Halt gave a small snort. 'About time. Service around here is very slow.'
But he accepted the plate of food eagerly and ate quickly. After he had satisfied his immediate hunger, he held up a piece of the damper that Horace had cooked in the coals.
'Did you make this?' he asked.
Horace, with some pleasure in his new skill, assured him that he had. It didn't take long for Halt to burst his bubble.
'What is it?' he asked.
Horace eyed him for a long second. 'I think I preferred you when you were sick.'
Later, when Halt was sleeping again, Horace banked the fire, then slowly withdrew from the uneven, flickering circle of light that it threw. There was a fallen tree some fifteen metres away and he sat with his back against it, a blanket wrapped round his shoulders and his drawn sword resting ready across his knees. He spent a sleepless night, watching for an enemy who never appeared.
In the morning the Genovesan was back. Thirty-four The two horsemen, leading a third, larger horse behind them, appeared over the horizon from the north.
Horace felt an overwhelming sense of relief as they drew closer and he could make them out more clearly. There was little likelihood that any other two horsemen might be approaching, of course, but the whole time he had been alone, he had worried over the possibility that Will had arrived at Healer's Clearing to find that Malcolm had been called away to another part of the fief, or was incapacitated in some way. Or had simply refused to come.
'I should have known better,' he told himself, as he began to walk out from the camp site to greet them. They saw him coming and lifted the horses from a slow trot to a canter. The horses, like their riders, looked travel-stained and weary. But Tug still had the energy to raise his head and send a nicker of greeting to Horace. It was as if he were reminding Kicker of his duties as the big battlehorse looked up at the sound, recognised his master and whinnied briefly.
They slowed as they came level with him and he held up his hand in greeting, engulfing the bird-like healer's thin hand in his own as he gripped it.
'It's good to see you,' he said. 'Thanks for coming, Malcolm.'
Malcolm reclaimed his hand, wincing slightly at the pressure of Horace's grip.
'How could I refuse? Do you always try to crush your friends' hands in that massive paw of yours?'
'Sorry. Just relief at seeing you, I suppose.' Horace grinned.
'How's Halt?' Will asked anxiously. It was the question that had been plaguing him the whole time he had been away. Horace's easy manner was reassuring. Will knew he wouldn't be so cheerful if Halt had deteriorated further. But he needed to hear it said.
'As a matter of fact, I think he's improving,' Horace told them. He saw Will's shoulders lift in relief. But he was puzzled by Malcolm's reaction. The healer frowned slightly.
'Improving?' he asked quickly. 'In what way?'
'Well, two days ago he was rambling and raving. Had no idea where he was, what was happening. He thought it was some time twenty years ago. And he thought I was someone else as well.'
Malcolm nodded. 'I see. And what makes you think he's getting better?'
Horace made a vague gesture with his hands. 'Well, yesterday, he came out of it. He woke up and was totally aware of where he was, what had happened and who I was.' He grinned at Will. 'He was annoyed at you for going to fetch a healer. Said you should have kept on after Tennyson and left him.'
Will snorted. 'I'm sure that's just what he'd do if I were poisoned.'
Horace grinned. 'I said much the same thing to him. He wiffled and waffled a bit but he admitted I was right. Then he complained about my cooking.'
'Sounds as if he is on the mend,' Will agreed. They had reached the camp site and Malcolm dismounted from Abelard. He wasn't a skilled rider and he accomplished the feat by swinging one foot over the pommel and sliding down on the wrong side. Horace caught him as he stumbled, his stiff legs giving way under him.
'Thanks,' said the healer. 'I'd better take a look at him straight away. Has he been asleep long?'
Horace thought before he answered. 'A couple of hours. He woke this morning. Then went back to sleep. Then he woke again around noon. He's sleeping much more peacefully,' he added. He wondered why there was a vague expression of concern on Malcolm's face. Maybe he was annoyed that he'd travelled so far and so fast only to find he wasn't needed after all, he thought. He dismissed the matter and turned to Will.
'Why don't you take a break?' he said. 'I'll look after the horses.'
