"We could supply you with an archery force that way. But if it ever came to hostilities between our countries, I'd feel a lot more secure knowing you wouldn't be turning them against us. We'd need to stipulate that in the treaty," he added casually.
Erak looked cautiously at his hilfmann now. The word treaty seemed to have appeared on the table in front of them without his seeing it arriving. Borsa caught his eye and shrugged thoughtfully.
"I'm proposing that we have a mutual defense treaty for a period of:" Halt seemed to think and Erak suddenly had the distinct impression that he had weighed every word he was going to say well in advance of this moment. "Five years, let's say. You get a viable force of archers-"
Erak decided it was time that someone else made the running. "And you get what?" he asked abruptly.
Halt smiled at him. "We get a peace treaty that says Skandia won't be launching any surprise attacks on our country during that period. And that in the event that hostilities become inevitable, our archers would be allowed free passage back home."
Erak shook his head abruptly. "I'll never convince my men not to raid," he said indignantly. "I'd be thrown out on my ear if I proposed that." But Halt held up a hand to calm him down.
"I'm not talking about individual raids," he said. "We can cope with them. I'm saying no more massed attacks, like the one with Morgarath."
There was another long pause while Erak considered the offer. The more he thought about it, the more attractive the idea seemed. As well as any of them, he knew how close they had come to being overwhelmed by the Temujai. Three hundred trained archers would provide a powerful defensive force to Skandia, particularly if they were deployed in the narrow passes and twisting defiles at the border. He realized, with a shock, that he was beginning to think like a tactician. Maybe he'd been spending too much time around the Ranger, he thought.
"You have the authority to sign a treaty like that?" he asked, and for the first time, Halt hesitated. In fact, he had no authority at all. As a member of the Rangers, he would have been empowered to sign, but he had been dismissed from the Corps when Duncan had banished him. He could brazen it out now, of course. He was reasonably sure that Crowley or Duncan himself would ratify such a treaty. But when that happened, Erak would know that he had acted falsely and he didn't think that was a good start to any relationship.
"I have," said a quiet voice from behind him, and the three men looked up in some surprise. Evanlyn, slipping away from the enthusiastic toasting and tributes, had been an interested audience to their conversation for the past few minutes.
"As Princess Royal of Araluen, I have authority to sign on my father's behalf," she told them, and Halt heaved an unseen sigh of relief.
"I think it's best if we do it that way," he said. "After all, the princess does outrank me, just a little."
40
W OLFWIND FOLLOWED THE R IVER S EMATH ALL THE WAY FROM the Narrow Sea to Castle Araluen itself. It was an astounding sight for the locals, to see a wolfship gliding, unmolested and peaceful, past their fields and villages, so far inland. The many river forts and strongpoints, which would normally have denied such progress to a Skandian ship, now deferred to the fact that Princess Cassandra's personal standard, a stooping red hawk, flew from the masthead. A message had been sent ahead of the wolfship's progress to make sure that local commanders recognized the standard and the fact that the voyagers traveled upriver in peace.
It was also something of a novelty for Erak and his crew.
Finally, they rounded the last bend in the river and there before them were the soaring spires and turrets of Castle Araluen. Erak drew breath in wonder at the sight of it. Halt, watching him, was sure that, as well as the sheer admiration the castle inspired, Erak's old plundering instincts were at work, estimating just how much treasure the castle could contain. He stepped close to the Oberjarl and said softly:
"You'd never make it past the moat."
Erak started in surprise and looked at the Ranger.
"How did you know what I was thinking?" he asked. Halt raised an eyebrow.
"You're a Skandian," he said.
There was a landing stage jutting out into the river, bedecked with flags and bunting. And a large crowd was awaiting their arrival. At the sight of the wolfship, they began sounding horns and cheering.
"That's a first," Erak said mildly, bringing a grin to Halt's face.
"And there's another," he said, pointing discreetly to a tall, bearded figure standing a little way back from the landing stage, surrounded by an expensively dressed retinue of knights and ladies. "That's the King himself, come down to welcome you, Erak."
