As she watched, Will moved down the beach to the water's edge, where Svengal was rowing the wolfship's skiff back to shore. The Skandian second in command was a keen fisherman. He took the skiff out most mornings, weather permitting, and the fresh cod and sea bass that he caught in Skorghijl Harbor's deep, cold waters made a welcome change to their diet of salted meat and fish and stringy vegetables.
She watched with a small pang of jealousy as Will spoke to the Skandian. She didn't have Will's easy manner with people, she knew. He had an open, friendly attitude that made it easy for him to strike up a conversation with anyone he met. People seemed instinctively to like him. She, on the other hand, often felt awkward and ill at ease with strangers and they seemed to sense it. It didn't occur to her that this might be a result of her upbringing as a princess. And because she was in a mood to resent Will this morning, the sight of him helping Svengal haul the little skiff up past the high-tide mark simply increased her annoyance.
She kicked angrily at a rock on the beach, swore when it turned out to be bigger and more solidly anchored than she had expected and limped off to the lean-to, where she would be spared the sight of Will and his new friend.
"Any luck?" Will asked, posing the question that every fisherman in history has been asked. Svengal jerked his head at the pile of fish in the bottom of the boat.
"Got one beauty there," he said. There was a large cod among eight or nine smaller but still respectable fish. Will nodded, impressed.
"He's a beauty, all right," he said. "Need a hand cleaning them?"
The odds were that he would be told to clean the fish anyway. He and Evanlyn were tasked with all the housekeeping, cooking and serving duties. But he wanted to strike up a conversation with Svengal and this way, he thought, the Skandian might stay and chat while Will worked. Skandians were great chatters, he had noticed, particularly when someone else was busy.
"Help yourself," the big Skandian said easily, tossing a small fish knife onto the pile of fish. He sat on the bulwark of the skiff as Will lifted the fish out and began the messy work of scaling, gutting and cleaning. Will had known Svengal would stay. He knew that the Skandian would want to carry the huge cod to the hut himself.
Fishermen loved praise.
"Svengal," Will said, concentrating on scaling a bass and making sure his voice sounded casual, "why don't you go fishing at the same time each day?"
"The tide, boy," Svengal replied. "I like to fish the tide when it's rising. It brings the fish into the harbor, you see."
"The tide? What's that?" Will asked. Svengal shook his head at the Araluen boy's ignorance of natural things.
"Haven't you noticed how the water in the harbor gets higher and then lower during the day?" he asked. When Will nodded, he went on.
"That's the tide. It comes in and it goes out. But each day, it happens a little later than the day before."
Will frowned. "But where does it go out to?" he asked. "And where does it come from in the first place?"
Svengal scratched his beard thoughtfully. This wasn't something he had ever bothered to pursue. The tide was simply a fact of his life as a sailor. The why and where he left to other people.
"They say it's because of the Great Blue Whale," he said, remembering the fable he had heard as a child. Seeing Will's incomprehension, he continued. "I suppose you don't know what a whale is either?" He sighed at the boy's blank expression. "A whale is a giant fish."
"As big as the cod?" Will said, indicating the pride of Svengal's catch. The sea wolf laughed in genuine amusement.
"A good bit bigger than that, boy. Quite a bit."
"As big as a walrus, then?" Will asked. There was a colony of the lumbering animals on the rocks at the southern end of the anchorage and he had learned the name from one of the crew. Svengal's grin widened even further.
"Even bigger. Normal whales are as big as houses. Huge things, they are. But the Great Blue Whale is something else again. He's as big as one of your castles. He breathes the water in and then spits it out through a hole in the top of his head."
"I see," Will said carefully. Some comment seemed to be necessary.
"So," Svengal continued patiently, "when he breathes in, the tide goes out. Then he spits it out again-"
"Through a hole in the top of his head?" Will said. He began to clean the cod. This all seemed far too fantastic-fishes with holes in their heads that breathed water in and out. Svengal frowned at the interruption, and the note of disbelief he detected in Will's tone.
