The Battle of Hackham Heath by John Flanagan
“It’s been far too long, Mistress duLacy. A pleasure to see you again.” It was noticeable that his Hibernian accent was a little stronger than normal. Pauline smiled at him, a dazzling smile that made Halt’s heart lurch.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ranger Halt,” she said, extending her hand. And once again, Crowley was surprised to see Halt take her hand and raise it to his lips. He didn’t know that his companion had been mentally rehearsing this moment for the past day and a half.
“Delighted to see you again, Mistress,” Crowley said. He was never tongue-tied around beautiful women.
“Yes . . . delighted,” Pauline said vaguely, her eyes still fixed on Halt and shining with pleasure at seeing him.
Crowley grinned to himself. It was obvious that Pauline and Halt were smitten with each other and he was happy for his friend. He had no romantic attachments himself, and wasn’t in any hurry to form one. But he felt that Halt, grim and dour as he was, could only benefit from the bright, sunny company of the quick-witted Courier. Mind you, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stir the pot and tease Halt about Pauline whenever he had the chance.
He realized that Arald was speaking and quickly gave him his attention.
“How many do you have now?” Arald was asking.
Crowley frowned. He assumed that the Baron was talking about his efforts to return the Ranger Corps to full strength. It was a task that had been taking up most of Crowley’s time in the past few months as Rangers who had been discredited by Morgarath and banished gradually returned to the Kingdom when news of recent events reached them.
“Eighteen,” he replied, and saw that he had guessed Arald’s question correctly. “Twenty including Halt and myself.”
“Hmmm. So you’re just under half strength,” Arald mused. The normal Ranger complement was fifty, one for each fief.
“Yes. It’s a headache working out which fiefs need a Ranger most at the moment. Some are going to have to pull double duty with the smaller fiefs,” Crowley replied.
“It was a pity we lost Farrel from active duty,” Arald said. Farrel was the Ranger assigned to Redmont Fief. With Arald’s support, he had joined with Halt and Crowley in their campaign against Morgarath. After Morgarath’s retreat from Castle Gorlan, Farrel had been leading a scouting party in pursuit of the rebels. His horse stumbled in a rabbit hole and Farrel was thrown heavily to the ground, breaking his leg in two places. He had been placed under the care of the healers at Castle Araluen, but his injury was severe and it would be months before he would be back on the active list. Crowley currently had him helping with administrative tasks and paperwork—something both of them hated. But it kept Farrel occupied and stopped him moping.
“Yes. I’m not sure who to assign in his place,” Crowley said. Redmont was an important fief, second only to Araluen Fief in the Kingdom, particularly now that Gorlan had been broken up and its territories split between two neighboring fiefdoms.
“I was hoping you might give us Halt,” Arald said.
Crowley reacted with surprise. He and Halt had worked closely together over the past year and it hadn’t occurred to him to post him anywhere other than Araluen. But now that he considered it, it made sense. With the Corps at half strength, he didn’t have the luxury of keeping two Rangers in any one fief. Halt was the pick of the Rangers, Redmont was a major fief and Arald was a senior member of Duncan’s council. Halt would be just as useful as Crowley’s deputy if he were based at Redmont.
“Sounds good to me,” Halt said quickly, before Crowley could reply. Without turning his head, Crowley knew his friend was gazing at Pauline.
“Why not?” Crowley said, conceding. He’d miss having Halt around all the time, miss having the opportunity to twist his tail. But it was the best solution to the problem. He looked now and saw that Pauline was beaming with pleasure.
She placed her hand on Halt’s forearm. “Perhaps you could ask me to dance, by way of celebration?”
Halt cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m not such a good dancer,” he said doubtfully.
Crowley felt the mischief rising within him. One last chance to twist the tail, he thought. He bowed politely to Pauline. “I’d be delighted to dance with you, Mistress Pauline.”
Halt glared at him. “On the other hand, I’m not such a bad one,” Halt said and, taking Pauline’s hand, he led her to the dance floor.
Arald grinned at Crowley. “You did that on purpose.”
The Commandant shrugged. “Sometimes he has to be pushed to do what he wants,” he said.
4
THE NEXT FEW MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY FOR HALT AS HE settled into life as the resident Ranger attached to Redmont Fief.
He enjoyed the informality of the Ranger life. He was part of the senior administration of Redmont and a trusted confidant of the Baron. Yet he remained separate from the castle, preferring to live in the small log cabin set among the trees below the massive red-tinged ironstone walls that gave Redmont its name. He knew that Rangers needed to remain a little aloof from the barons, to avoid being influenced by them.
Fortunately, Arald was well aware of the Ranger’s role in the fief and made no attempt to influence Halt unduly. And there was never any occasion where Halt felt that the Baron wasn’t performing his duties as required. Arald was a loyal subordinate to the King and a fair and just ruler over his own territory. He accepted Halt as an important member of his team, albeit an independent one. He valued his judgment and often asked his opinion on matters relating to Redmont’s administration. And his requests for Halt’s opinion were more than mere lip service. Often, he acted on the Ranger’s suggestions.
