He couldn't be sure that they weren't concealed somewhere, watching him, and if they were, they'd make him pay for disobeying their instructions.
If this was the way of things, then so be it, he thought. But he promised himself that, first chance he got, he was going to make somebody pay for the humiliation he was undergoing.
Much later, clothes soaked, arms aching and a deep feeling of resentment burning in his heart, he crept back to his quarters.
He was too late for the evening meal, but he didn't care. He was too miserable to eat.
Chapter 14
"Walk him aroud a little," said Halt.
Will glanced back at the shaggy pony, who watched him with intelligent eyes.
"Come on, boy," he said, and pulled on the halter. Instantly, Tug braced his forelegs and refused to move. Will pulled harder on the rope, leaning back in his efforts to make the stubborn little pony move.
Old Bob cackled with laughter.
"He be stronger than you!" he said.
Will felt his ears reddening with embarrassment. He pulled harder. Tug twitched his ears and resisted. It was like trying to pull a house along.
"Don't look at him," Halt said softly. "Just take the rope and walk away from him. He'll follow."
Will tried it that way. He turned his back on Tug, seized the rope firmly and began walking. The pony trotted easily after him. Will looked at Halt and grinned. The Ranger nodded his head toward the far fence of the paddock. Will glanced across and saw a small saddle, placed across the top rail of the fence.
"Saddle him up," said the Ranger.
Tug clip-clopped docilely across to the fence. Will looped the reins around the fence rail and hefted the saddle across the pony's back. He bent down to fasten the girth straps of the saddle.
"Pull them good and tight!" Old Bob advised him.
Finally, the saddle was firmly in position. Will looked eagerly at Halt. "Can I ride him now?" he asked.
The Ranger stroked his uneven beard thoughtfully before he answered. "If you feel that's a good idea, go ahead," he said, finally.
Will hesitated for a moment. The phrase stirred a vague memory with him. But then eagerness overcame caution and he put one foot in the stirrup and swung himself nimbly onto the pony's back. Tug stood, unmoving.
"Get up!" Will said, drumming his heels against the pony's side.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Will felt a small tremor of movement go through the pony's body.
Suddenly, Tug arched his muscular little back and shot straight into the air, all four feet leaving the ground at the same time. He twisted violently to one side, came down on his front legs and kicked his rear legs high into the sky. Will sailed neatly over the pony's ears, turned a complete somersault in the air and crashed on his back in the dirt. He picked himself up, rubbing his back.
Tug stood nearby, ears up, watching him intently.
Now, why did you go and do a silly thing like that? The eyes seemed to say.
Old Bob leaned against the fence, sides heaving with laughter. Will looked at Halt.
"What did I do wrong?" he asked. Halt ducked under the fence rails and walked across to where Tug stood watching the two of them expectantly. He handed the bridle back to Will, then laid one hand on his shoulder.
"Nothing, if this were an ordinary horse," he said. "But Tug has been trained as a Ranger horse-"
"What's the difference?" Will interrupted angrily, and Halt held his hand up for silence.
"The difference is, each Ranger horse has to be asked before a rider mounts him for the first time," said Halt. "They're trained that way so that they can never be stolen."
Will scratched his head. "I've never heard of such a thing!" he said.
Old Bob smiled as he walked forward. "Not too many folk have," he said. "That's why Ranger horses never get stolen."
"Well," said Will, "what do you say to a Ranger horse before you mount him?"
Halt shrugged. "It varies from horse to horse. Each one responds to a different request." He gestured toward the larger horse. "My horse, for example, responds to the words permettez moi."
"Permettez moi?" Will echoed. "What sort of words are they?"
"They're Gallic. They mean, 'Will you allow me?' His parents came from Gallica, you see," Halt explained. Then he turned to Old Bob. "What are the words for Tug here, Bob?"
Bob screwed up his eyes, pretending that he couldn't remember. Then his face cleared.
"Oh, yes, I recall!" he said. "This 'un here, he needs to be asked, 'Do you mind?' afore you get on his back."
