But not right now, he realized, as Halt's angry tone dragged him back to the present.
"Could we possibly continue with our tracking, or did you have something more important to do?" he inquired. Instantly, Will cast around, trying to see what Halt had pointed out. As they rode through the crisp, white snow, their horses' hooves making only the smallest of sounds, Halt had been pointing to disturbances in the even white cover. They were tracks left by animals and it was Will's task to identify them. He had sharp eyes and a good mind for the task. He normally enjoyed these tracking lessons, but now his attention had wandered and he had no idea where he was supposed to be looking.
"There," Halt said, his tone leaving no doubt that he didn't expect to have to repeat such things, as he pointed to the left. Will stood in his stirrups to see the disturbed snow more clearly. "Rabbit," he said promptly. Halt turned to look sidelong at him.
"Rabbit?" he asked, and Will looked again, correcting himself almost immediately.
"Rabbits," he said, stressing the plural ending. Halt insisted on accuracy.
"I should think so," Halt muttered at him. "After all, if they were Skandian tracks there, you'd need to be sure you knew how many there were."
"I suppose so," said Will, meekly. "You suppose so!" Halt replied sarcastically. "Believe me, Will, there's a big difference between knowing there's one Skandian about and knowing that there are half a dozen."
Will nodded apologetically. One of the changes that had come over their relationship lately was the fact that Halt almost never referred to him as "boy" anymore. These days, it was always "Will." Will liked that. It made him feel that somehow he'd been accepted by the grim-faced Ranger. All the same, he did wish that Halt would smile once or twice when he said it.
Or even once.
Halt's low voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.
"So… rabbits. Is that all?" Will looked again. In the disturbed snow, difficult to see, but there now that Halt had pointed it out to him, was another set of tracks.
"A stoat!" he said triumphantly and Halt nodded again.
"A stoat," he agreed. "But you should have known there was something else there, Will. Look at how deep those rabbit tracks are. It's obvious that something had frightened them. When you see a sign like that, it's a hint to look for something extra."
"I see," said Will. But Halt shook his head.
"No. All too often, you don't see, because you don't maintain your concentration. You'll have to work on that."
Will said nothing. He merely accepted the criticism. He'd learned by now that Halt didn't criticize without reason. And when there was reason, no amount of excuses could save him.
They rode on in silence. Will strained his eyes at the ground around them, looking for more tracks, more animal signs. They went another kilometer or so and were starting to see some of the familiar landmarks that told him he was close to their cottage when he saw something.
"Look!" he cried, pointing to a tumbled section of snow just off the path. "What's that?"
Halt turned to look. The tracks, if they were tracks, were like no others that Will had seen so far. The Ranger urged his horse nearer to the edge of the path and looked more closely.
"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "That's one I haven't shown you yet. Don't see too many of them these days, so take a good look, Will."
He swung easily down from the saddle and walked through the knee-deep snow toward the disturbance. Will followed him.
"What is it?" the boy asked.
"Wild boar," said Halt briefly. "And a big one."
Will glanced nervously around them. He mightn't know what a wild boar's tracks looked like in the snow, but he knew enough about the creatures to know they were very, very dangerous.
Halt noticed the look and made a reassuring movement with his hand. "Relax," he said. "He's nowhere near us."
"Can you tell that from the tracks?" Will asked. He stared, fascinated, at the snow. The deep ruts and furrows had obviously been made by a very large animal. And it looked as if it were a very large, very angry animal.
"No," said Halt evenly. "I can tell it from our horses. If a boar that size were anywhere in the district, those two would be snuffing and pawing and whinnying so hard, we wouldn't be able to hear ourselves think."
"Oh," said Will, feeling a little foolish. He relaxed the grip that he'd taken on his bow. However, in spite of the Ranger's assurances, he couldn't resist taking just one more look around behind them. And as he did so, his heart began pounding faster and faster.
The thick undergrowth on the other side of the track was moving, ever so slightly. Normally, he might have passed the movement off as due to the breeze, but his training with Halt had heightened his reasoning and his observation. At the moment, there was no breeze. Not the slightest breath.