So their working relationship was a smooth and harmonious one, and Halt made a point of eating with the Baron and his wife at least one evening a week. Usually, Pauline would be included in these dinners, unless she was called away on duty, which was often the case.
Shortly after Halt arrived in Redmont, Mistress Pauline had been appointed as a Courier of the first rank and was now addressed by the honorific Lady Pauline. She ranked as an equal of a senior knight such as Sir Rodney, the head of Redmont’s battle school, where new warriors were trained for the King’s army. Arald had great respect for her wisdom and judgment. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he didn’t think her gender made her opinion any less worthwhile. In fact, he had often been heard to say that Pauline was the most intelligent and capable of all his support staff.
Halt and Pauline’s relationship grew as time passed. They enjoyed each other’s company and spent as much time together as their duties allowed. This was less than might have been expected. Halt could be called away at a moment’s notice to tend to some problem in a far corner of the fief—a band of brigands or highwaymen preying on travelers, or a wild beast that might be terrorizing a farming community. And Pauline traveled often to other fiefs, and even other countries, such as Celtica. This was ostensibly to meet with her fellow Couriers, but also to gather intelligence and keep a general eye on the security of the fief and the Kingdom itself. In fact, the title of Courier was a deliberate misnomer. Pauline’s main work consisted of intelligence gathering and, at times, espionage. The Courier service, while masquerading as diplomats, kept a covert eye on the loyalties or otherwise of the Kingdom’s nobles.
Sometimes Halt and Pauline traveled together, when they accompanied Arald to Castle Araluen for his regular meetings with King Duncan. At such times, Halt and Crowley would disappear into Crowley’s office and confer, with Crowley bringing Halt up to date on the progress of his campaign to return the Ranger Corps to full strength.
“I’ve been assessing potential apprentices,” he said on the latest occasion, four months after Halt had been appointed as Redmont’s Ranger. “And I’ve selected six to train.” He looked keenly at his friend. He had realized some time ago that, with the original Rangers scattered and banished by Morgarath, it would be impossible to bring back a
“I hope you’re not planning to saddle me with one,” Halt said, preempting the suggestion that he was sure Crowley was about to make.
Crowley regarded him with a bland expression. “I can’t think of one who deserves such a dreadful fate.”
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready for one. I’m still feeling my own way.”
Secretly, Crowley was disappointed, but he accepted Halt’s position. The man was so skilled, so capable, that sometimes it was hard to remember that he hadn’t gone through any formal apprenticeship or training himself. Of course, Pritchard had instructed him in the skills needed of a Ranger, but in a way, Halt was still learning on the job. He had good instincts for what was required, but he needed more experience.
There was a knock at the door to Crowley’s suite of rooms, and Pauline entered. “The King would like to see us all,” she said simply. “Arald will meet us there.”
Crowley and Halt stood and followed her out.
Halt knew that Pauline had just completed a lengthy tour of the western quarter of the Kingdom, assessing the barons there. Some doubt still attached to the loyalty of four of them, and another two were definitely leaning toward an alignment with Morgarath—if the black-clad former baron ever ventured down from the wild plateau of the Mountains of Rain and Night.
The past months had been a time of peace and relative prosperity throughout Araluen. As a whole, the Kingdom had settled under the reign of its new young King. He was a popular ruler, known to be just in his rulings, not playing favorites or trying to curry favor with any group. But a dark cloud hung ominously over the distant horizon. Morgarath might not have been seen or heard from since he had slipped away from Castle Gorlan while the King kept it under siege, but he was still very much a presence in the Kingdom, made even more ominous by the very fact that so little was known of his movements.
Crowley and the three visitors met with Duncan in his office suite, accompanied by his secretary, who took notes of the discussions.
“How is the Queen, your majesty?” asked Pauline, after the usual greetings.
Duncan frowned. “She’s not doing well,” he confessed. “She’s very weak. The pregnancy is taking a heavy toll on her.”
The three visitors exchanged worried glances at this news. They had heard on previous visits to Araluen that Queen Rosalind’s health was poor. But they had no idea it was as serious as this.
“She spends most of her time in her chamber,” Duncan went on. “I’m very concerned about her.”
Then, with an effort, he dismissed the matter of his wife’s health. “Now, on to other matters. Do any of you have any idea what Morgarath is doing up there in the mountains?” It was noticeable that he looked first to Pauline. But all four shook their heads.
“I can’t get any of my people up onto the plateau, your majesty,” she said apologetically.
“I know he’s slipped down Three Step Pass on several occasions,” Duncan told them as they sat around the large conference table in his office. “I have a company of infantry stationed on the plain below the mountains to keep an eye on him. They’ve seen him exit the pass, but then they’ve lost him. And we’ve lost half a dozen men when they tried to follow him.”
“What do you suppose he was doing?” Crowley asked.
It was Arald who replied. “Making contact with some of the fence sitters,” he said. While all of the barons had asserted their allegiance to Duncan, some were more enthusiastic than others in their support. Morgarath had been a popular and respected member of the Council of Barons. He was a champion knight and highly skilled in combat. And he was adept at flattering those he saw as vulnerable to his charm. All the barons knew that the situation with Morgarath wasn’t settled, and some—admittedly a minority—were inclined to bide their time and see how events transpired between the King and the rebel baron.
