It was Malcolm who solved the problem when Will had tentatively raised the subject with him.
'I'm coming with you,' he said simply.
That possibility hadn't occurred to Will. He stopped, a little surprised. Then he saw several problems with the idea.
'But Malcolm, it's going to be dangerous…'
The healer's lip curled. 'Oh deary, deary me,' he said, in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice. 'I'm so frightened. Perhaps I should throw my apron over my head and burst into tears.'
Will made a placating gesture, realising that his remark could have been taken as insulting. Realising, in fact, that it had been taken as insulting.
'That's not what I meant,' he began and Malcolm seized on his words.
'Oh? So you mean it's not going to be dangerous? Then there's no problem if I come along, is there?'
'No. I meant… I mean, I'm not questioning your courage…'
'I'm glad to hear it,' Malcolm said coldly. 'Exactly what are you questioning then?'
'Look, it's just…' Will paused, aware that he should choose his words carefully. He hadn't seen this acerbic side of Malcolm's nature before. He didn't want to make him angry again. Malcolm gestured for him to continue. 'I mean, we'll probably have to fight them and you're not…' Malcolm's brows drew together. Will had always thought of the little man as bird-like. Now, with those drawn brows, balding head and beaked nose, he looked positively vulturine.
'What, precisely, am I not?' he asked. Will was beginning to wish he had never begun this conversation but it was too late now to go back.
'I mean to say… you're not a warrior, are you?' It was weak, he knew. But Malcolm could hardly dispute the fact.
'So you're worried that I'll be a burden to you?' Malcolm asked. 'You'll have to look after me when the fighting starts?'
'No!' Will said. But he said it too quickly. In fact, that was exactly what he was worried about. Malcolm said nothing for a few seconds, simply raised one eyebrow in disbelief. Will found himself wishing that people would stop using that facial expression. It was becoming overdone.
'May I remind you,' Malcolm said finally, ' that I have been known to reduce a big, brave, famous Ranger to a state of near-gibbering terror?'
'Well, that's a bit rich,' Will said hotly. 'I certainly wasn't gibbering!'
'You weren't far from it,' Malcolm pointed out and Will's mind flashed back to that night in Grimsdell Wood, where voices spoke to him out of the dark, threatening and warning him. And where a gigantic figure suddenly towered over him in the mist. He had to admit Malcolm was right. He hadn't been far from it.
'Look, Will,' Malcolm continued, in a more conciliatory tone, 'I'm not a warrior, that's true. But I've survived in a hostile world for quite a few years. I have methods of my own. And there's another point. There's Halt.'
He saw that got Will's attention. The young Ranger's head came up, a worried look on his face, as if he suddenly feared that Malcolm had been hiding something about Halt's condition.
'Halt? What about him? He's all right now, isn't he?'
Malcolm raised his hand to allay Will's concern.
'He's fine. He's doing very well. But he is weak still. And from what I've seen of him, he's going to want to start out after this Tennyson person much sooner than he should. Am I right?'
Will hesitated. He didn't want to be disloyal to Halt, but he sensed that Malcolm was spot on.
'Yes. Probably,' he admitted.
Malcolm nodded several times. 'Just so. Well, he's a patient of mine. And I feel a sense of responsibility to him. I'm not going to ride off and let him undo all my good work. I need to be with you to keep an eye on him.'
Will considered what he had said for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Finally, he nodded.
'All right,' he said. Then he smiled. 'I'll be glad to have you along.'
Malcolm smiled in return. 'I promise you, Will, I can look after myself. And who knows? I might even surprise you and make myself useful.'
For the past few days, when he wasn't checking on Halt, Malcolm had taken himself away from the camp site and built a small fire. He busied himself mixing and boiling potions and drying them out in the sun and over hot rocks to form a brownish powdery residue. As he worked, an acrid smell rose from the chemicals. Whenever Will asked him what he was doing, the little man had smiled enigmatically.
'Just making myself useful, that's all,' he would reply.