"Do you mind?" Will repeated, and Bob shook his head. "Don't say it to me, youngster! Say it in the horse's ear!"
Feeling a little silly, and not at all sure that the others weren't having a joke at his expense, Will stepped forward and said softly in Tug's ear:
"Do you mind?"
Tug whinnied softly. Will looked doubtfully at the two men, and Bob nodded encouragement.
"Go on! Climb on now! Young Tug won't harm 'ee now"
Very carefully, Will swung himself onto the pony's shaggy back once again. His back still ached from the previous attempt. He sat there a moment. Nothing happened. Then, he tapped his heels gently into Tug's ribs.
"Come on, boy," he said softly.
Tug's ears twitched up and he stepped forward at an easy walk.
Still cautious, Will let him walk around the paddock once or twice, then tapped again with his heels. Tug broke into a gentle trot. Will moved easily to the rhythm of the horse's movement and Halt looked on approvingly. The boy was an instinctive rider.
The Ranger unclipped the short length of rope that held the paddock gate closed and swung the wide gate open.
"Take him out, Will," he called, "and see what he can really do!"
Obediently, Will turned the pony toward the gate and, as they passed through into the open ground beyond, tapped once more with his heels. He felt the muscular little body beneath him bunch momentarily, then Tug broke into a fast gallop.
The wind rushed past Will's ears as he leaned forward over the pony's neck, encouraging him to even greater speed. Tug's ears pricked upward in response and he went even faster than before.
He was like the wind. His short legs were a blur of motion as he carried the boy at full speed toward the edge of the trees. Gently, not sure how the pony would react, Will applied pressure to the lefthand rein.
Instantly, Tug veered to the left, racing away from the trees at an angle. Will kept the gentle pressure on the rein until Tug was headed once again back toward the paddock. Will gasped in amazement as he saw how far they had come. Halt and Old Bob were tiny figures in the distance now. But they grew rapidly larger as Tug flew over the rough grass toward them.
A fallen log loomed in front of them and, before Will could make any effort to avoid it, Tug had gathered himself, steadied and leaped over the obstacle. Will let out a shout of excitement and the pony whinnied briefly in reply.
They were almost back to the paddock now and Will pulled gently on both reins. Instantly, Tug slowed to a canter, then a trot, finally coming down to walking pace as Will maintained the pressure on the reins. He brought the pony to a standstill beside Halt. Tug tossed his shaggy head and whinnied again. Will leaned forward and patted the pony on the neck.
"He's terrific!" he said breathlessly. "He's as fast as the wind!"
Halt nodded gravely. "Perhaps not quite as fast as the wind," he said, "but he can certainly cover ground." He turned to the old man. "You've done well with him, Bob."
Old Bob ducked his head in appreciation and leaned forward to pat the shaggy little pony in his turn. He had spent his life breeding, training and preparing the Ranger Corps' horses and this one ranked among the best he'd seen.
"He'll keep that pace all day," he said fondly. "Run them fat battlehorses into the ground, this 'un will. Youngster rides him well, too, Ranger, don't 'e?"
Halt stroked his beard. "Not too badly," he said. Bob was scandal
ized.
"Not too badly? You're a hard man, Ranger! Youngster sat him light as a feather through that jump!" The old man looked up at Will, sitting astride the pony, and nodded in appreciation. "'E don't saw away at them reins like some do, neither. Got a light touch with a horse's soft mouth, 'e 'as."
Will grinned at the old horse trainer's praise. He sneaked a quick look at Halt, but the Ranger was as grave-faced as ever.
He never smiles, Will thought to himself. He went to dismount, then stopped himself hurriedly.
"Is there anything I should say to him before I get off?"
Bob laughed aloud. "No, youngster. Once said and young Tug here will remember-as long as it's you who's riding him." Relieved, Will climbed down. He stood beside the pony and Tug shoved him affectionately with his head. Will glanced at the apple barrel.