Arald gestured for Pauline to speak. “Pauline, what did you find in your travels?”
The graceful Courier glanced down at the sheaf of notes in front of her, and spread a few pages out, frowning in concentration before she spoke.
“I don’t believe Baron Peller can be trusted, your majesty,” she said. “I spoke to my contacts in his fief and Morgarath definitely called on him six weeks ago. Apparently Peller received him most cordially.”
Duncan grunted. “Peller is a pompous idiot,” he said. “Always has been. He’s just the type to fall for Morgarath’s smooth words. He’s weak and easily swayed.”
“Influential, however,” Arald said. “Several of the other barons owe him money. He’s spent years propping up the fortunes of those who can’t manage their own affairs efficiently.”
“Did he know you were in his fief making inquiries?” the King asked.
Pauline allowed herself a slight smile. “I was in disguise, your majesty, posing as a commoner.”
“What about Meagher and Cordell?” Crowley asked. Along with Peller, they had been some of Morgarath’s more ardent supporters at the tournament.
“I think Morgarath has burned his bridges with them,” she said. “He lied to them when he told them you were raiding across the border, and he was caught in that lie. He also misled them about the old King.”
Morgarath had claimed that King Oswald, Duncan’s father, had been ready to disown his son and instate Morgarath as his official heir. But Pritchard, the old Ranger who had mentored both Crowley and Halt, had rescued the King from the tower where Morgarath was holding him prisoner. The King had appeared on the tournament field at a crucial moment and gave the lie to Morgarath’s statements.
“Men like that don’t appreciate being lied to,” Pauline continued.
Arald smiled grimly. “They don’t appreciate being made to look like fools, either,” he said. “That would probably turn them against Morgarath faster than the lie.”
Lady Pauline nodded. “Apparently when Morgarath arrived at their respective castles, they turned him away. That would seem to indicate that they’re no longer aligned with him.”
Duncan frowned. “Turned him away,” he repeated. “But they didn’t try to detain him. Nor did they report his attempted visit to me.”
“There’s a difference,” said Arald, “between rejecting Morgarath and wholeheartedly supporting you, your majesty. They sent him packing because he’d made them look foolish. But they haven’t aligned their loyalty with the crown.”
“I agree. They definitely bear watching,” Duncan said.
“I have agents in place doing just that, your majesty,” Pauline told him. “They’ll be sending me regular reports.”
Halt regarded the calm, self-possessed Courier with interest. So young, so very beautiful and so efficient, he thought. There were definite advantages to her appearance. A lot of men tended to discount a beautiful woman as being no more than an ornament, a social partner. The more beautiful she might be, the less they tended to regard her intelligence or ability. Big mistake, he thought.
“Thanks, Lady Pauline. Keep me informed,” Duncan said.
“There is one other matter, your majesty.” Pauline’s tone was a little uncertain, in contrast to her previous air of calm, almost matter-of-fact confidence.
Duncan inclined his head for her to elaborate. Halt noticed that Arald seemed interested as well. This was obviously not a point that she had raised with him.
Pauline looked at the faces around the table. “Has anyone here ever heard of a race of creatures known as Wargals?”
The silence and blank looks that met her question gave her the answer, so she continued. “I’ve been hearing vague rumors that Morgarath is recruiting a tribe of these creatures to act as his army.”
The others exchanged glances.
“What exactly are they?” Duncan aske
She shrugged. “I don’t know a lot. As I say, it’s only rumors and there’s not a lot of detail. It could be completely untrue. I’ve tried to find out more about these Wargals, but there’s very little written about them—and most of that could be dismissed as myth. What I have learned is that they are a primitive race of semi-human creatures. They’re basically animals—some say they’re a cross between an ape and a bear. But they’re supposedly intelligent.”
“A cross between an ape and a bear,” Crowley mused. “That would be an awfully powerful sort of creature.”
“Not the sort of things you’d want Morgarath to have as soldiers,” Duncan agreed. Halt said nothing, but his mind was racing.
“This might explain why Morgarath has been so quiet for months,” Arald said. “If he’s recruiting and training these”—he hesitated and glanced at Pauline—“Wargals?” She nodded. “Then he may have his hands full.”
“The problem is,” Crowley said, “if he is doing this, he’s doing it up in those damn mountains, and we have no way of knowing what he’s up to.”
“He’s secure up there,” Duncan said. “Three Step Pass is impenetrable. You could hold it with less than twenty men. There’s no way anyone could get up there to see what’s going on.”
“I think I could manage it,” Halt said.
5
HALT AND THE CAPTAIN OF THE TROOPS SET TO WATCH Three Step Pass crouched at the edge of the tree line, close to a concealed observation post where a detachment was stationed to keep watch over the entrance to the pass. Beyond the trees was a hundred meters of clear ground, reaching to the foot of the sheer cliffs that led to the Mountains of Rain and Night. The cliffs, rocky and formidable, towered either side of a dark fissure, barely three meters across. It split the cliffs to their crest. But the deep shadows prevented the two men seeing any detail beyond the opening.