From time to time, the others would be startled by the sound of small explosions from the fireplace where Malcolm worked. The first time this happened, they rushed to see if he was all right. He waved them away cheerfully.
'Nothing to worry about,' he said to them. 'I'm just working with a new compound based on iodine powder. It's a little volatile and I have to get the mixture just right.'
Eventually, they had become used to these interruptions in their day, and the explosions grew less and less frequent as Malcolm apparently refined his formula.
Now, riding back to the camp, Will heard a more familiar sound and he frowned slightly.
It was the deep-throated thrum of a powerful longbow being released. And not just any longbow. He followed the sound, diverting slightly from the path to the copse of trees where they had sited their camp. Again he heard the thrumming sound, followed a few seconds later by a solid SMACK!
There was a slight depression in the ground, lined by alder trees, and the sound seemed to be coming from that direction. He rode towards it and, as he crested the slight rise above the depression, saw Halt. He had his massive longbow in his hand and as Will watched he nocked an arrow, drew and released almost immediately, without even seeming to take aim. Will followed the black streak of the arrow through the air and heard it smack into a small pine log, standing upright, about eighty metres away. There were three other arrows jutting from the soft wood, grouped so closely together that a man's hand could have covered them all.
'You're dropping the bow hand as you release,' he called, although Halt certainly wasn't.
His mentor looked around, saw him and replied pithily, 'I believe your grandmother needs lessons in sucking eggs.'
He turned back to his practice and dispatched another three arrows in the blink of an eye, all of them thudding into that same small section of pine log.
'Not bad,' Will was forced to concede.
Halt raised an eyebrow. 'Not bad? You should do so well.' He gestured at the deer slung behind Tug's saddle. 'Been hunting?'
Will nodded. 'We need meat.'
Halt snorted softly. 'Won't get much off that. Couldn't you find something bigger? It's barely the size of a large squirrel.'
Will frowned and glanced back at the carcass behind him.
'It's big enough,' he said. 'Why shoot anything bigger?'
Halt considered that, leaning on his bow and nodding several times. Then he asked:
'Did you see anything bigger?'
'Well, no. I didn't,' Will admittedly. 'But there's plenty of meat here for four people.'
Halt smiled. 'Three people and Horace?'
Will pursed his lips thoughtfully. Halt had a definite point, he realised. 'I hadn't thought of that.' And, of course, Tug chose that moment to toss his head and shake his mane. I told you so.
Everyone seemed to be conspiring to belittle his efforts, so he decided to change the subject. He nodded towards the pine log, now bristling with arrows.
'Any reason for all this practice?' he asked.
Halt shrugged. 'Wanted to make sure I had the strength to draw my bow,' he said. 'Apparently, I do.'
Halt's bow was one of the heaviest Will had seen. Years of practice had built up the bearded Ranger's arm and back muscles to the point where he could draw it without any seeming effort. Yet Will had seen strong men who, lacking the correct technique and specific muscle development, were unable to bring it past half draw. Seeing the speed and accuracy with which Halt had been sending his shafts thudding into the log, Will r
ealised that Halt was right. His strength was back.
'Are we moving out?' he asked.
Halt nodded. 'Tomorrow at first light. Time we saw what Tennyson is up to.'
'Malcolm thinks you need another two days' rest,' Will said.
Halt's eyebrows lowered into a glare. He and Malcolm had already had words on this matter. In fact, it was the reason why Halt had come out here to test himself. He had been worried that perhaps Malcolm might have been right.
'Malcolm doesn't know everything,' he said shortly.
Will couldn't help grinning. 'And you do?'
'Of course I do,' Halt replied shortly. 'That's a well-known fact.' Forty-two Tennyson looked around the camp site and nodded contentedly. For several days, converts to the Outsiders cult had been coming into the camp. Now that they were gathered, he was ready to move in and whip them into a state of religious frenzy so that they would be ready to hand over their gold and valuables to him – just as they had done in Hibernia. It was a task in which he excelled.