But Will had been trained in a strict school. He always felt vaguely delinquent if he allowed someone else to look after his horse.
'I'll do Tug,' he said. 'You can do the others.'
They led the horses a little way from the fireplace and gave them water from the bucket Horace had refilled only a short while ago. Then they unsaddled the horses and began to rub them down. Kicker seemed inordinately pleased to see his master. In fact, he had had the easiest time of all three horses on the journey. Malcolm had looked at him in horror when he first saw him.
'You expect me to ride on that?' he had asked. 'He's the size of a house!'
Consequently, he had spent most of the journey on Abelard's back. The sturdy little horse barely noticed his weight. Malcolm was small and thin, to the point of being scrawny.
'Anything happen while I was gone?' Will asked. 'Aside from Halt improving?'
'Actually, yes,' Horace told him. He looked quickly around to where Malcolm was crouched beside Halt, leaning over him and ministering to him. He decided that he was out of earshot, although why that mattered he wasn't totally sure. In a low voice, he quickly told Will about the watcher on the southern ridge.
Will, experienced in such matters, didn't make the novice's mistake of looking towards the ridge. He kept his eyes down.
'You're sure it's the Genovesan?'
Horace hesitated. 'No. I'm not sure. I think it's him. I'm sure it's someone. I found the spot where he was hiding.'
'And you say he left at nightfall?' Will continued. This was becoming more and more difficult to fathom.
'That's right. And came back this morning,' Horace told him. Will pursed his lips, finished rubbing Tug down and patted him absently on the neck several times.
'Show me where,' he said.
Horace was no novice either. The tall warrior moved around to pick up a dry cloth, then faced towards Will, his back to the southern ridgeline.
'Should be just over my right shoulder,' he said. And Will, pretending to look at him as they talked, let his eyes scan past Horace's shoulder, probing the horizon. Horace, watching his face, saw his eyes stop moving and the skin around them tighten suddenly.
'I see him,' Will said. 'Just his head and shoulders. Now he's ducked down. If he hadn't done that, I mightn't have spotted him.'
'He's getting cocky,' Horace told him. 'He's not trying too hard to hide himself. And he moves a lot, as well.'
'Hmm,' Will said. 'What the devil is he up to? Why hasn't he just ridden away?'
'I've been thinking about that,' Horace said. 'Maybe Tennyson has been delayed, and our friend here is making sure we don't follow on too soon.'
'Delayed by what?' Will asked and Horace shrugged.
'Could be he's sick or injured. Maybe he's waiting for someone. I don't know. But he must be holed up somewhere close at hand, because his spy up there heads off at night and then is back here by daylight.'
'He's waiting to see what we'll do,' Will said, as it became clear to him. 'He knows Halt is poisoned. He heard him cry out when the bolt hit him. So he assumes he's going to die. He can't know who Malcolm is, or how skilled he is.'
Funny, he thought, how he simply assumed that Malcolm would be able to save Halt.
Horace was nodding. 'That could be it. If they've had to stop, it only makes sense that he should keep tabs on us. He might well assume that if Halt dies, we'll give up and head back home. And obviously, he has no way of knowing that Halt is getting better.'
'Don't be t
oo quick with that assumption,' Malcolm said from behind him. They turned to face him and his expression was grave.
'But he must be!' Horace protested. 'I could see it myself and I'm certainly no healer. He was much better this morning and yesterday afternoon. Totally lucid.'
But Malcolm was shaking his head and Horace stopped his protesting.
'I'm not sure what the poison is yet. But if I'm right, those are the symptoms.'
'Of what?' Will asked. His mouth was a tight line.
Malcolm looked at him apologetically. As a healer, he hated times like this, when all he had to offer was bad news.
'It starts with delirium and fever. One minute he's in the present, next he's in the past. Then he's totally in the past and hallucinating. That's the second stage. That's when you said he mistook you for someone else. Then there's the final stage: clarity and awareness once again and an apparent recovery.'
'An apparent recovery?' Will repeated. He didn't like the sound of that phrase.
