Halt's Peril

by John Flanagan

  'Now I intend to finish the job I started – and not let you finish the job the Genovesan started. So I intend to give you a complete check-over now to make sure you're fit again – and up to the relatively minor task of confronting a hundred-odd enemies with just two people to back you up. Is that perfectly all right with you?'

  When he put it that way, Halt had to admit that he had a point. And he knew he owed the bird-like man his life. But still, it went against the grain for Halt to submit meekly to anyone's orders – as King Duncan had discovered on several occasions. He threw out one last challenge.

  'And if it's not all right with me?' he said belligerently. But Malcolm matched his attitude, stepping forward so that his face was only a few centimetres from the Ranger's.

  'Then I'll ask Will to report the fact to this Lady Pauline I've heard so much about,' he said. He was rewarded by a quick flicker of doubt in Halt's eyes.

  'And I'll do it,' Will called from the other side of the camp site, where he had been sitting quietly for several minutes enjoying the clash of wills between these two stubborn men.

  'Well, I suppose you might as well . . .' Halt said, and, stripping off his shirt, he straddled the log. Malcolm began his examination, peering into his throat and eyes and ears, tapping him on the inside of the elbows with a soft wood mallet, placing a hollow tube with a bell-shaped end against his back and chest and putting his ear to the other end.

  'What's that for?' Horace asked. He had moved closer as Malcolm went to work and now he stood a few paces away, watching with interest, in spite of Halt's growing irritation.

  'It's none of your business,' the Ranger growled warningly. But Horace was not to be deterred.

  'What can you hear?' he asked Malcolm. The healer hid a smile as he answered. 'His heart and lungs.'

  Horace made a small moue of interest. 'Really? What do they sound like?'

  'It's none of his business what my heart and lungs sound like,' Halt began.

  But Malcolm was already beckoning Horace forward. 'Have a listen for yourself.'

  Halt reflected how difficult it was to retain dignity and authority when someone else was poking and probing and tapping and you were sitting, half dressed, on a log. He glared at Horace but the young warrior ignored him. Stepping forward eagerly, Horace held the end of the tube in his ear, bending to put the large end against Halt's back. His eyes widened as he listened.

  'That's amazing!' he said. 'Is that boompa boompa boompa sound his heartbeat?'

  'Yes,' Malcolm said, smiling. Like most people, he enjoyed showing off his expertise in his chosen field. 'It's very strong and regular.'

  'I'll say it is!' Horace was impressed both by Malcolm's medical knowledge and the sheer volume of Halt's heartbeat when it was amplified by the tube. 'You're like a regular bass drum in there, Halt.'

  'How kind of you to say so,' Halt said, a sour expression on his face. But Horace was still eager to quiz Malcolm further.

  'And what about that great, rushing, hooooooosh-hoooooosh sound? It's vaguely like a draught horse breaking wind?'

  'That's his lungs. His breathing,' Malcolm replied. 'Again, quite healthy – although that's an original description of the sound, I must say. Haven't seen that in any of my medical texts.'

  'Let me have another listen!' Horace said and he bent once more towards Halt's back. But the angry Ranger twisted round on the log to confront him.

  'Get away from me! Listen to your own heart and lungs if you must!'

  Horace shrugged apologetically, showing him the straight listening tube. 'That's a little difficult, Halt. I'd have to twist my head right round behind my back to do that.'

  Halt smiled evilly at him.

  'I'm sure I could manage that for you,' he said.

  Horace regarded him for a moment, trying to ascertain if he were joking. He decided that he wasn't totally sure, so he stepped away, handing the tube to Malcolm. 'Might be best if you continue,' he said.

  Malcolm took the tube back, and continued with his examination. Fifteen minutes later, he announced that he was satisfied.

  'You're strong as a horse,' he told Halt.

  The Ranger glared back at him. 'And you're stubborn as a mule.'

  Malcolm shrugged. 'People do say that,' he replied, without taking offence.

