'That's what I thought. He usually has twenty or so in his inner circle – the ones who know the whole religion is a fake. They run things for him. They collect the money. But the bulk of his followers are gullible country folk, who actually believe his brand of nonsense.'
'But where would they have come from, Halt?' Horace asked. 'I thought you and Crowley destroyed the Outsiders movement in Araluen?'
Halt shook his head. 'We did our best. We got rid of the hierarchy. But you can never stamp these cults out entirely. They'll move into remote areas like this and recruit the locals. He's probably had agents in this area for the past six months or so – just the way he was doing in Selsey.'
'And it would have been a simple matter to send a messenger ahead to arrange that rendezvous point in the valley,' Will put in.
'Exactly. And now he's gathering his people together for another push. They'll keep recruiting, then when they have the numbers, they'll move on to the next area – just as they did in Hibernia.' Halt shook his head angrily. 'They're like vermin! You stamp them out in one place and they rise up again in another.'
Malcolm nodded. 'It's interesting, isn't it, how people are so ready to believe these charlatans? You realise you'll have to do more than just stamp this group out, don't you?'
Halt looked up at him. He had a good idea what the balding little healer was talking about.
'How's that?' he asked.
Malcolm pursed his lips and leaned forward, idly poking a stick into the glowing coals of the fire.
'If people believe in him, if they've accepted the line of claptrap he's peddling, it won't be enough to take him prisoner and put him on trial. Or even kill him, if that's what you had in mind.'
Halt nodded wearily. 'I know,' he said. 'A public trial would give him the forum he needs. And if he dies, he'll become a martyr. Either way, another person will step up to take his place and build on the doubt and uncertainty that he's raised in people's minds. It'll be one long repeating cycle.'
'Exactly,' Malcolm agreed. 'So there's only one course for you to follow. You have to discredit him. You have to prove to these followers of his that he is a cheat and a liar and a thief.'
'We managed to do it in Clonmel,' Horace said.
'We caught him unawares there, with the legend of the Sunrise Warrior. And we tricked him into pinning everything on trial by combat. He won't fall for that again. This time, we'll have to do something new. Something he's not expecting.'
'Like what?' Will asked and Halt gave that tired smile again.
'When I think of it, you'll be the first to know.' Forty-three The abandoned camp told them little that they didn't already know. They walked through the areas of flattened grass where tents had been pitched, inspected the blackened circles left by a score of small cook fires and examined the small items that had been discarded or forgotten – a shoe here with a broken strap and holes in the underside that were past repairing, a rusted cook pot, a broken knife. And, of course, food scraps and garbage that had been hastily buried and dug up once more by foxes after the people had left.
The ground was soft and there were still footprints in evidence round the camp. These showed that a reasonable proportion of the people who had stopped here had been women.
'All the more reason to believe these are converts,' Halt said.
Malcolm agreed, but raised a further point. 'Still, women or not, a hundred people is rather a large handful for the four of us to take on. Do you have any ideas how we're going to handle that task?'
'Simple,' Halt told him. 'We'll surround them.'
And he said it with such a straight face that, for a moment, Malcolm actually thought he was serious.
There was one item of interest to be found and that was the direction Tennyson and his newly augmented band of followers had taken when they broke camp and departed. After several weeks of travelling consistently to the southeast, Tennyson now swung to the left, heading due east. The small party gathered round Halt as he unfolded his chart of the area. He indicated a range of hills marked on the map, a day's journey away to the east.
'Looks as if he's heading for these hills – as we thought.'
Horace, craning to read the map over his shoulder, read the notation on the map where Halt was pointing. 'Caves,' he said.
Halt looked up and nodded. 'Those old sandstone cliffs and hills will be honeycombed with them, according to what it says here.'
Malcolm asked to see the map and when Halt handed it over he studied it for some minutes, tracing a path with his finger here, frowning as he read a notation there. Finally, he looked up at Halt.