But still, the bushes continued to move.
Will's hand went slowly to his quiver. Moving deliberately, so as to avoid startling the creature in the bushes, he drew an arrow and placed it on the string of his bow.
"Halt?" He tried to keep his voice down, but couldn't prevent it from quaking just a little. He wondered if his bow would stop a charging boar. He didn't think so.
Halt looked around, his gaze taking in the arrow nocked to Will's bowstring and noting the direction in which Will was looking.
"I hope you're not thinking of shooting the poor old farmer who's hiding behind those bushes," he said seriously. Yet he pitched his voice so that it carried clearly across the track to the thick clump of bushes on the other side.
Instantly, there was a scuffle of movement from the bush and Will heard a nervous voice crying out:
"Don't shoot, good sir! Please, don't shoot! It's only me!"
The bushes parted as a disheveled and frightened-looking old man stood up and hurried forward. His haste was his undoing, however, as his foot caught in a tangle of underbrush and he sprawled forward onto the snow. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, hands held out, palms first, to show that he carried no weapons. As he came, he continued a nonstop babble of words:
"Only me, sir! No need for shootin', sir! Only me, I swear, and I'm no danger to the likes of you!"
He hurried forward into the center of the track, his eyes fixed on the bow in Will's hands and the gleaming, razor-sharp tip of the arrow. Slowly, Will released the tension on the string and lowered the bow as he took a closer look at the interloper. He was skinny in the extreme. Dressed in a ragged and dirty farmer's smock, he had long, awkward arms and legs and knobby elbows and knees. His beard was gray and matted and he was going bald on top of his head.
The man stopped a few meters from them and smiled nervously at the two cloaked figures.
"Only me," he repeated, one last time.
Chapter 18
Will couldn't help smiling to himself. Anything less like a ferocious, charging wild boar, he couldn't imagine.
"How did you know he was there?" he asked Halt in a soft voice. The Ranger shrugged.
"Saw him a few minutes ago. You'll learn eventually to sense when someone's watching you. Then you know to look for them."
Will shook his head in admiration. Halt's powers of observation were uncanny. No wonder people at the castle held him in such awe!
"Now then," Halt said sternly, "why are you skulking there? Who told you to spy on us?"
The old man rubbed his hands nervously together, his eyes flicking from Halt's forbidding expression to the arrow tip, lowered now but still nocked to the string on Will's bow.
"Not spying, sir! No, no! Not spying. I heard you coming and thought you was that monster porker coming back!"
Halt's eyebrows drew together. "You thought I was a wild boar?" he asked. Again, the farmer shook his head.
"No. No. No. No," he gabbled. "Leastways, not once I'd saw you! But then I wasn't sure who you might be. Could be bandits, like."
"What are you doing here?" Halt asked. "You're not a local, are you?"
The farmer, anxious to pleas
e, shook his head once again.
"Come from over Willowtree Creek, I do!" he said. "Been trailing that porker and hoping to find someone as could turn him into bacon."
Halt was suddenly vitally interested. He dropped the mock severe tone in which he had been talking.
"You've seen the boar, then?" he asked, and the farmer rubbed his hands again and looked fearfully around, as if nervous that the " porker" would appear from the trees any minute.
"Seen him. Heard him. Don't want to see him no more. He's a bad 'un, sir, mark my words."
Halt glanced back at the tracks again.
"He's certainly a big one, anyway," he mused.
"And evil, sir!" the farmer went on. "That 'un has a real devil of a temper in him. Why, he'd as soon tear up a man or a horse as have his breakfast, he would!"
"So what did you have in mind for him?" Halt asked, then added, "What's your name, by the way?" The farmer bobbed his head and knuckled his forehead in salute.
"Peter, sir. Salt Peter, they calls me, on account of I likes a little salt on my meat, I do."
Halt nodded. "I'm sure you do," he said patiently. "But what were you hoping to do about this boar?" Salt Peter scratched his head and looked a little lost.
"Don't rightly know. Hoped maybe I'd find a soldier or a warrior or a knight to get rid of him. Or maybe a Ranger," he added as an afterthought.