"Could I give him another?" he asked.
Halt nodded. "Just one more," he said. "But don't go making a habit of it. He'll be too fat to run if you feed him all the time." Tug snorted loudly. Apparently he and Halt were at odds over how many apples a pony should have in a day.
Will spent the rest of the day getting tips on riding technique from Old Bob, and learning how to look after and repair Tug's saddle and harness, as well as the finer points of caring for the little horse.
He brushed and curried the shaggy coat until it shone and Tug seemed to appreciate his efforts. Finally, worn-out, his arms aching with the effort, he had slumped to a seat on a hay bale. Which, of course, had to be the exact moment when Halt walked into the stable.
"Come along," he said. "No time to be lolling around doing nothing. We'd best get moving if we're to be home before dark."
And, so saying, he tossed a saddle across the back of his horse. Will didn't bother to protest that he hadn't been "lolling around," as the Ranger put it. For a start, he knew it would be no use. And secondly, he was excited by the fact that they would be riding back to Halt's little cottage by the edge of the forest. It seemed that the two horses were to become a permanent part of their establishment. He realized now that Halt's horse had obviously been so before and that the Ranger had only been waiting until Will had shown his ability to ride and to bond with Tug before reclaiming him from his temporary home in Old Bob's stable.
The horses whinnied to each other from time to time as they trotted back through the dim green forest, for all the world as if they were carrying on their own conversation. Will was bursting with questions he wanted to ask. But, by now, he was wary of chattering too much in the Ranger's presence.
Finally, he could contain himself no longer.
"Halt?" he said, experimentally.
The Ranger grunted. Will took that as a sign that he could continue speaking.
"What's your horse's name?" the boy asked.
Halt looked down at him. His horse was slightly larger than Tug, although nowhere near the size of the giant battlehorses kept in the Baron's stable.
"I believe it's Abelard," he said.
"Abelard?" Will repeated. "What kind of name is that?"
"It's Gallic," said the Ranger, obviously putting an end to the conversation.
They rode a few kilometers farther in silence. The sun was lowering over the trees now and their shadows were long and distorted on the ground in front of them. Will studied Tug's shadow. The pony seemed to have enormously long legs and a ridiculously short body. He wanted to call Halt's attention to it but thought that such a frivolous observation would not impress the Ranger. Instead, he summoned the courage to ask another question that had been occupying his thoughts for some days.
"Halt?" he said again.
The Ranger sighed briefly.
"What now?" he asked. His tone definitely did not encourage further conversation. However, Will pressed on.
"Remember you told me how a Ranger was responsible for Morgarath's defeat?"
"Mmmm," Halt grunted.
"Well, I was just wondering, what was the Ranger's name?" the boy asked.
"Names aren't important," Halt said. "I really can't remember."
"Was it you?" Will continued, sure that it was. Halt turned that level, unsmiling gaze on him again.
"I said, names aren't important," he repeated. There was a silence between them for some seconds, then the Ranger said. "Do you know what is important?"
Will shook his head.
"Supper is important!" said the Ranger. "And we'll be late for it if we don't hurry."
He clapped his heels into Abelard's side and the horse shot away like an arrow from Halt's own bow, leaving Will and Tug far behind in a matter of seconds.
Will touched Tug's sides with his own heels and the little pony raced off in pursuit of his bigger friend.
"Come on, Tug!" Will urged. "Let's show them how a real Ranger horse can run."
Chapter 15
Will rode Tug slowly through the crowded fairground that had been set up outside the castle walls. All the villagers and inhabitants of the castle itself seemed to be out and he had to ride carefully to ensure that Tug didn't step on somebody's foot.
