'Very well. You scout ahead, Will. I'll give you fifty metres then we'll come up to you. You know the drilclass="underline" Look. Shout. Shoot.'
Will nodded. He signalled for Tug to stay where he was and half-ran down the trail, his eyes on the ground, scanning the tracks left there. Halt edged Abelard around so he was on an angle on the trail, leaving Halt room to shoot, and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. His eyes scanned the ground either side of the track as Will proceeded.
'All right if I ask you something, Halt?' Horace said tentatively. He wasn't sure if he should intrude on the Ranger's concentration with a question. But Halt simply nodded, without taking his attention off the rolling bushes.
'Look. Shout. Shoot. What's that?' Horace asked.
Halt began to answer. If Horace was going to be working with them in future, it would be just as well to explain their methods to him whenever he asked. 'It's the way we…'
Then, catching sight of a small movement in the bushes to Will's right, he stopped talking and raised himself slightly in the stirrups, his bow coming up to the aiming position, the arrow beginning to slide back to full draw.
A small bird fluttered out of the bush that he had been watching, flew a few metres, then settled fussily on another branch, burying its beak inside the petals of a flower.
Halt relaxed, letting the arrow down again. Horace noticed that Will had caught sight of the movement too. He'd dropped to a crouch. Now, warily, he rose again, and glanced back up to where Halt and Horace were watching. Halt waved him ahead. He nodded and began to move again, searching the ground as he did so.
'Sorry, Horace,' Halt said. 'You wanted to know about "Look. Shout. Shoot." It's the way we approach a situation like this. Will is looking for their tracks, and for any sign that someone might have left the trail and moved out to the side to wait in ambush. While he's doing that, his attention is distracted. So I keep watch either side of the track, just in case someone has left the path further along, then doubled back behind him. If I see a crossbowman rise up out of the bushes, I shout and Will drops to the ground instantly. At the same time, I shoot the crossbowman. Look. Shout. Shoot.'
'He looks. You shout and shoot,' Horace said.
'Exactly. And we do it in fifty-metre increments because if there is an ambush, my arrow will hit the ambusher all the more quickly. The problem's going to be when we reach those trees ahead of us.'
Horace looked up. The undulating gorse-covered terrain continued for another two or three kilometres. But then he could see the dark line of a thick forest.
'I guess you can't see for fifty metres in there,' he said.
Halt nodded. 'That's right. We'll have to do it in twenty-metre rushes once we get there. Come on,' he added. 'Will's calling us forward. '
They rode down the slope to where Will was waiting for them. He grinned up at Halt as the two riders reined in. Tug nuzzled him and made grumbling noises. He was never happy when Will went on without him.
'Worry-wart,' Will told him, patting his soft nose. But Halt looked approvingly at the little horse.
'Take him with you this time,' he said. 'Should have thought of it before. He'll sense someone in the bushes quicker than we will.'
Will looked a little concerned at the idea. 'I don't want to risk Tug getting hit by one of those crossbow bolts.'
Halt smiled at him. 'Now who's the worry-wart?'
Will shrugged. 'All the same,' he said, 'I'd be more comfortable if he were back with you if someone starts shooting.'
'And I'll be more comfortable if he were with you,' Halt told him. Then he patted the longbow where it lay across his knees. 'Don't worry. The only one who's going to start any shooting is me.' Eighteen As Halt had predicted, their progress became even slower when they reached the dense wood they had sighted on the horizon. Here, the trees grew in thick, unordered confusion on either side of the narrow path. As Horace walked through them, the changing angles from which he viewed the moss-covered ranks of tree trunks seemed to create a sensation of movement in the shadows, so that he was constantly stopping to look again, making sure that he hadn't just seen something moving.
They were assisted by the two Ranger horses, of course. Tug and Abelard were both trained to warn their masters if they sensed the presence of strangers. But even their abilities depended on the direction of the wind. If someone were downwind, his scent wouldn't carry to them.
They proceeded in a series of short rushes. First Will would go forward ten to twenty metres while Halt stood, bow ready, until Will gained the cover of a tree trunk. Then Will would scan the forest while Halt moved forward, then went past him to another point twenty metres further along. Then they would repeat the process, leapfrogging each other, one watching while the other went forward. Frequently, they stopped to let the horses test the air and listen for any out-of-place sounds or scents from the trees around them.
Horace brought up the rear. He had his shield slung over his back for protection. If he needed it in a hurry, he could quickly shrug it round onto his left arm. His sword was drawn. When he first drew the weapon, he had felt a little self-conscious – concerned that it might make him appear nervous. But Halt had nodded approvingly when he caught the gleam of the sharp blade in the dull light under the trees.
'Nothing more useless than a sword you've left in its scabbard,' he had said.
Halt had also instructed him to turn suddenly from time to time and scan the path behind them, making sure that there was no one about to strike at them from behind.
'Don't do it at regular intervals,' Halt had told him as they were about to enter the dim green world of the forest. 'Anybody trailing us will recognise a regular pattern and they'll match it and move more freely. Mix things up. Keep changing it.'
So now, from time to time, Horace would turn to scan the path, turn back, then whip round again immediately. Halt had told him that this was the best way to catch a pursuer unaware.
But each time he did it, there was nobody there.
That did nothing to lessen the tension. He was only too aware that, at any moment, he could turn like this and there might be someone moving on the track behind them. He realised that his hand on the sword grip was damp with tension and he wiped it carefully on his jacket. In a battle, Horace would face any enemy, and any number of enemies, without flinching. It was the uncertainty of this situation that unsettled him – the knowledge that, no matter how many times there had been nothing behind them, this could be the time when it all went wrong.
He also felt extremely vulnerable in the company of Will and Halt. He watched them as they ghosted between the trees, their cloaks helping them blend into the grey and green shades of the forest so that at times he had trouble seeing them clearly.
He was wearing the cloak that Halt had given him, of course. But he knew that the skill of concealment depended on more than just the camouflage patterns on the cloak. It was a result of years of practice, of learning how to use the smallest amount of cover available. How to move swiftly without breaking twigs or rustling dead leaves underfoot. Knowing when to move and when to stand utterly still, even though your nerves shrieked at you to dive into cover. Compared to the two almost silent shadows who accompanied him, he felt like a huge, blundering draught horse, lurching and crashing through the trees and undergrowth. The grim thought occurred to him that any ambusher with half a brain would look for the easiest, most visible target for his first shot.
And that would be him.
Unconsciously, he wiped his damp hand on his jacket again.