"Yes. Through a hole in the top of his head. When he does that, the tide comes back in again. He does it twice a day."
"So why doesn't he do it at the same time every day?" Will asked, and Svengal showed a further flash of annoyance. Truth be told, he had no idea. The legend hadn't covered this point.
"Because he's a whale, boy! And whales can't tell what time it is, can they?" Irritably, he grabbed the string of cleaned fish, making sure that he had the knife as well, and stalked off up the beach, leaving Will to wash the fish blood and scales off his hands.
Erak was sitting on a bench outside the eating hall as Svengal came up the beach.
"Nice cod," he said, and Svengal nodded briefly. Erak jerked a thumb in Will's direction and added, "What was all that about?"
"What? Oh, the boy? We were just talking about the Great Blue Whale," Svengal replied.
Erak rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Really? How did you get onto that subject?"
Svengal paused, thinking back on the conversation. Finally, he said, "He just wanted to know about the tide, that was all." He waited to see if Erak had anything further to say, then shrugged and went inside.
"Did he now?" Erak said to himself. The boy was going to need watching, he thought. For the next few hours, he remained outside the hut, to all appearances dozing in the sun. But his eyes followed the apprentice Ranger wherever he went. Several hours later, he saw the boy tossing pieces of driftwood into the water, then watching them as the receding tide took them out to sea.
"Interesting," the wolfship skipper muttered to himself. Then he noticed that Will was standing and peering under his hand at the harbor entrance. Erak followed the direction of his gaze and stood up in surprise.
Listing heavily to one side, lying low in the water and crabbing with an uneven complement of oars, a wolfship was dragging itself into the bay.
8
T HE GRAY-CLAD RIDER HUNCHED MISERABLY INSIDE HIS CLOAK as he rode slowly through the misting rain that swept across the fields. The hooves of his two horses-one a saddle horse and the other serving as a lightly laden packhorse-clopped wetly in the puddles that had gathered in the undulations of the road.
Behind him as he reached a crest, the towers and spires of Castle Araluen soared into the gray sky. But Halt didn't look back at the magnificent sight. His gaze was set forward.
He heard the two riders following him long before they caught up.
Abelard's ears twitched at the sound of the drumming hoofbeats and Halt knew his small horse had recognized the other two as Ranger horses. Still he didn't look back. He knew who the two riders would be. And he knew why they were coming. He felt a small shaft of disappointment. He had hoped that, in the confusion and sorrow over his banishment, Crowley had forgotten the one small item that Halt would now have to surrender.
Sighing and accepting the inevitable, he touched Abelard's reins lightly. The highly trained Ranger horse responded instantly, coming to a halt. Behind them, the packhorse did the same. The hoof-beats grew closer and he sat, staring dully ahead, as Crowley and Gilan reined in beside him.
The four horses nickered gently in greeting to one another. The three men were a little more reserved. There was an unpleasant silence between them, finally broken by Crowley.
"Well, Halt, you got away early. We had to ride hard to catch up to you," he said, striving for a false heartiness that concealed his misery at the way events had turned out. Halt glanced incuriously at the two ot
her horses. Steam rose gently from them in the cold damp air.
"I can see that," he replied calmly. He tried to ignore the anguish on Gilan's young face. He knew that his former apprentice would be suffering deeply because of his inexplicable actions and he hardened his heart to shut out the young Ranger's sorrow.
Now Crowley lost his heartiness as well. His face grew serious and troubled.
"Halt, there is one thing you may have forgotten. I'm sorry to have to insist, but:" He hesitated. Halt tried to play the scene out to the bitter end, assuming a puzzled expression.
"I have forty-eight hours to leave the kingdom," he replied. "The time started from dawn this morning. I'll make it clear of the border by then. There's no need for you to escort me."
Crowley shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw Gilan drop his gaze to the road. This was simply causing pain to all of them. He knew what Crowley had come for. He reached inside his cloak to the silver chain around his throat.