"More likely he's here for his daughter," the Skandian replied. But Halt noticed that he did look a little pleased with himself.
Evanlyn had seen the tall man now and was standing in the prow of the wolfship, waving excitedly. The cheers from the shore redoubled at the sight of her and now Duncan was leading the way down the landing stage, lengthening his stride so that he was almost running, not content to stand back and preserve his royal dignity.
"Oars!" called Erak, and the rowers raised their oars, dripping, from the water as the wolfship glided smoothly alongside the landing stage.
The Skandian crew passed mooring lines to those on shore, the two parties regarding each other with deep interest. It was the first time in memory that Araluens and Skandians had been face-to-face without weapons in their hands. Will, his face alight with the joy of the moment, leapt onto the wolfship's railing as Evanlyn hurried to the entry port in the ship's waist. She and her father, their hearts too full for words, simply smiled at each other over the decreasing gap as the line handlers hauled the ship in to the landing stage. Then the wickerwork fenders bumped and groaned and the ship was fast alongside. Svengal, grinning broadly at her, unlatched the entry port in the ship's rail and she leapt into her father's arms, burying her face in his chest.
"Dad!" she cried once, her voice muffled by his shirt and by the sobs that welled up in her throat.
"Cassie!" he murmured-his pet name for her from when she was a toddler-and the cheering intensified. Duncan was a popular king and the people knew how much pain the loss of his daughter had caused him. Even the Skandians were grinning at the scene.
In the midst of all that joy and celebration, only Halt stood apart. His face was a mask of pain and misery and he remained unobtrusively by the steering oar at the stern of the ship as the others surged forward to the waist.
Duncan and Evanlyn-or Cassandra, as her father knew her-stood in each other's embrace, oblivious to those around them. Will, scanning the crowd, saw a heavily built form in the ranks behind the King: a middle-aged man who was waving enthusiastically at him, shouting his name.
"Will! Welcome home, boy! Welcome home!"
For a moment, Will was puzzled, then he recognized Baron Arald-a man who for years had been a stern-faced figure of authority. Now here he was, waving and yelling like a schoolboy on holiday. Will dropped lightly to the planks of the landing stage and made his way through the crowds of well-wishers to the Baron. He began to make a formal bow when the Baron grabbed his hand and started pumping it enthusiastically.
"Never mind that! Welcome home, lad! And well done! Well done! My god, I thought we'd never see you again! Wasn't that right, Rodney?"
He spoke this last to the mail-clad knight beside him and Will recognized Sir Rodney, head of the Battleschool at Castle Redmont. He realized that the knight was anxiously scanning the faces on the deck of the wolfship.
"Yes, yes, my lord," he agreed distractedly. Then he seized Will's other arm and said urgently, "Will, I thought Horace was with you. Don't tell me something's happened to him?"
Puzzled, Will looked to where Horace was shaking hands with the Skandian crew, farewelling friends among them before he came ashore.
"That's him there." He pointed Horace out for Sir Rodney, and had the satisfaction of seeing the knight's jaw drop in surprise.
"My god! He
's turned into a giant!" he gasped. Then Horace recognized his mentor and marched briskly through the crowd, coming to attention and saluting, his fist to his right breast.
"Apprentice Horace reporting, Battlemaster. Permission to return to duty, sir?" he said crisply.
Coming to attention himself, Rodney returned the salute.
"Permission granted, apprentice."
Then, formalities over, he seized the muscular apprentice in a bear hug and danced him around a few undignified steps, all the while crying:
"Damn me, boy, but you've done us all proud! And when the devil did you get so tall?"
Once again, the crowd cheered with delight. Then, all at once, a silence fell over them and Will turned to see the reason. Erak Starfollower, Oberjarl of the Skandians, was stepping ashore.
Instinctively, those nearest him drew back a little. Old habits died hard. Will, not wishing to see his friend insulted, started forward impulsively, but there was one other in the crowd who was quicker off the mark. Duncan, King of Araluen, stepped forward to greet his Skandian counterpart, his hand extended in friendship.