'This is quite amazing,' he said. 'There's so much detail here. How did you come by this?'
Halt smiled and took the map back and folded it carefully.
'It's part of what the Ranger Corps does,' he told the healer. 'For the past twenty-five years or so, we've kept ourselves busy updating maps of the Kingdom. Each Ranger is responsible for his own area of operations and we send updated charts to Crowley each year. He has them copied and distributed.'
Malcolm nodded. 'Ah yes, I know Crowley. He contacted me shortly after Will spent time with us. He was interested to know more about my healing practices.'
'He said he was going to do that,' Will put in. He remembered telling Halt and Crowley about Malcolm during his debriefing session. They were interested in the healer's medical skills – and the other skills of deception and illusion that he had demonstrated. Knowing Malcolm, Will had been confident that he would share his medical skills with them, but not the other skills, which were his alone.
'In any event,' Halt said, bringing matters back to the present, 'I'd wager this is where Tennyson is heading.'
'Yes,' Malcolm agreed. 'If he's planning to set up a headquarters and add to his band of followers, a nice cave complex would be as good a place as any.'
'Well, standing here isn't going to get us any closer to him,' Halt said. 'We've given him too much of a lead already.'
He strode back to where Abelard waited for him and mounted quickly. Then he waited impatiently while the others followed his example. Will noticed him fidgeting with his reins as he watched Malcolm make two unsuccessful attempts to mount behind Horace.
'For god's sake, Horace,' Halt finally cried out. 'Can't you just haul him up behind you?'
'Take it easy,' Will said softly.
Halt looked at him quickly, then gave him a shamefaced smile. 'Sorry,' he said. 'It's just that after all these delays, I'm anxious to catch up with him.'
But it was that very anxiety and eagerness to close with Tennyson that eventually let him down. Halt was pushing himself too hard. Under normal circumstances, he would have had no trouble keeping up to the pace he was setting. But he wasn't fully recovered from the effects of the poison, or the days lying close to death in his blankets. Halt had used up a large part of his natural energy reserves and it would take more than a day or two to restore them.
That evening, when they camped, he slid from the saddle and stood, head bowed and exhausted. When Will went to unsaddle and water Abelard, he offered only token resistance.
Will and Horace took care of the minor chores, gathering firewood, building the fire and preparing the meal. Horace even set out Halt's bedroll and blankets for him, laying them out on a small pile of leafy branches that he gathered together. Halt reacted with surprise when he saw it.
'Thanks, Horace,' he said, touched by the young warrior's concern for him.
Horace shrugged. 'Think nothing of it.'
They noticed that when the meal was done, and after the obligatory cups of coffee, Halt didn't linger round the camp fire talking, as he would usually do. He took himself off to his bedroll and slept soundly.
'The sleep of the exhausted,' Malcolm said wryly, eyeing the still figure.
'Is he all right?' Will asked anxiously.
'He's fine, so far as the poison is concerned. But he's working himself too hard. He doesn't have the strength to keep this pa
ce up. See if you can get him to ease up a little.' He knew that if the suggestion came from Will, there was more chance that Halt might take heed. Will wasn't so sure.
'I'll try,' he said.
But the following morning, refreshed by a long night's sleep, Halt wasn't in any mood to take things easily. He fussed and fretted while they had breakfast and packed up their camp. Then he mounted Abelard and set out at a cracking pace.
By eleven that morning, he was swaying in the saddle, his face grey with fatigue, his shoulders slumped. Will rode up beside him, leaned over and seized Abelard's reins, bringing the little horse to a stop. Halt shook himself out of the exhausted daze that had claimed him and looked around in surprise.
'What are you doing?' he asked. 'Let go of my reins!' He tried to pull the reins out of Will's grip but the young Ranger held firm. Abelard neighed in consternation, sensing that all wasn't well with his master.
'Halt, you have to slow down,' Will told him.