Malcolm shrugged. 'I'm afraid so. He's a long way gone. I'm not sure how much time he might have left.'
'But… you can treat him?' Horace asked. 'There is an antidote to this poison, isn't there? You said you know what it is.'
'I think I know what it is,' Malcolm said. 'And there is an antidote.'
'Then I don't see the problem,' Horace said.
Malcolm took a deep breath. 'The poison looks like one of two possible types – both of the genus aracoina,' he said. 'One is derived from the aracoina plant that grows blue flowers. The other comes from the white-flowered variety. The two cause virtually the same symptoms – the ones I've just described here.'
'Then…' Will began, but Malcolm stopped him.
'There are two antidotes. They're quite common. They're effective almost immediately and I have the ingredients for both. But if I treat him for white aracoina and he's been poisoned with the blue variety, it will almost certainly kill him. And vice versa.'
Horace and Will stood in stunned silence as Malcolm spoke. Then he continued.
'That's why murdering swine like these Genovesans favour aracoina poison. Even if a healer can prepare an antidote, there's still an even chance that the victim will die.'
'And if we don't know which one was used?' Will asked. Malcolm had known the question was coming and now he had to present this young man he admired so much with a truly terrible dilemma.
'If we don't treat him, he'll certainly die. If it comes down to it, I'll prepare both remedies, then we'll flip a coin and decide which one to use.'
Will straightened his slumped shoulders and looked Malcolm in the eye.
'No,' he said. 'There'll be no coin tossing. If a decision has to be made, I'll make it. I won't have Halt's life decided by tossing a coin. I could never go back and tell Lady Pauline that was how we did it. I want it done by someone who loves him. And that's me.'
Malcolm nodded acknowledgement of the statement.
'I hope I'd have your courage in such a moment,' he said. Once again, as he had done many months previously, he regarded the Ranger before him and wondered at the strength and depth of character in one so young. Horace stepped closer to his friend and put his big hand on Will's shoulder. Malcolm saw the knuckles whiten with the pressure of his grip as he squeezed, letting Will know he was not alone.
With a sad little smile, Will put his hand up and covered his friend's hand. They didn't need to speak in this moment.
And that night, around midnight, after hours spent staring wordlessly into the dying coals of the fire, Will made his decision. Thirty-five The sun had risen over an hour ago. It was going to be a fine day, but the group stood around the low mound of fresh-turned earth with their heads lowered in sorrow. They had no eyes for the fine weather or the promise of a clear day to come.
Head bowed, Will drove a wooden marker into the newly dug earth at the head of the shallow grave, then stepped away to give Horace room to smooth the last few shovelfuls of dirt into place. Horace stood back as well, leaning on the shovel.
'Should someone say a few words?' he asked tentatively. Malcolm looked to Will for an answer but the young Ranger shook his head.
'I don't think I'm ready for that.'
'Perhaps it would be appropriate if we just stand here quietly for a few moments?' Malcolm suggested. The other two exchanged glances and nodded agreement.
'I think that would be best,' Will said.
Horace straightened to a position of attention and the three stood, heads bowed, by the grave site. Finally, Will broke the silence.
'All right. Let's go.'
They packed their gear, loading it onto the horses. Horace kicked dirt over the fire to extinguish it and they mounted. Will looked for a long moment at the fresh earth that formed a low mound over the grave. Then he turned Tug's head and rode off without another backward glance. The others followed.
They rode slowly, heading north, away from the trail they had been following for days. They left the grave and Tennyson and his followers behind them. Nobody spoke as they topped the first ridge. Then, as they dropped out of sight from anyone who might be watching, Will made a brief hand signal.
'Let's pace it up,' he said and the three of them urged their horses into a canter. A few hundred metres away, where the ground flattened out, and before it rose to yet another low ridge line, there was a small copse of trees. He headed for it now, swinging slightly to the left, the others following close behind him. As they neared the copse, he glanced back over his shoulder, to see if there was anyone in sight behind them yet. But the skyline was empty.
'Hurry!' he called. They had to be under cover by the time the Genovesan spy reached that ridge.