"Welcome to Araluen, Oberjarl," he said. "And thank you for bringing my daughter safely home." And with that, the two leaders shook hands.
Then the cheering started again, this time for Erak and his crew so that the Skandians looked about them with delight. And that, thought Will, was going to make it a little harder for them to raid here again in the years to come. Duncan let the cheering go on for a little while, then held up his hand for silence. He scanned the faces on the dock. Then, not seeing the one he looked for, he let his gaze switch to the wolfship.
"Halt," he said softly, finally seeing him, wrapped as ever in his Ranger's cloak and standing alone by the great steering oar. The King held out a hand and gestured to the dock.
"Come ashore, Halt. You're home."
But Halt stood awkwardly, unable to mask the sadness that he felt. His voice broke as he began to speak, and he gathered himself and started again.
"Your:your majesty, the year of banishment still has three weeks to run," he said at last.
A low buzz of comment ran through the crowd. Will, unable to restrain himself, reacted in total surprise.
"Banishment? You were banished?" he said incredulously. "Why?" he said. The word hung in the air. Duncan shook his head, dismissing the matter.
"A few incautious words, that was all. He was drunk and we've all forgotten what he said and I forgive him, so for god's sake, man, come ashore."
But Halt remained where he was. "Your majesty, nothing would make me happier. But you must uphold the law," he said in a low voice. Then another speaker chimed in: Lord Anthony, the King's chamberlain.
"Halt is right, your majesty," he said. Anthony was a well-meaning man, but he tended to be a little pedantic when it came to interpreting the law. "After all, he did say you were the issue of an encounter between your father and a traveling hatcha-hatcha dancer."
There was a gasp of horror from the crowd.
Duncan, smiling thinly, said through gritted teeth: "Thank you for reminding us all, Anthony."
But then a peal of helpless laughter rang out and Princess Cassandra doubled over, hooting in a most unroyal fashion. Every eye turned to her, and slowly, she recovered enough to speak.
"I'm so sorry, everyone. But if you ever knew my grandmother, you'd understand why my grandfather might have been tempted! Grandma had a face like a robber's dog-and a temperament to match it!"
"Cassie!" her father said in his most disapproving tone, but she was holding her sides and laughing again and he couldn't keep a smile from forming at his lips. Then he felt Lord Anthony's disapproving stare on him and he recovered, nudging Cassandra until her laughter subsided into a series of choked snuffles and snorts. The laughter had been infectious, however, and it took a while for the assembled crowd to come to order. Throughout all this, Halt remained standing stiffly on the deck of the wolfship.
Duncan turned to his chamberlain and said, in his most reasoning tone: "Surely, Anthony, it's within my powers to pardon Halt for the last three weeks of his sentence?"
But Anthony frowned and shook his head. "It would be most irregular, your majesty," he said heavily. "Such a thing would set unfortunate precedents in law."
"King Duncan!" boomed Erak, and instantly he had the attention of everyone there. He realized he'd spoken a little more forcibly than he'd intended-he was still getting the hang of these formal occasions. Now he continued at a more moderate level.
"Perhaps I could request that you grant this pardon-as a gesture of goodwill to seal the treaty between our two countries?"
"Good thinking!" muttered Duncan. He turned quickly to Lord Anthony. "Well?" he said. The chamberlain pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was never his wish to deny the King what he wanted. He merely tried to do his duty and uphold the law. Now he saw a loophole and seized upon it gratefully.
"Such a request wouldn't set any precedents, your majesty," he said. "And this is a very special occasion, after all."
"So be it!" said Duncan quickly, and turned to face the figure on the wolfship. "All right, Halt, you're pardoned-so for god's sake, come ashore and let's have a drink to celebrate!"
Halt, tears in his eyes, set foot on Araluen soil once more, after eleven months and five days of banishment. As he came ashore to the renewed cheers of the crowd, those around him saw another man dressed in a gray-green cloak, who slipped forward and pressed something into his hand.
"You might be needing this again," said Crowley, Commandant of the Ranger Corps.
And when Halt looked down, he saw a thin chain in his hand, with a silver oakleaf insignia on it.