'Slow down? Don't talk such nonsense! I'm fine. Now give me back those reins.' Halt tried again to pull the reins from Will's grasp but realised with some surprise that he couldn't break his former apprentice's grip. Abelard, sensing the tension between them, neighed nervously. Then he shook his mane and turned his head so that he could look Halt in the eye. That was something else that surprised Halt. Normally, if someone had grabbed hold of his reins, Abelard would have reacted violently against them. Instead, in this confrontation, he seemed to be taking Will's side.
That, more than anything else, made Halt feel that perhaps Will was right. Perhaps he hadn't recovered as fully as he thought. Time was that he would have shaken off the effects of the poisoning in a matter of a few hours. But perhaps that time was behind him. For the first time, Halt had a sense of his own limitations.
At Malcolm's urging, Horace brought Kicker up alongside Abelard, on the other side to Tug and Will.
'Will's right,' he said. 'You're pushing too hard. If you keep this up, you'll have a relapse.'
'And that will lose more time than if you simply take a little time to recover now,' Malcolm put in. Halt glared from one to the other.
'What is this?' he asked. 'Are you all conspiring against me? Even my horse?'
It was the last three words that made Will smile. 'We figured you mightn't listen to a healer, a Ranger or a knight of the realm,' he said. 'But if your horse agreed with them, you'd have no choice but to pay attention.'
In spite of himself, Halt couldn't help the faintest hint of a smile touching his own mouth. He tried to hide it but the corners of his mouth twitched defiantly. He realised, when he considered the position honestly, that his friends weren't urging him to rest in order to annoy him. They were doing so because they cared about him and they were worried about him. And he realised that he respected their judgement enough to admit that perhaps they might be right and he might be wrong. And there were very few people who could bring Halt to admit that.
'Halt, you need to rest. If you'll just stop being stubborn and admit it, we'll make better time in the long run. Stay here for a day, get your strength back. Horace and I can push on ahead and scout the situation. If you're right, Tennyson will have set up at these caves. So there's no rush any more to catch up with him.'
Will's tone was reasonable, not argumentative, and he saw from Halt's body language that he was on the brink of giving in. Seeing that he needed just one more mental shove, Will provided it, invoking the ultimate authority in the bearded Ranger's world.
'You know Lady Pauline would agree with me,' he said.
Halt's head jerked up at the name. 'Pauline? What does she have to do with this situation?'
Will held his gaze steadily. 'If you continue the way you are, I'll have to go back and face her, and tell her I failed in the task she set me.'
Halt opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. He closed his mouth again, realising how foolish he must look. Will seized the opportunity to continue.
'And if you continue like this, and run yourself into the ground, I'm not going to have the nerve to face her.'
Halt considered that statement and slowly nodded his head. He could understand Will's sentiments there.
'No,' he said thoughtfully, 'I shouldn't imagine you would.' Then, to Malcolm's surprise, Halt slowly dismounted.
'Well,' he said mildly, 'perhaps I should rest up for a day or so. I wouldn't want to overdo things.' He looked around, saw a small grove of trees a few metres away from the track they had been following and nodded towards them. 'I suppose that's as good a place to camp as any.'
Will and Horace exchanged relieved glances. Before Halt could change his mind, they dismounted and began to set up camp. Halt, now that he had given in to their concerns, decided he might as well take advantage of the situation. He found a fallen tree and sat down by it, resting his back against it and letting out a small sigh.
'I'll start getting my strength back straight away,' he told them, a satisfied smile on his face.
Horace shook his head as he and Will he began to gather stones for a fireplace.
'Even when he gives in, he has to have the last word, doesn't he?' he said.
Will smiled in reply. 'Every time.' But he felt a sense of relief that Halt was willing to stop pushing himself to the limit.
Malcolm, on the other hand, was intrigued to learn more about the person whose name could bring Halt to such a state of meek compliance. He sidled up to Will as the young man was unstrapping his camping equipment from Tug's saddle.