He wheeled Tug to a stop at the edge of the trees and ushered the other two past him. They rode into the shelter of the copse for a few metres, then dismounted. Will, checking once more that there was no sign of a pursuer yet, followed them. He dismounted as well.
'Lead the horses well into the shadows,' he said.
Horace led Kicker further into the trees. At a gesture from Will, Abelard and Tug followed the larger horse.
'I'll take a look at Halt,' Malcolm said.
The Ranger lay, asleep still, on his bedroll in the centre of the copse. They had brought him here after nightfall, on a litter slung between Abelard and Tug, and made him comfortable. Malcolm stayed by him through the night. Before dawn, he had crept back to the camp site to be on hand for the 'funeral', during which he stood, feigning a mournful demeanour, as Will and Horace buried a small log wrapped in a blanket.
'No change,' Malcolm called softly now to Will, after his examination of Halt.
Will nodded, satisfied. It had worried him that Halt had been left here unattended for a few hours, while they pretended to wake, find the 'body' and bury it with all the outward signs of grief they could muster. But Malcolm had to be back at the camp before the watcher returned shortly after dawn, and they had decided it had been a necessary risk.
He waited now, just inside the trees, but far enough back so that he was in deep shadow and would be invisible to anyone watching from a distance. He scanned the horizon to the south eagerly.
'Any sign?' Horace said softly, as he and Malcolm moved to join Will. Horace had donned the cloak Halt had given him, and Malcolm was wearing Halt's own cloak. Every extra bit of concealment would help, and Will had instructed them both to keep their cowls up and pulled well forward.
'No! And for god's sake stop your bellowing!'
Horace couldn't help smiling at Will's irritated reply. It had hardly been a bellow, Horace knew. But he forgave his friend the exaggeration. Will was tensed to fever pitch. This ploy of his had to work if Halt were to have a chance of surviving.
'What exactly do you have in mind?' Malcolm said, being careful to keep his voice down. Will and Horace had discussed Will's plan the night before, but as Malcolm had spent the time keeping a watch over Halt, he wasn't sure of the details.
'I'm hoping he'll com
e to check that we've really gone,' Will said.
'And then you'll rush out and capture him?' Malcolm asked. He sounded doubtful about the wisdom of such a haphazard plan and Will's vehement reply confirmed his doubts.
'I most certainly will not! I've got no wish to get myself killed. The Genovesans are expert shots. If I charge out at him, he'll have plenty of time to put a bolt through me.'
'You're a better shot than he is,' Malcolm said. But he was missing a vital point.
'Maybe. But I want to take him alive. He'll just want me dead.'
'Couldn't you shoot to wound him?' Malcolm suggested.
Will was shaking his head before he finished speaking. 'Too risky. I'd be galloping flat out on Tug. One stumble, one false stride and I could be off target. If I miss by a couple of inches, I could kill the Genovesan. And besides, even if I did manage to wound him, he could still kill me.'
'Then… what will you do?' Malcolm asked.
'I have to wait until he's not expecting trouble. When he comes looking for us, he'll be fully alert,' Will explained. 'He'll be looking to make sure that we've really gone. I expect he'll ride to the next ridge. Then, if he can't see any sign of us, I'm hoping he'll head back to Tennyson's camp.'
'That sounds reasonable,' Malcolm said. But Will could sense that he was still puzzled by the situation so he explained further.
'Once he heads for home, he'll probably check behind him for the next hour or so. Then he'll relax a little as he's convinced we've really gone. The further he goes, the more he'll relax. That means I'll have a better chance of taking him by surprise. I'll give him a head start, then swing out and parallel his course until I catch up to him. Then I'll cut back in and get as close as I can before he sees me.'
'You'll still have to chase him down.'
Will nodded. 'Yes. But he'll be tired and he won't be expecting me. I'll have a much better chance of taking him alive if I wait a few hours.'
Malcolm nodded, understanding. But there was a worried look on his face.
'Halt may not have a few hours, Will,' he said quietly and the young Ranger sighed.
'I know that, Malcolm. But it won't do him any good if I get myself killed here, will it?'
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