"I had rather hoped you might forget," he said, trying to make his voice light. But there was a catch in his throat that belied the effort. Sadly, Crowley shook his head.
"You know you can't keep the Oakleaf, Halt. As a person under banishment, you're automatically expelled from the Corps as well."
Halt nodded. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes as he unclasped the chain and passed the small silver amulet to the Ranger Commandant. The metal was still warm from contact with his body. His vision blurred as he saw it coiled in Crowley's palm. Such a small piece of bright metal, he thought, and yet it meant so much to him. He had worn the Oakleaf, with the intense pride that all Rangers felt, for the greater part of his life. And now it was no longer his.
"I'm sorry, Halt," Crowley said miserably. Halt lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
"It's a small matter," he said.
Again, a silence fell between them. Crowley's eyes looked into his, trying to penetrate the veil that Halt held in place there. A veil of uncaring, unfeeling acceptance of the situation. It was a sham, but it was a superbly maintained one. Finally the Commandant leaned toward him in the saddle, gripping Halt's forearm tightly.
"Why, Halt? Why did you do it?" he asked fiercely. Again, that infuriating shrug of the shoulders.
"As I said," Halt replied, "too much brandy-spirit. You know I could never hold my liquor, Crowley."
He actually managed a smile at that. It felt ghastly on his face, like a death's-head grin.
Crowley released his arm and sat back, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Godspeed, Halt," he said finally, in a voice that broke with emotion. Then, with an uncharacteristically rough jerk of his reins, Crowley wheeled his horse's head and galloped away, back along the road to Castle Araluen.
Halt watched him go, the mottled Ranger cloak soon almost lost in the misting rain. Then he turned to his former apprentice. He smiled sadly, and this time the smile and the sadness were genuine.
"Good-bye, Gilan. I'm glad you came to farewell me."
But the younger Ranger shook his head defiantly.
"I'm not here to farewell you," he said roughly. "I'm coming with you." Halt raised one eyebrow. It was an expression so familiar to Gilan that it tore at his heart to see it.
"Into banishment?" Halt asked the younger man, and again Gilan shook his head.
"I know what you're up to," he replied. He jerked his head at the packhorse standing patiently behind Abelard. "You have Tug with you.
You're going after Will, aren't you?"
For a moment, Halt was tempted to deny it. But the days of pretense were getting too much for him. He knew it would be a relief, just this once, to admit his reasons.
"I have to, Gilan," he said quietly. "I promised him. And this was the only way I could be released from service."
"By getting yourself banished?" Gilan's voice rose in an incredulous note. "Did it occur to you that Duncan could have had you executed?"
Halt shrugged. But this time, it wasn't a mocking gesture. This time, it was simply a gesture of resignation.
"I didn't think he would. I had to take the chance."
Gilan shook his head sadly. "Well, banished or not," he said, "I'm coming with you."
Halt looked away then. He took a deep breath, let it out. He was tempted, he had to admit. He was heading for a long, hard, dangerous road where Gilan's company would be welcome and his sword might well be useful. But there was another call upon Gilan's service and Halt, already burdened by the knowledge that he had betrayed his own duty, couldn't allow the younger man to do the same.
"Gilan, you can't," he said simply. Gilan drew breath to reply and he held up a hand to stop him. "Look, I asked for a release so that I could go after Will," he said, "and they told me I was needed here."
He paused and Gilan nodded his understanding.
"Well, I judge that need to be less. But it's my judgment only and I could be wrong. This situation with Foldar is dangerous, very dangerous. And it needs to be nipped in the bud. He needs to be stalked and tracked down and ambushed. And frankly, I can't think of a Ranger more suited to that job than you."
"Other than yourself," Gilan countered, and Halt acknowledged the fact with a slight inclination of his head. It wasn't ego talking. It was an honest assessment of the truth.