  Horace, who had withdrawn to watch the rest of the examination, now stood and moved forward as Halt pulled his shirt over his head again. The Ranger looked up at him, still less than pleased with him.

  'What do you want?' he asked belligerently. 'My heart and lungs have been put away for the day, I'm afraid.' But Horace pointed to Halt's face.

  'The beard,' he said. 'If you decide to impersonate Ferris again, you'll need a shave.'

  'Which I can attend to myself,' Halt told him. 'But if you want to make yourself useful while I'm doing so, get a few strips of leather and plait a headband like the one Ferris wore.'

  Horace nodded and, while Halt fetched hot water and trimmed his regrowing beard back to a semblance of Ferris's more subdued version, Horace found some leather thongs in his pack and plaited them together, creating a reasonable facsimile of the simple royal crown of Clonmel.

  Halt was rinsing the lather from his face when he noticed Malcolm carefully packing a small box with a dozen irregular-shaped balls of what appeared to be dried, brown mud.

  'Are they more of those whizzbangs you were playing with?' he asked.

  The healer nodded. He didn't look up from his task and Halt, stepping closer, could see that he had the box packed with bundles of cut grass, which he used to keep the mud-balls separated. The tip of Malcolm's tongue protruded through his teeth as he concentrated on his work.

  'What do they do, exactly?' Halt asked.

  The final ball packed carefully in the grass, Malcolm looked up. 'If I throw one on the ground,' he explained, 'it will create a loud bang and a thick cloud of yellow-brown smoke. They're very volatile. That's why I need to pack them so carefully.'

  'And what did you plan on doing with them?' Halt asked.

  'I thought they might come in handy if you needed a diversion. They won't actually injure anyone . . .' He hesitated, then amended that thought. 'Well, aside from setting their ears ringing. They're just noise and smoke makers.'

  Halt grunted thoughtfully but said nothing more. He was beginning to see a possible use for the noisemakers.

  Finally, with their preparations complete, they struck camp and moved forward, closer to the range of cliffs where Tennyson had gone to ground – literally. They left the horses well back in the grove of trees that Horace and Will had discovered the previous day, then crept forward to observe the caves.

  'Now what?' Malcolm asked.

  'We wait and watch,' Halt told him. Malcolm took the hint and settled down, finding himself a comfortable vantage point from which to watch the comings and goings at the cliffs.

  Not that there was much to see. A group of four men left the cave in the late morning, returning several hours later, burdened down by the carcass of a deer.

  'Hunting party,' Horace said.

  Both Halt and Will looked at him sarcastically.

  'You think?' Will asked. 'Maybe they found the deer and brought him back to repair him.'

  'I was only saying . . .' Horace began. But Halt silenced him.

  'Then don't,' he said briefly.

  Horace muttered briefly to himself. One of the trials involved in travelling with Rangers was times like these. Halt and Will seemed to have boundless reserves of patience, never finding it necessary to lighten the passing hours with idle chatter. Horace didn't think there was any harm in making the occasional remark, even if it weren't absolutely necessary. Or enlightening. It was just . . . making conversation, that was all.

  'And stop muttering,' Halt said. Scowling, Horace obeyed.

  In the early afternoon, half a dozen people, four men and two women, emerged from the caves, blinking in the sunlight and shading their eyes with their hands. They didn't seem to ha
ve any real purpose in emerging.

  'What are they up to?' Will asked softly.

  Horace was about to reply 'probably getting fresh air' when he remembered Halt's curt orders from several hours back. He clamped his jaw shut and said nothing.

  'Probably just getting a breath of fresh air,' Halt said.

  Horace glared at him. It wasn't fair, he thought.

  The small group stayed outside in the sunshine for half an hour, then retreated once more inside the cave. Horace, who had been watching the upper reaches of the cliff, noticed a small ribbon of smoke trickling out of the cleft in the rock once more. He mentioned it to Halt.

  'Hmmm . . . well spotted. Could be starting to get the evening meal together.' He turned to Will. 'When you were in Tennyson's camp, what was his schedule for prayer meetings?'