It was Harvest Day, the day when all the crops had been gathered and stored for the winter months ahead. After a hard month of harvesting, the Baron traditionally allowed his people a holiday. Every year, at this time, the traveling fair came to the castle and set up its booths and stalls. There were fire-eaters and jugglers, singers and storytellers. There were stalls where you could attempt to win prizes by throwing soft leather balls at pyramids made from bottle-shaped pieces of wood or by throwing hoops over squares. Will sometimes thought that the squares were perhaps just a little larger than the hoops that one was given to throw and he had never actually seen anyone win one of the prizes. But it was all fun and the Baron paid for it from his own purse.
Right now, however, Will was not concerned with the fair and its attractions. There would be time later in the day for that. At the moment, he was on his way to meet his former wardmates.
By tradition, all the Craftmasters gave their apprentices the day off on Harvest Day, even though they had taken no part in the actual harvest themselves. Will had been wondering for weeks whether or not Halt would conform to the practice. The Ranger seemed to take no notice of tradition and had his own way of doing things. But, two nights before, his anxiety had been settled. Halt had gruffly told him that he could have the holiday, adding that he would probably forget everything that he had learned in the past three months.
Those three months had been a time of constant practice with his bow and the knives that Halt had given him. Three months of stalking through the fields outside the castle, moving from one scant patch of cover to the next, trying to make his way unobserved by Halt's eagle eyes. Three months of riding and caring for Tug, of forming a special bond of friendship with the little pony.
That, he thought, had been the most enjoyable part of it all.
Now, he was ready for a holiday and ready to enjoy himself a little. Even the thought that Horace would be there couldn't dim the pleasure. Maybe, he thought, a few months' hard training in Battleschool had changed Horace's aggressive manner a little.
It was Jenny who had arranged the meeting for the holiday, encouraging the others to join her with the promise of a batch of fresh mince pies that she would bring from the kitchen. She was already one of Master Chubb's prize pupils and he boasted of her artistry to anyone who would listen-giving suitable emphasis to the vital role his training had played in developing her skill, of course.
Will's stomach grumbled with pleasure at the thought of those pies. He was starving, since he had intentionally gone without breakfast so as to leave room for them. Jenny's pies were already legendary in Castle Redmont.
He had arrived at the meeting point early, so he dismounted and led Tug into the shade of an apple tree. The little pony craned his head and looked wistfully at the apples on the branches, well out of his reach. Will grinned at him and scrambled quickly up the tree, picking an apple and handing it to the pony.
Tug shook his head impatiently. That was still a matter of disagreement between him and the Ranger. Will looked around. There was no sign of the others, so he sat down in the shade of the tree, leaning his back against the knobby trunk to wait.
"Why, it's young Will, isn't it?" said a deep voice close behind him.
Will scrambled hastily to his feet and touched his forehead in a polite salute. It was Baron Arald himself, seated astride his giant battlehorse and accompanied by several of his senior knights.
"Yes, sir," said Will nervously. He wasn't used to being addressed by the Baron. "A happy Harvest Day to you, sir."
The Baron nodded in acknowledgment and leaned forward, slouching comfortably in his saddle. Will had to crane his neck to look up at him.
"I must say, young man, you look quite the part there," the Baron said. "I hardly saw you in that gray Ranger cloak. Has Halt been teaching you all his tricks already?"
Will glanced down at the gray and green mottled cloak that he was wearing. Halt had given it to him some weeks ago. He'd shown Will how the gray and green mottling broke up the shape of the wearer and helped him blend into the landscape. It was one of the reasons, he'd said, why Rangers could move unseen with such ease.
"It's the cloak, sir," Will said. "Halt calls it camouflage." The Baron nodded, obviously familiar with the term, which had been a new concept to Will.
"Just make sure you don't use it to steal more cakes," he said with mock severity, and Will shook his head hurriedly.
"Oh, no, sir!" he said immediately. "Halt told me that if I did anything like that, he'd tan the skin off my backsi-" He stopped awkwardly. He wasn't sure if backside was the sort of word you used in the presence of someone as exalted as a Baron.
The Baron nodded again, trying not to let a wide grin break through.
"I'm sure he did," he said. "And how are you getting on with Halt, Will? Are you enjoying learning to be a Ranger?"
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