"That may be true," he said. "But it bears out my point. If we both go missing, Crowley will have to find someone else to do the job."
"I don't care," Gilan replied stubbornly, twisting the reins in his hand into a tight little knot, then releasing them again. Halt smiled gently at him.
"I do, Gilan. I know how it feels to break the faith like this.
It's a deep, bitter hurt, believe me. And I won't allow you to inflict it on yourself."
"But, Halt," Gilan said miserably, and the grizzled, smaller man could see that tears weren't far from his eyes, "I was responsible for leaving Will. I deserted him in Celtica! If I had stayed with him, he would never have been captured by the Skandians!"
Halt shook his head. His voice was gentler now as he consoled the young man.
"You can't blame yourself for that," he told him. "What you did at the time was right. Blame me, rather, for recruiting a boy with the honor and courage to act as he did. And for training him so that there would never be any doubt that he would act that way."
He paused, to see if his words were having any effect. Gilan was wavering, he knew. Halt added the final touch.
"Don't you see, Gilan, it's because I know that you are here that I can desert my post like this. Because I know you can cover for me.
But if you refuse to do so, I can't go myself."
And at that, Gilan's shoulders slumped in submission. His eyes fell once more and he muttered throatily, "All right, Halt. But find him. Find him and bring him back, banished or not."
Halt smiled at him and leaned across to grip his shoulder.
"It's only a year," he said. "We'll be back before you know it.
Good-bye, Gilan."
"Godspeed, Halt," the Ranger said in a breaking voice. His vision was obscured by tears and he heard the dull clopping of hooves on the wet road as Abelard and Tug paced out toward the coast.
The wind was in Halt's face as he rode on his way and it drove the light rain against him. It formed into small drops on his weather-beaten features, drops that rolled down his cheeks.
Strangely, some of them tasted of salt.
9
T HE WOLFSHIP WAS IN BAD SHAPE. S HE CRABBED AWKWARDLY toward the shingle beach, where the crew of Erak's ship was spilling out of their hut to watch. She was listing heavily, and she sat a good deal lower in the water than she should. The guardrail on the downward side of the list was barely ten centimeters from the water.
"It's Slagor's ship!" one of the Skandians on the beach called, recognizing the wolfshead crest on the upcurving bowsprit.
"What's he doing here?" another asked. "He was safe back in Skandia when we left for Araluen."
Wi
ll had hurried around from the rocks where he had been tossing driftwood into the water. He saw Evanlyn making her way down from the lean-to and he joined her. Her former annoyance was forgotten at this new turn of events.
"Where did the ship come from?" she asked, and Will shrugged.
"I have no idea. I was out on the rocks and I just looked up and there she was."
The ship was close in now. The crewmen looked haggard and exhausted, Will noticed. Now he could see gaps between several of the planks forming the hull, and the ragged stump where the mast had shattered and gone overboard. The Skandians standing around them noted these facts, and commented on them.
"Slagor!" Erak called across the calm water. "Where the devil did you spring from?"
The burly man at the stern, controlling the ship's steering oar, waved a hand in greeting. He was plainly exhausted, and glad to make harbor.
One of the crew now stood in the bow of the ship and tossed a heavy line to Erak's men waiting on the beach. In a few seconds, a dozen of them had tailed onto the rope and begun to haul the wolfship in the last few meters. Gratefully, the rowers slumped back on their benches, without the energy to ship their oars. The heavy, carved-oak sweeps trailed in the water, bumping dully against the ship's sides as they pivoted back in the oarlocks. The keel grated against the shingle and the ship came to a halt. Sitting lower in the water than Wolfwind, it wouldn't ride as far up the slope of the beach. The bow struck and stuck fast.
The men on board began to disembark, hauling themselves over the bulwarks at the bow and dropping to the beach. The rowing crew staggered up onto dry land and stretched themselves out with groans of weariness, dropping onto the coarse stones and sand and lying as if dead. One of the last to come ashore was Slagor, the captain.
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