Will looked at Halt. His former teacher inclined his head to the jongleur.
"Berrigan will travel part of the way with you to coach you," he said. Will smiled at the tall jongleur. He was beginning to feel more comfortable with the idea-and a little less as if he were being thrown into deep water and told to learn to swim.
"And you might as well start now," Crowley said, refilling his coffee mug and leaning back comfortably against a log. "Let's hear a tune from the two of you."
Berrigan glanced a question at Will.
"The Woods of Far Away," Will said without hesitation.
Berrigan nodded and smiled. "He learns quickly," he said to Halt, who acknowledged the statement with the barest dip of his head. Then, as the two of them began the introduction to the lovely old song of homecoming, Berrigan stopped and frowned at Will's mandola.
"Your A string is just a little flat," he told him.
"I knew that," Halt said in a superior tone to Crowley.
13
The following morning, Will underwent a transformation from Ranger to jongleur. His mottled brown, gray and green cloak was exchanged for one that was more fitting to his identity as an entertainer. He was glad that Halt and Crowley hadn't opted for anything too outlandish in the way of colors, but had chosen a simple black and white motif for him. He swung the cloak, with its deep cowled hood, around his shoulders. There was something vaguely familiar about it, he thought. Then it came to him. The irregular black-and-white pattern woven into the material served the same purpose as the mottling on his Ranger cloak. It broke up the shape of the wearer, making the outline indistinct and disguising the hard edges that would help an observer see him. Halt noticed his interested scrutiny and nodded confirmation.
"Yes, it's a camouflage cloak," he said. "Perhaps not the same as a Ranger cloak, but where you're going, those colors will be more useful."
Realization dawned on Will. Norgate Fief in winter would be covered in thick snow, the colors leached out of the landscape. A closer inspection showed him that the black sections of the cloak weren't true black at all, but a dark shade of gray. It would take little effort for a person skilled in the art of unseen movement to blend with the winter countryside. Indoors, of course, the cloak would appear to be nothing more nor less than the sort of random theatrical patterning and dramatic colors that would be expected of a jongleur.
"Very clever," he said, grinning at Halt and Crowley. The two older Rangers nodded agreement. Next, Crowley handed him a sleeveless jerkin made from glove-thin gray leather.
"You can't wear your double scabbard," he said, nodding to the distinctive arrangement that held Will's two knives. "It's too much of a giveaway, seeing how only Rangers use them."
"Oh," said Will uncertainly. He wasn't comfortable at the thought of not having his big saxe knife and the smaller throwing knife close to hand. Crowley quickly reassured him.
"You can keep the saxe," he said. "Plenty of folk carry knives like that. And this jerkin has a scabbard sewn into it for your throwing knife."
He indicated a concealed leather sheath inside the jerkin, below the collar. Will drew his throwing knife and slid it experimentally into the sheath. It tit perfectly. Yet Halt's next words brought his spirits down once more.
"But I'm afraid the longbow will have to stay behind. A jongleur simply wouldn't carry one," he said. He took the massive bow from Will and placed it to one side. In its place, he handed him a small, low-powered hunting bow and a quiver of arrows. Will studied the unimpressive weapon critically, flexing it easily. He doubted that the draw weight could be more than twenty or thirty pounds.
"I might as well not have this," he said. "It would hardly shoot arrow out of my shadow at midday. Besides," he added, looking more closely at the arrows, "these arrows are far too heavy for the bow." He was definitely uncomfortable with this turn of events The bow had been his principal weapon since he was apprenticed to Halt so many years ago. He would feel naked and vulnerable without one.
Halt and Crowley exchanged a small smile. "The bow's not for shooting," Crowley said. "It's simply an excuse to carry the arrows. Come this way," he said, beckoning Will to follow.
In the clearing where the horses grazed, he indicated a packsaddle to Will.
"Your new packsaddle," he said, an expectant tone in his voice. Will frowned.
"There's nothing wrong with my old one," he said, unsure where this was heading. He studied the packsaddle. It seemed perfectly normal, apart from an unusual pommel arrangement. Where Will's packsaddle had two protruding wooden crosspieces in a V shape that could be used as a purchase point to tie items onto the saddle, this one had two curved pieces of flat metal serving the same purpose. They curved inward, then flared away from each other. It was rather ornate, he thought, but no more practical than the simple wooden V.
"We're very proud of this," Crowley said. He reached down and took hold of one of the flat pieces, then pulled it clear of the saddle. Will now saw that it had been held in place in a tight-fitting sheath that was part of the saddle. The metal piece, now that he could see it, was a little more than half a meter long and formed in a shallow S, with the lower curve twice the length of the upper. At the lower end, a slot was cut into the metal. Like the cloak, there was something familiar about it. Crowley grinned at him, then reached for the carrying handle at the rear of the saddle. He twisted it backward and it came clear of the saddle as well. It appeared to be plain, leather-wrapped wood, but there were two milled knobs, one at either end.
As Will watched, fascinated, Crowley slipped the slotted end of the metal arm into a narrow slit in the handpiece. Then he rapidly tightened one of the milled knobs, which Will now saw was the head of a large, threaded bolt, to hold the arm tightly in place.
"My God," said Will quietly, as he understood. He realized now why the flat metal piece had seemed familiar. When he first joined Halt, he had been too small to handle a full-sized longbow, so the older Ranger had given him a recurve bow, where each limb was formed in that shallow S shape. The double curve gave the bow increased power and arrow speed for a lower draw weight. As Crowley quickly bolted the second metal limb in place, Will realized that he was looking at such a recurve bow-one that could be disassembled into its three component parts.
"The armorers made it for us," Halt said quietly. "We've had them working on this for some time now. The steel limbs are amazing. You'll have a draw weight of almost sixty pounds-not as much as a longbow, but quite respectable nevertheless."
Crowley handed the weapon to Will, who turned it over in his hands, feeling the heft and the balance of it. The steelmakers who crafted the Ranger Corps' saxe knives were legendary craftsmen-many a sword had been blunted and notched on a Ranger saxe blade, without leaving a mark in return. Now, obviously, that metalworking skill had been turned to create this spring steel bow. Crowley passed Will a thick, woven cord and gestured for him to string the bow.
He slipped the string over the lower end, seating it in its notch, then stepped his right foot inside the bow and string, bracing the recurve against the ankle of his other foot as he bent the bow and seated the string in the notch. He grunted in surprise at the effort it took. He flexed the bow to test it and nodded contentedly at Halt
"That's a little more like it," he said. Halt handed him one of the arrows from the quiver.
"Try it," he said, indicating a patch of light bark on a tree some forty meters away. Will nocked the arrow to the string, flexed it once or twice experimentally, then, with his eyes glued to the target, he raised the bow, drew and fired in one smooth movement.