'This Lady Pauline,' he began, 'she must be a fearful person. She sounds like a terrible sorceress.' His face was deadpan but Will sensed the underlying amusement and replied in kind.
'She's very slim and beautiful. But she has amazing power. Some time ago, she convinced Halt to have a haircut for their wedding.'
Malcolm, who had noticed Halt's decidedly slapdash hair styling, raised his eyebrows.
'A sorceress indeed.' Forty-four There were still some hours of daylight left for travel. So after a quick meal, Will and Horace remounted and pushed on after the Outsiders.
Sensing that in the days to come he would have a need for concealment, Horace was now eager to experiment with the camouflage cloak that Halt had given him. This became a source of some annoyance for Will as they followed the trail through the tree-covered dales. From time to time, when they were passing small clumps of trees or bushes, Horace would rein in Kicker beside them, pull his cowl forward, wrap the cloak around himself and attempt to sit without any movement.
'Can you see me now?' he would ask.
Sighing, Will would pretend to search for him, thinking that his friend, the foremost knight in the Kingdom of Araluen, a warrior who would be feared and respected on any battlefield, was behaving like an overgrown child with a new toy.
'I can just make you out,' he would say through gritted teeth. At which Horace would ride a few metres further away and repeat his 'freezing in place' exercise.
'How about now?' he would ask expectantly. Knowing that if he didn't provide the answer Horace wanted to hear they would go through this procedure another half dozen times, Will would nod his head slowly, as if in wonder.
'Amazing,' he would say. 'If I didn't know you were there…' He paused, looking for a way to end that statement, and finished, rather lamely, 'I wouldn't know you were there.'
Which, in itself was true, although if Horace had analysed the statement in any depth, he might have realised that Will had effectively said nothing. But it seemed to satisfy him for the time being.
Shortly before nightfall, Will was intently studying the tracks left by the Outsiders. Even though he felt relatively safe following them, it didn't hurt to keep a careful watch for any sign of an ambush. And with the failing light, he had to concentrate a little harder. He had dismounted to look more closely at several signs when he was interrupted by yet another questioning call from Horace.
'Will?'
Without turning towards him, Will replied,
through slightly gritted teeth, 'Yes, Horace?'
'Can you see me now?'
'No. I can't see you at all, Horace,' Will said, continuing to check on a line of footprints that led away from the trail, through the grass and behind a leafy bush. A few seconds' examination showed that the diversion and subsequent concealment had been for personal hygiene reasons, rather than any sinister intent.
'You're not looking.'
The voice was insistent. At the previous year's harvest festival on Seacliff Island, Will had watched a small child swinging enthusiastically on a wood and rope swing, set up in the play area, all the while shouting imperiously to her father, 'Daddy! Look at me! Look at me!'
He was reminded of that now as he turned to see Horace and Kicker, standing relatively motionless in front of a large, leafy bush.
'Horace,' he said wearily, 'you're sitting on top of a great big brown battlehorse. It's nearly two metres high and three metres long and it weighs a quarter of a tonne. Of course I can see you.'
Horace looked crestfallen. He glanced down at the massive form of Kicker, motionless beneath him. It was difficult for a battlehorse to remain inconspicuous, he realised.
'Oh,' he said, disappointment evident in his voice. 'But if Kicker weren't here? Could you see me then?'
'A little hard to answer, Horace,' Will said. 'Because Kicker is there and it's hard to ignore him. He sort of draws the eye, and that goes against the whole concept of camouflage and concealment, you see.'
Horace chewed his lip thoughtfully. Will couldn't resist the temptation.
'I saw that. You chewed your lip.'
Horace made an impatient gesture. He had considered that moment to be in the nature of a time-out.
'Saw that too,' Will said relentlessly. 'If you want to remain unseen, you have to avoid chewing your lip and waving your arm. And it's best if you don't sit on top of a whacking great battlehorse while you're doing it.'
'All right. I suppose so,' Horace said. There was a slight tone of annoyance in his voice. 'But if you use your imagination…'
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