And then he knew he was really home.
Something was afoot, Will knew. After the first round of celebrations, and after Erak and his crew had set sail once more for Skandia, with the administrative details of the Araluen archery force deployment agreed for the following spring, there had been much consultation and discussion between the King and his advisers, including Halt, Crowley, Baron Arald and Sir Rodney.
During this period, Will and Horace were left pretty much at a loose end, although there was no shortage of admirers who would greet them as friends and sit spellbound as they told the story of their time in Skandia and their fierce battle against the Temujai. But even such adulation palled after a while.
Horace, now that his adventures as the Oakleaf Knight were over, had reverted to the plain white surcoat of a warrior apprentice.
Evanlyn, of course, had reverted to her true identity as Princess Cassandra. She was whisked away to the royal family's apartments in one of the towers of Castle Araluen, and whenever Will saw her, she was surrounded by a retinue of knights and ladies-in-waiting. She was also, he realized, a beautiful young woman, immaculately dressed and at ease among the young nobles and ladies who surrounded her.
Saddened, he felt the distance between them growing wider as he came to terms with the fact that his companion through so many adventures and dangers was, in reality, the highest-born woman in the kingdom, whereas he was the orphan child of a sergeant in the army and his farm girl wife. On those increasingly rare occasions when he did speak to Cassandra, he became awkward and stilted. He was tongue-tied in her presence and tended to mumble formulaic replies to her attempts at conversation.
His reaction frustrated and infuriated Cassandra. She was making a genuine attempt to restore their friendship to its former basis, but she was too young to realize that all the trappings of royalty and wealth, things she took for granted and gave no account to, could only serve to distance Will from her.
"Doesn't he see that I'm the same person I always was?" she asked her mirror in frustration. But, in fact, she wasn't. Evanlyn had been a frightened girl, her life at constant risk, reliant for months on the wits and courage of her young companion to keep her safe. Then she in turn had become the savior, the one who nursed a confused, frightened boy back to health.
Cassandra
, on the other hand, was a beautiful, perfectly groomed princess, whose station in life was so far above Will's as to be unattainable. One day, he realized, she would rule as Queen, in her father's place. It wasn't her personality that had changed. It was her position. And both she and Will were too young and inexperienced to overcome the inevitable strain that such a social gulf put upon their relationship.
Oddly enough, at the same time, she found herself becoming more closely aligned to Horace. Accustomed to the formality of life as an apprentice knight and the strictures and protocols of court life at Castle Redmont, Horace was unfazed by Cassandra's rank. Of course, he deferred to her and treated her with respect. But then, he always had done so. Horace's simplistic and uncomplicated approach to life led him to accept things as they were and not seek complications. Evanlyn had been his friend. Now, Princess Cassandra was too. There were certain differences in the way he might be expected to approach her and address her, but this sort of formality had been part of his training.
When she finally broached the subject of the widening gap between herself and Will, Horace merely counseled patience.
"He'll get used to the way things are," he told her. "He's a Ranger, after all, and they're sort of:different:in their ways. Give him time to adjust."
So Cassandra bided her time. But Horace's comment about Rangers stayed with her and she determined to do something about that situation.
And there was, she knew, a perfect opportunity for that in the very near future.
Duncan had declared a formal banquet to celebrate the safe return of his only daughter, and invitations had been carried to the fifty baronies in the kingdom. It would be a massive event.
It took a month for the invited guests to assemble, and then the immense dining hall in Castle Araluen saw an evening unrivaled since Duncan's coronation, twenty years prior.
The feasting went on for hours, with the castle servants laboring under trays of roasted meat, huge savory pastries, steaming fresh vegetables and confectioneries designed to dazzle the eyes as much as the taste. Master Chubb, the Kitchenmaster at Castle Redmont and one of the finest chefs in the kingdom, had traveled to the capital to oversee the affair. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching in satisfaction as the nobles and their ladies devoured and destroyed the fruits of the kitchen staff's labors for the past week, and idly cracking his ladle on the head of any unwary waiter or kitchen worker who came within reach.
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