Will grinned. Halt stood up from where he'd gone down on one knee to examine the tracks in the snow. He dusted a little snow from his knee and walked back to where Salt Peter stood, nervously shifting from one foot to another.
"Has he been causing a lot of trouble?" the Ranger asked, and the old farmer nodded rapidly, several times.
" That he has, sir! That he has! Killed three dogs. Tore up fields and fences, he has. And as near as anything killed my son-in-law when he tried to stop him. Like I said, sir, he's a bad 'un!"
Halt rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm," he said. "Well, there's no question that we'd better do something about it." He looked up at the sun, sitting low to the horizon in the western sky, then turned to Will. "How much daylight would you say is left, Will"
Will studied the position of the sun. These days, Halt never missed an opportunity to teach him or question him or test his knowledge and developing skills. He knew it was best to consider carefully before making an answer. Halt preferred accurate replies, not fast ones.
"A little over an hour?" Will said. He saw Halt's eyebrows draw together in a frown and remembered that the Ranger also disliked being answered with a question.
"Are you asking me, or telling me?" Halt said. Will shook his head, annoyed at himself.
"A little over an hour," he replied more confidently and, this time, the Ranger nodded agreement.
"Correct. " He turned to the old farmer again.
"Very well, Salt Peter, I want you to take a message to Baron Arald"
"Baron Arald?" the farmer asked nervously. Halt frowned again.
"See what you've done?" he said to Will. "You've got him answering questions with questions now!"
"Sorry," Will mumbled, grinning in spite of himself. Halt shook his head and continued speaking to Salt Peter.
"That's right, Baron Arald. You'll find his castle a couple of kilometers along this track."
Salt Peter peered under one hand, looking along the track as if he could see the castle already. "A castle, you say?" he said, in a wondering voice. "I've never seen a castle!"
Halt sighed impatiently. Keeping this old chatterbox's mind on the subject was beginning to make him short-tempered. "That's right, a castle. Now, go to the guard at the gate…"
"Is it a big castle?" asked the old fellow.
"It's a huge castle!" Halt roared at him. Salt Peter bounded back in fright. He had a hurt look on his face.
"No need to bellow, young man," he said huffily. "I were only asking, is all."
"Well then, stop interrupting me," said the Ranger, "Were wasting time here. Now, are you listening?"
Salt Peter nodded.
"Good," Halt continued. "Go to the guard on the gate and say you have a message from Halt for Baron Arald."
A look of recognition spread across the old mans face. "Halt?" he asked. "Not the Ranger Halt?"
"Yes," replied Halt wearily. "The Ranger Halt."
"The one who led the ambush on Morgarath's Wargals?" asked Salt Peter. "The same," said Halt, in a dangerously low voice. Salt Peter looked around him.
"Well," he said. "Where is he?"
"I'm Halt!" The Ranger thundered at him, placing his face a few centimeters from Salt Peter's as he did so. Again, the old farmer recoiled a few steps. Then he gathered his courage and shook his head in disbelief.
"No, no, no," he said definitely. "You can't be him. Why, the Ranger Halt is as tall as two men-and as broad. A giant of a man, he is! Brave, fierce in battle, he is. You couldn't be him."
Halt turned away, trying to regain his temper. Will couldn't help the smile breaking out on his face again.
"I… am…Halt," said the Ranger, spacing his words out so that Salt Peter couldn't make any mistake. "I was taller when I was young, and a lot broader. But now I'm this size. " He thrust his glittering eyes close to the farmer's and glared at him. "Do you understand?"
"Well, if you say so…" said Salt Peter. He still didn't believe the Ranger, but there was a very dangerous gleam in Halt's eyes that warned him it would not be wise to disagree any further.
"Good," said Halt icily. "Now, tell the Baron that Halt and Will…"
Salt Peter opened his mouth to ask another question. Halt clamped his hand over the old man's mouth immediately and pointed to where Will stood beside Tug.