The numbers were smaller here, of course. But they would be enough to provide him with enough booty for a fresh start somewhere else. Hibernia and Araluen were becoming increasingly dangerous for him and he planned to escape to a new location. He hadn't told his followers that he was planning to take the valuables they collected and abscond with them. They all assumed that he would begin rebuilding the Outsiders cult here in northern Araluen. And he was content to let them continue thinking that. He felt no loyalty towards the people who followed him.
As he had that thought, he frowned, wondering what had become of the Genovesan, Bacari. It had been days now since the mercenary had reported in. He knew that the leader of his pursuers had been fatally injured in the confrontation in the drowned forest. Bacari had seen him wounded by a poisoned bolt, and he was definite in his assurances that there was no way the cloaked stranger could survive that wound. That was good news. The other two were little more than boys and Tennyson was confident that without their leader, they would soon become discouraged, give the pursuit away and return to wherever it was they had come from. The fact that there had been no sign of them for the past few days seemed to confirm the idea. He knew they had been close on his heels for weeks. Now they had simply disappeared.
Perhaps Bacari had killed them – and been killed himself in a final confrontation with them. That was a possibility. More likely, he thought, the Genovesan had simply slipped away and left the country. After all, he had seen two of his compatriots killed and mercenaries like him had only one loyalty – to money. It was unlikely that he would continue to fight for Tennyson when he knew he was outnumbered and outmatched. But he had served his purpose. He had killed the leader of Tennyson's pursuers and, one way or another, caused the other two to abandon their pursuit. And this way, there was no need for Tennyson to pay him the final instalment of the fee he had been promised.
All in all, he thought, it had turned out well. The last of the local converts had arrived at the camp that morning. Tomorrow, he would break camp here and move them to the cave complex that had been picked out for the purpose. He would inflame them and excite them, as he had done with so many simple country folk before them, and convince them to contribute their gold and jewels to build another altar to Alseiass. Then, when the time was right, he would quietly slip away with it.
With the last of the Genovesans dead, Halt expressed his doubt that Tennyson would send anyone else back to spy on them or monitor their progress. In fact, he hoped that the preacher would assume they had given up the chase.
'After all,' he told them while they were preparing to leave the camp site, 'Bacari will have told him that he hit me with a poisoned bolt. And since Tennyson knows nothing about Malcolm here, he probably thinks that I'm dead.'
'Horace and I could still be following him,' Will pointed out.
Halt looked doubtful. 'Possibly. But he knows you're both young. And he doesn't know you as well as I do. Chances are, he will have seen me as the real threat.'
'I don't know whether to be insulted by that or not,' Horace said. Halt grinned easily at him.
'As I said, he doesn't know you as well as I do. He's an arrogant man and he'll probably think you're too young to offer any threat to him. But just in case,' he said, looking at Will, 'you'd better take the point.'
Will nodded. It was never wise to assume too much. He touched Tug's ribs with his heels and galloped ahead to scout the way. He reined in when he was about four hundred metres ahead and maintained that distance.
Malcolm, who was riding double with Horace, watched the distant figure as he scouted the land ahead of them, quartering back and forth to make sure there was no one waiting in ambush to either side of the trail they were following. Will reminded the healer of a hound, questing for a scent.
'He's a remarkable young man,' he said to Halt and he saw the small glow of pride in the bearded Ranger's eyes as he turned in his saddle to reply.
'The best,' he said briefly.
'You've known him how long?' Malcolm asked.
'Since he was a small boy. I first noticed him when he slipped into Master Chubb's kitchen to steal some pies.'
'Master Chubb?' Malcolm asked.
Halt grinned at the memory of that day. 'He's the chef at Castle Redmont. A formidable man, wouldn't you say, Horace?'
Horace grinned in his turn. 'He's deadly with his wooden ladle,' he said. 'Fast and accurate. And very painful. I once suggested that he should give ladle-whacking lessons to Battleschool students.'
'You were joking, of course?' Malcolm said.
Horace looked thoughtful before he replied. 'You know, not entirely.'