  'Morning and late afternoon,' Will replied promptly. 'After the second one, they'd usually have dinner.'

  'So, assuming he hasn't changed his schedule, they might be getting ready for a little bit of hymn-singing and "hand over your money" any time now.'

  Will nodded. 'That'd be my guess.'

  Halt looked at his three companions.

  'Let's get ready to join them, shall we? I'd hate to miss the sermon.'

  Forty-eight

  Will led the way, slipping around the rock buttress and into the narrow entrance to the cave system. The others waited for him outside the entrance. After several minutes, he reappeared, beckoning them forward.

  'The first chamber is empty,' he reported. 'I can hear them in the inner chamber. Sounds like they're chanting.'

  Halt waved him forward. 'Lead the way.'

  Will disappeared into the narrow slit in the rock face once more. Halt followed, giving him a few seconds to get ahead, then Horace started after him. Before he entered the cave, Malcolm laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

  'Horace,' he said, 'this might help if you feel a little panicky.'

  He handed the warrior a small canvas packet. Horace opened it and looked at the contents, puzzled. It appeared to be a small pile of rotten bark, covered in some kind of greenish fungus. He sniffed it experimentally. It was decidedly earthy to smell.

  'It's moss, mixed with a kind of fungus,' Malcolm explained. 'It occurs naturally on trees throughout the north. But it glows in the dark. It'll give you a little light. Just enough for you to get your bearings, but not enough to be seen further down the tunnel. Just unwrap it if you need it.'

  'Thanks, Malcolm,' Horace told him and, turning sideways, he squeezed his way through the narrow entry to the tunnel. He was a good deal larger than Halt and Will and it took a little effort for him to force his way through. He had to draw in his chest and hold his breath, but finally, he made it.

  For the first few metres, there was enough light from the entrance to keep him oriented. But after the tunnel began to twist and turn, it became darker and he felt the old familiar sense of panic as he imagined the blackness around him squeezing in on him. In his mind, the darkness was a solid thing, like the rock itself, and he began to fantasise that it was crushing him, holding him in a gradually tightening vice so that he couldn't breathe. His heart began to race as he stared around him, seeing nothing. His chest was tightening and then he realised that, in his nervousness, he had actually neglected to breathe. He drew in a deep shuddering breath.

  From a few metres away, he heard Malcolm's soft whisper. 'Open the packet.'

  Remarkable, Horace thought. The panic had been so complete that he had forgotten the packet Malcolm had given him only a few minutes before. He felt for the cover and flipped it open.

  A soft, green light glowed from the centre of the packet. It was dim, but after the total, impenetrable blackness, it was more than enough to let him see the rough walls of rock only a few centimetres from his face. Instantly, his breathing eased and he felt his heart rate relax a little. He still wasn't happy about being in a confined space, but it was infinitely better than being in a totally dark, confined space.

  'What's that?' Halt's voice said out of the darkness ahead of him. Then Horace could make out the dim shape of the Ranger's face reflected in the green light. He was only a metre or so away.

  'Malcolm gave it to me,' he explained. He heard Malcolm close up on the other side of him.

  'It's not bright enough to be seen past the next bend in the tunnel,' the healer said.

  'You're probably right,' Halt agreed. 'Regular bundle of tricks, aren't you?' But he knew of Horace's aversion to confined dark spaces and realised the small green glowing bundle wasn't posing any risk. 'All right, Horace. I'll go ahead. If you hear me click my fingers, it means I can see you coming. Cover it up as soon as you hear it.'

  And with that, he melted away into the darkness again. Horace gave him a few seconds' start and followed on. In spite of his best efforts, his footsteps grated in the sand underfoot and his belt and scabbard tended to scrape against the rocks at his back. When they reached the first chamber, he decided, he'd take them off and carry them. There would be less chance of their snagging that way. He rounded another outcrop in the rock and realised he could see a dim grey light ahead. He covered the glowing bark and put the package away inside his jacket. The light grew stronger until he emerged into the chamber Will had described.

