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."
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
W ILL FELT H ORACE'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.
"Oh, dear," said Carney. "Have we got our daddy's sword with us?"
Horace eyed him, suddenly very calm. "I'll give you one chance," he said, "to turn around and leave now."
Bart and Carney exchanged mock terrified looks.
"Oh, dear, Bart," said Carney. "It's our one chance. What'll us do?"
"Oh, dear," said Bart. "Let's run away."
They began to advance on Horace and he watched them coming. He had the practice stick in his left hand now and the sword in his right. He tensed, balanced on the balls of his feet as they advanced on him, Carney with the rusty, ragged-edged sword snaking in front of him and Bart with the spiked cudgel laid back on his shoulder, ready for use.
Will scrambled to his feet and began to move toward his weapons. Seeing the action, Carney moved to cut him off. He hadn't gone a pace when Horace attacked.
He darted forward and his sword flashed in an overhead cut at Carney. Startled by the sheer speed of the apprentice warrior's move, Carney barely had time to bring his own blade up in a clumsy parry. Thrown off balance and totally unprepared for the surprising force and authority behind the stroke, he stumbled backward and sprawled in the dust.
In the same instant, Bart, seeing his companion in trouble, stepped forward and swung the heavy club in a vicious arc at Horace's unprotected left side. His expectation was for Horace to try to leap back to avoid the blow. Instead, the apprentice warrior stepped forward. The practice stick in his left hand flicked up and outward, catching the heavy cudgel in its downward arc and deflecting it away from its intended line. The club's spiked head thudded dully into the stony ground and Bart let go a deep "whoof" of surprise, the impact jarring his arm from shoulder to wrist.
But Horace wasn't finished yet. He continued the forward lunge, and now he and Bart stood shoulder to shoulder. It was too close for Horace to use the blade of his sword. Instead, he swung his right fist, hammering the heavy brass pommel of his sword hilt into the side of Bart's head.
The bandit's eyes glazed and he collapsed to his knees, semiconscious, head swaying slowly from side to side.
Carney, backpedaling furiously through the sand, had regained his feet. Now he stood watching Horace, puzzled and angry, unable to grasp the fact that he and his companion had been bested by a mere boy. Luck, he thought. Sheer dumb luck!
His lips formed into a snarl and he gripped the sword tightly, advancing once more on the boy, mouthing threats and curses as he went. Horace stood his ground, waiting. Something in the boy's calm gaze made Carney hesitate. He should have gone with his first instincts and given the fight away then and there. But anger overcame him and he started forward again.
By now, he was paying no attention to Will. The Ranger's apprentice darted around the campsite, grabbing his bow and quiver and hastily stepping his right foot through the recurve to brace the bow against his left while he slid the string up into its notch.
Quickly, he selected an arrow and nocked it to the string. He was about to draw back when a calm voice behind him said:
"Don't shoot him. I'd rather like to see this."
Startled, he turned to find Gilan behind him, almost invisible in the folds of his Ranger cloak, leaning nonchalantly on his longbow.