'So,' Malcolm said, turning back to Halt, 'what did you have to say to Will when you caught him stealing these pies – and apparently risking life and limb to do so?'
'Oh, I didn't let on that I was there. We Rangers can be very unobtrusive when we choose,' he said with mock modesty. 'I remained out of sight and watched him. I thought then that he had potential to be a Ranger.'
Malcolm nodded. But an anomaly in the sequence of the story had Horace frowning thoughtfully.
'Why?' he asked Halt.
Halt looked quickly at him. Something in Horace's tone set off alarms in his mind. Horace lately had a tendency to ask awkward questions, he thought. He answered carefully.
'Why? Because he was excellent at moving from cover to cover and remaining unseen. Chubb came into the room three times and never noticed him. So I thought, if he could manage that without formal training, he'd make a good Ranger.'
'No,' said Horace deliberately, 'that wasn't what I meant. I meant, why did you remain unseen? Why were you hiding in the kitchen in the first place?'
'I told you,' Halt said, with an edge to his voice, 'I was watching Will to see if he might have the potential to be a Ranger. So I didn't want him to see that I was watching.'
'That's not what you said,' Horace replied. A little furrow had formed between his eyebrows.
'Yes. It is.' Halt's answers were becoming shorter and shorter. Malcolm leaned back behind Horace's broad form to hide a smile. Halt's tone indicated that he no longer wanted to discuss this matter. But Horace wasn't inclined to give up.
'No. You said, when Malcolm asked, that this was the first time you'd noticed Will. So you couldn't have gone to the kitchen to see what he was going to get up to. You hadn't noticed him before that day. That's what you said,' he added, driving his point home.
'That's true. You did say that,' Malcolm chipped in helpfully and was rewarded with a glare from Halt.
'Does it matter?' Halt asked.
Horace shrugged. 'Not really, I suppose. I just wondered why you'd gone to the kitchen and why you took the trouble to remain unseen. Were you hiding from Master Chubb yourself? And Will just turned up by coincidence?'
'And why would I be hiding from Master Chubb in his own kitchen?' Halt challenged. Again, Horace shrugged innocently.
'Well, there was a tray of freshl
y made pies airing on the windowsill, wasn't there? And you're quite fond of pies, aren't you, Halt?'
Halt drew himself up very straight in the saddle. 'Are you accusing me, Horace? Is that it? Are you accusing me of sneaking into that kitchen to steal the pies for myself?'
His voice and body language simply reeked of injured dignity.
'Of course not, Halt!' Horace hurried to assure him, and Halt's stiff-shouldered form relaxed a little.
'I just thought I'd give you the opportunity to confess,' Horace added. This time, Malcolm couldn't conceal his sudden explosion of laughter. Halt gave them both a withering glance.
'You know, Horace,' he said, at length, 'you used to be a most agreeable young man. Whatever happened to you?'
Horace turned a wide grin on him. 'I've spent too much time around you, I suppose,' he said.
And Halt had to admit that was probably true.
Later that day, they reached the spot where Will had fought with Bacari. Will signalled for them to stop before they crested the final ridge, then he and Halt crept forward to survey the ground ahead.
The camp site that he had seen previously was now deserted.
'They've moved on,' Will said, and Halt rested his weight on his elbows, chewing a blade of grass thoughtfully.
'Wherever it is they're going,' he agreed. 'How many would you say there were?'
Will considered his answer for a few seconds before replying.
'It was quite a big camp,' he said. 'I'd say up to a hundred people.'
They rose and walked back down the slight slope to where Horace and Malcolm were preparing a quick meal of cold meat, fruit and bread.
'Is there time to make coffee?' Horace asked.
Halt nodded. 'There's always time for coffee.' He sat down by the small fire that Horace had built and glanced at Malcolm. He liked the healer and knew he had a good, analytical head on his shoulders.
'Tennyson's party has joined up with a larger group,' he said. 'What would you make of that?'
Malcolm paused thoughtfully. 'From what you've told me about his methods, I'd say the bulk of them are probably converts to his "religion" – people who've been living in this area.'
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