole time he had been gone.

'Halt told me what happened up there in the north, Will. He said he would have died if it hadn't been for you and Horace.'

Will shifted his feet, a little uncomfortably.

'The real credit should go to Malcolm, my lady,' he said, and then as she raised a finger to remind him, he corrected himself, 'Pauline, I mean. After all, he was the one who cured Halt.'

'But you were the one who rode day and night to fetch him. And you were the one who captured that assassin so that Malcolm could discover which poison had been used. I know where the thanks are due, Will. And I thank you with all my heart.'

But Will was shaking his head. He had been bothered by something ever since they had discovered that terribly infected wound on Halt's arm. It had been at the back of his mind all that time and only now could he put it into words.

'My lady… Pauline, before we left, you asked me to look after him,' he said and she nodded.

'I remember.'

'Well, I didn't do a very good job of it. I should have realised something was wrong. I should have looked at that wound sooner. I knew he'd been hit but I just let it go. He was behaving strangely. The signals were all there and I should have seen them. But I just wasn't thinking. I should have done something sooner.'

She touched one gentle hand to his cheek. So young to feel so much responsibility, she thought fondly. She knew that she and Halt would probably never have children. This young man would be their son, she thought. And she couldn't have asked for a finer one.

'Pauline,' Will was saying, 'I came within an inch of failing you. I came within an inch of letting Halt down.'

'But you didn't, don't you see?' she told him. 'You didn't let him down. And I know you never will.'