"Why, Halt? Why did you do it?" he asked fiercely. Again, that infuriating shrug of the shoulders.
"As I said," Halt replied, "too much brandy-spirit. You know I could never hold my liquor, Crowley."
He actually managed a smile at that. It felt ghastly on his face, like a death's-head grin.
Crowley released his arm and sat back, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Godspeed, Halt," he said finally, in a voice that broke with emotion. Then, with an uncharacteristically rough jerk of his reins, Crowley wheeled his horse's head and galloped away, back along the road to Castle Araluen.
Halt watched him go, the mottled Ranger cloak soon almost lost in the misting rain. Then he turned to his former apprentice. He smiled sadly, and this time the smile and the sadness were genuine.
"Good-bye, Gilan. I'm glad you came to farewell me."
But the younger Ranger shook his head defiantly.
"I'm not here to farewell you," he said roughly. "I'm coming with you." Halt raised one eyebrow. It was an expression so familiar to Gilan that it tore at his heart to see it.
"Into banishment?" Halt asked the younger man, and again Gilan shook his head.
"I know what you're up to," he replied. He jerked his head at the packhorse standing patiently behind Abelard. "You have Tug with you.
You're going after Will, aren't you?"
For a moment, Halt was tempted to deny it. But the days of pretense were getting too much for him. He knew it would be a relief, just this once, to admit his reasons.
"I have to, Gilan," he said quietly. "I promised him. And this was the only way I could be released from service."
"By getting yourself banished?" Gilan's voice rose in an incredulous note. "Did it occur to you that Duncan could have had you executed?"
Halt shrugged. But this time, it wasn't a mocking gesture. This time, it was simply a gesture of resignation.
"I didn't think he would. I had to take the chance."
Gilan shook his head sadly. "Well, banished or not," he said, "I'm coming with you."
Halt looked away then. He took a deep breath, let it out. He was tempted, he had to admit. He was heading for a long, hard, dangerous road where Gilan's company would be welcome and his sword might well be useful. But there was another call upon Gilan's service and Halt, already burdened by the knowledge that he had betrayed his own duty, couldn't allow the younger man to do the same.
"Gilan, you can't," he said simply. Gilan drew breath to reply and he held up a hand to stop him. "Look, I asked for a release so that I could go after Will," he said, "and they told me I was needed here."
He paused and Gilan nodded his understanding.
"Well, I judge that need to be less. But it's my judgment only and I could be wrong. This situation with Foldar is dangerous, very dangerous. And it needs to be nipped in the bud. He needs to be stalked and tracked down and ambushed. And frankly, I can't think of a Ranger more suited to that job than you."
"Other than yourself," Gilan countered, and Halt acknowledged the fact with a slight inclination of his head. It wasn't ego talking. It was an honest assessment of the truth.
"That may be true," he said. "But it bears out my point. If we both go missing, Crowley will have to find someone else to do the job."
"I don't care," Gilan replied stubbornly, twisting the reins in his hand into a tight little knot, then releasing them again. Halt smiled gently at him.
"I do, Gilan. I know how it feels to break the faith like this.
It's a deep, bitter hurt, believe me. And I won't allow you to inflict it on yourself."
"But, Halt," Gilan said miserably, and the grizzled, smaller man could see that tears weren't far from his eyes, "I was responsible for leaving Will. I deserted him in Celtica! If I had stayed with him, he would never have been captured by the Skandians!"
Halt shook his head. His voice was gentler now as he consoled the young man.
"You can't blame yourself for that," he told him. "What you did at the time was right. Blame me, rather, for recruiting a boy with the honor and courage to act as he did. And for training him so that there would never be any doubt that he would act that way."
He paused, to see if his words were having any effect. Gilan was wavering, he knew. Halt added the final touch.
"Don't you see, Gilan, it's because I know that you are here that I can desert my post like this. Because I know you can cover for me.
But if you refuse to do so, I can't go myself."
And at that, Gilan's shoulders slumped in submission. His eyes fell once more and he muttered throatily, "All right, Halt. But find him. Find him and bring him back, banished or not."
Halt smiled at him and leaned across to grip his shoulder.
"It's only a year," he said. "We'll be back before you know it.
Good-bye, Gilan."
"Godspeed, Halt," the Ranger said in a breaking voice. His vision was obscured by tears and he heard the dull clopping of hooves on the wet road as Abelard and Tug paced out toward the coast.
The wind was in Halt's face as he rode on his way and it drove the light rain against him. It formed into small drops on his weather-beaten features, drops that rolled down his cheeks.
Strangely, some of them tasted of salt.
9
T HE WOLFSHIP WAS IN BAD SHAPE. S HE CRABBED AWKWARDLY toward the shingle beach, where the crew of Erak's ship was spilling out of their hut to watch. She was listing heavily, and she sat a good deal lower in the water than she should. The guardrail on the downward side of the list was barely ten centimeters from the water.
"It's Slagor's ship!" one of the Skandians on the beach called, recognizing the wolfshead crest on the upcurving bowsprit.
"What's he doing here?" another asked. "He was safe back in Skandia when we left for Araluen."
Will had hurried around from the rocks where he had been tossing driftwood into the water. He saw Evanlyn making her way down from the lean-to and he joined her. Her former annoyance was forgotten at this new turn of events.
"Where did the ship come from?" she asked, and Will shrugged.
"I have no idea. I was out on the rocks and I just looked up and there she was."
The ship was close in now. The crewmen looked haggard and exhausted, Will noticed. Now he could see gaps between several of the planks forming the hull, and the ragged stump where the mast had shattered and gone overboard. The Skandians standing around them noted these facts, and commented on them.
"Slagor!" Erak called across the calm water. "Where the devil did you spring from?"
The burly man at the stern, controlling the ship's steering oar, waved a hand in greeting. He was plainly exhausted, and glad to make harbor.
One of the crew now stood in the bow of the ship and tossed a heavy line to Erak's men waiting on the beach. In a few seconds, a dozen of them had tailed onto the rope and begun to haul the wolfship in the last few meters. Gratefully, the rowers slumped back on their benches, without the energy to ship their oars. The heavy, carved-oak sweeps trailed in the water, bumping dully against the ship's sides as they pivoted back in the oarlocks. The keel grated against the shingle and the ship came to a halt. Sitting lower in the water than Wolfwind, it wouldn't ride as far up the slope of the beach. The bow struck and stuck fast.