  Shafts of light from the late afternoon sun struck through the clefts set high in the walls of the chamber. Horace breathed in deeply. The smaller of the two caverns wasn't the sort of place he would choose to spend time in. But it was a lot less constricting and challenging than the narrow, black tunnel he had just passed through.

  Will and Halt had moved to the inner wall of the chamber and were crouched, listening. As Malcolm emerged from the tunnel in his turn, he and Horace moved across to stand beside the Rangers. Horace could see the small, low-level entrance to the next part of the tunnel. He set his jaw in a tight line. He wasn't going to like going through there, luminous bark or no luminous bark. Will glanced up, saw his pale face and grinned encouragingly.

  'All right so far?' he asked.

  Horace tried to grin in return but he knew it was a feeble effort. 'Loving it.'

  Then Halt hushed them both with an impatient gesture, bending closer to the mouth of the second tunnel.

  'Listen,' he said and they all gathered more closely around him. They could hear the faintest suggestion of a voice carrying down the tunnel. It was too faint to discern words, but they could hear the rise and fall of the cadence of the speech. Then the sound stopped and a fraction of a second later, a louder sound could be heard. This time it was recognisable. It was the sound of a large group of voices, responding to that first lone voice. They still couldn't make out the words – the echo created by the twists and turns in the tunnel and the muffling effect of the solid rock itself saw to that. But the enthusiasm and energy behind the response was unmistakable.

  'Fanatics,' Halt said. 'Don't you just love 'em?' He glanced up at Will and jerked his head towards the tunnel.

  'See what they're up to,' he said. Will nodded briefly. He crouched and disappeared into the black mouth of the tunnel.

  Horace unconsciously felt inside his jacket for the package of luminous bark. Then, remembering his previous thought, he unbuckled his sword, wrapping the belt itself around the scabbard. Halt glanced up at him, saw the action and nodded.

  'Good idea,' he said. He unslung his quiver from over his shoulder. For a second or two, he debated whether to unstring his bow. It would be easier to carry that way and less cumbersome in the confined space of the tunnel. But the thought of emerging unarmed at the far end was not one that held any appeal.

  It was ten minutes before Will's face reappeared at the entrance. He grinned up at them.

  'All clear,' he said. Then he scrambled out and stood erect. 'There's no guard in the tunnel or at the entrance,' he told them. 'Tennyson has an altar at the far end of the cavern and all the faithful are in a half circle, facing him.'

  'And not the tunnel?' Halt said, a satisfied n
ote in his voice.

  Will nodded. 'We'll come out behind them, and at a forty-five degree angle to the way they're facing. Nobody will be looking in our direction. Even Tennyson will find it hard to see us. His end of the cavern is lit up by candles, torches and a large fire. We'll be more or less in darkness. And there are plenty of rocks to provide cover for us.'

  The voices were discernible again as Tennyson began another sequence of question and answer with the crowd. It was all too familiar to Horace, Halt and Will. They'd heard it before. Malcolm, who had been appraised by them about Tennyson's operating methods, could guess pretty accurately what was being said in the cavern. As Halt had said, it would be a version of praise Alseiass and hand over your money. Although, the healer thought with a wry smile, perhaps a little less blatant.

  'All right,' Halt said. 'Let's get going. Lead the way again, Will. And Horace, the minute you see light at the end of the tunnel, cover up that moss of yours.'

  Horace nodded. Halt bent and disappeared into the low entrance. The tall warrior took several deep breaths, preparing himself. He felt a light touch on his arm.

  'I'll be right behind you,' Malcolm said. 'Let me know if you're in trouble.'

  The healer had personal knowledge of Horace's courage and he knew this fear of dark, confined spaces had nothing to do with physical bravery. It was something locked deep in Horace's mind – perhaps some incident in early childhood that he had long forgotten. Knowing this, he recognised the real courage that Horace was showing in overcoming his fear.