"That's Will there." Salt Peter nodded, his eyes wide over the hand that was clamped firmly over his mouth, stopping any further questions or interruptions. The Ranger continued:
"Tell him Halt and Will are tracking a wild boar. When we find its lair, we'll return to the castle. In the meantime, the Baron should gather his men for a hunt tomorrow morning."
He slowly took his hand down from the farmer's mouth. "Have you got all that?" the Ranger asked. Salt Peter nodded carefully. "Then repeat it back to me," Halt prompted.
"Go to the castle, tell the gate guard I have a message from you… Halt… for the Baron. Tell the Baron that you… Halt… and him… Will… are tracking a wild boar to find its lair. Tell him to have his men ready for a hunt tomorrow."
"Good," said Halt. He gestured to Will and the two of them swung back into their saddles. Salt Peter stood uncertainly on the track, looking up at them.
"Off you go," said Halt, pointing in the direction of the castle. The old farmer went a few paces, then, when he judged he was at a safe distance, he turned around and called back at the grim-faced Ranger:
"I don't believes you, you know! Nobody grows shorter and thinner!"
Halt sighed and turned his horse away into the forest.
Chapter 19
THEY RODE SLOWLY THROUGH THE FAILING LIGHT, LEANING sideways in their saddles to follow the trail left by the boar.
They had no trouble tracking him. The huge body had left a deep trench in the thick snow. Even without the snow, Will thought, it would have been easy. The boar was obviously in a very bad temper. It had slashed at the surrounding trees and shrubs with its tusks as it went, leaving a clear-cut path of destruction through the forest.
"Halt?" he said tentatively when they had gone a kilometer or so into the dense trees.
"Mmmm?" said Halt, a little absently.
"Why bother the Baron? Couldn't we simply kill the boar with our bows?"
Halt shook his head.
"He's a big one, Will. You can see the size of the trail he's left. We could take half a dozen arrows to kill him, and even then he'd take time to die. With a brute like this, it's better to make sure."
"How do we do that?"
Halt looked up for a second. "I suppose you've never seen a boar hunt?"
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Will shook his head. Halt reined in for a few seconds to explain and Will brought Tug to a stop beside him.
"Well, first," said the Ranger, "we'll need dogs. That's another reason why we can't simply finish him off with our bows. When we find him, he'll have most likely gone to ground in a thicket or in dense bushes where we can't get at him. The dogs will drive him out and we'll have a ring of men around the lair with boar spears."
"And they throw them at him?" Will asked. Halt shook his head.
"Not if they have any brains," he said. "The boar spear is more than two meters long, with a double-sided blade and a crosspiece set behind the blade. The idea is to make the boar charge at the spearman. Then he sets the butt of the spear in the ground and lets the boar run onto it. The crosspiece stops the boar running right down the shaft and getting the spearman."
Will looked doubtful. "That sounds dangerous." The Ranger nodded. "It is. But men like the Baron and Sir Rodney and the other knights love it. They wouldn't miss the chance of a boar hunt for worlds."
"What about you?" asked Will. "Will you have a boar spear?"
Halt shook his head. "I'll be sitting right here on Abelard," he said. "And you'll be on Tug, in case the boar breaks through the ring of men around him. Or in case he's just wounded and gets away."
"What do we do if that happens?" Will asked.
"We run him down before he can go to ground again," said Halt grimly. "And then we kill him with our bows."
The following day was a Saturday and, after breakfast, the Battleschool students were free to spend the day as they pleased. In Horace's case, this usually meant trying to stay out of sight whenever Alda, Bryn and Jerome came looking for him. But lately they'd realized he was avoiding them and had taken to waiting for him outside the mess hall. As he came out onto the parade ground this morning, he saw them waiting, smiling at him. He hesitated. It was too late to turn back. With a sinking heart, he continued on toward them.
"Horace!" He was startled by a voice coming from right behind him. He turned and saw Sir Rodney watching him, a curious look in his eyes as he glanced at the three second-year cadets waiting in the yard. Horace wondered if the Battlemaster knew about the treatment he was getting. He assumed he did. Horace guessed it was part of the toughening process of Battleschool.
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