Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup by John Flanagan
Will shook his head in admiration. Halt’s powers of observation were uncanny. No wonder people at the castle held him in such awe!
‘Now then,’ Halt said sternly, ‘why are you skulking there? Who told you to spy on us?’
The old man rubbed his hands nervously together, his eyes flicking from Halt’s forbidding expression to the arrow tip, lowered now but still nocked to the string on Will’s bow.
‘Not spying, sir! No, no! Not spying. I heard you coming and thought you was that monster porker coming back!’
Halt’s eyebrows drew together. ‘You thought I was a wild boar?’ he asked. Again, the farmer shook his head.
‘No. No. No. No,’ he gabbled. ‘Leastways, not once I’d saw you! But then I wasn’t sure who you might be. Could be bandits, like.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Halt asked. ‘You’re not a local, are you?’
The farmer, anxious to please, shook his head once again.
‘Come from over Willowtree Creek, I do!’ he said. ‘Been trailing that porker and hoping to find someone as could turn him into bacon.’
Halt was suddenly vitally interested. He dropped the mock severe tone in which he had been talking.
‘You’ve seen the boar, then?’ he asked and the farmer rubbed his hands again and looked fearfully round, as if nervous that the ‘porker’ would appear from the trees any minute.
‘Seen him. Heard him. Don’t want to see him no more. He’s a bad ’un, sir, mark my words.’
Halt glanced back at the tracks again.
‘He’s certainly a big one, anyway,’ he mused.
‘And evil, sir!’ the farmer went on. ‘That ’un has a real devil of a temper in him. Why, he’d as soon tear up a man or a horse as have his breakfast, he would!’
‘So what did you have in mind for him?’ Halt asked, then added, ‘What’s your name, by the way?’
The farmer bobbed his head and knuckled his forehead in salute.
‘Peter, sir. Salt Peter, they calls me, on account of I likes a little salt on my meat, I do.’
Halt nodded. ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said patiently. ‘But what were you hoping to do about this boar?’
Salt Peter scratched his head and looked a little lost. ‘Don’t rightly know. Hoped maybe I’d find a soldier or a warrior or a knight to get rid of him. Or maybe a Ranger,’ he added as an afterthought.
Will grinned. Halt stood up from where he’d gone down on one knee to examine the tracks in the snow. He dusted a little snow from his knee and walked back to where Salt Peter stood, nervously shifting from one foot to another.
‘Has he been causing a lot of trouble?’ the Ranger asked and the old farmer nodded rapidly, several times.
‘That he has, sir! That he has! Killed three dogs. Tore up fields and fences, he has. And as near as anything killed my son-in-law when he tried to stop him. Like I said, sir, he’s a bad ’un!’
Halt rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘Well, there’s no question that we’d better do something about it.’ He looked up at the sun, sitting low to the horizon in the western sky, then turned to Will. ‘How much daylight would you say is left, Will?’
Will studied the position of the sun. These days, Halt never missed an opportunity to teach him or question him or test his knowledge and developing skills. He knew it was best to consider carefully before making an answer. Halt preferred accurate replies, not fast ones.
‘A little over an hour?’ Will said. He saw Halt’s eyebrows draw together in a frown and remembered that the Ranger also disliked being answered with a question.
‘Are you asking me, or telling me?’ Halt said. Will shook his head, annoyed at himself.
‘A little over an hour,’ he replied more confidently and, this time, the Ranger nodded agreement.
‘Correct.’ He turned to the old farmer again. ‘Very well, Salt Peter, I want you to take a message to Baron Arald.’
‘Baron Arald?’ the farmer asked nervously. Halt frowned again.
‘See what you’ve done?’ he said to Will. ‘You’ve got him answering questions with questions now!’
‘Sorry,’ Will mumbled, grinning in spite of himself. Halt shook his head and continued speaking to Salt Peter.
‘That’s right, Baron Arald. You’ll find his castle a couple of kilometres along this track.’
Salt Peter peered under one hand, looking along the track as if he could see the castle already. ‘A castle, you say?’ he said, in a wondering voice. ‘I’ve never seen a castle!’
Halt sighed impatiently. Keeping this old chatterbox’s mind on the subject was beginning to make him short-tempered. ‘That’s right, a castle. Now, go to the guard at the gate …’
‘Is it a big castle?’ asked the old fellow.
‘It’s a huge castle!’ Halt roared at him. Salt Peter bounded back in fright. He had a hurt look on his face.
‘No need to bellow, young man,’ he said huffily. ‘I were only asking, is all.’
‘Well then, stop interrupting me,’ said the Ranger. ‘We’re wasting time here. Now, are you listening?’
Salt Peter nodded.
‘Good,’ Halt continued. ‘Go to the guard on the gate and say you have a message from Halt for Baron Arald.’
A look of recognition spread across the old man’s face.
‘Halt?’ he asked. ‘Not the Ranger Halt?’
‘Yes,’ replied Halt wearily. ‘The Ranger Halt.’
‘The one who led the ambush on Morgarath’s Wargals?’ asked Salt Peter.
‘The same,’ said Halt, in a dangerously low voice. Salt Peter looked around him.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m Halt!’ the Ranger thundered at him, placing his face a few centimetres from Salt Peter’s as he did so. Again, the old farmer recoiled a few steps. Then he gathered his courage and shook his head in disbelief.
‘No, no, no,’ he said definitely. ‘You can’t be him. Why, the Ranger Halt is as tall as two men – and as broad. A giant of a man, he is! Brave, fierce in battle, he is. You couldn’t be him.’
Halt turned away, trying to regain his temper. Will couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face again.
‘I … am … Halt,’ said the Ranger, spacing his words out so that Salt Peter couldn’t make any mistake. ‘I was taller when I was young, and a lot broader. But now I’m this size.’ He thrust his glittering eyes close to the farmer’s and glared at him. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Well, if you say so …’ said Salt Peter. He still didn’t believe the Ranger but there was a very dangerous gleam in Halt’s eyes that warned him it would not be wise to disagree any further.
‘Good,’ said Halt icily. ‘Now, tell the Baron that Halt and Will …’
Salt Peter opened his mouth to ask another question. Halt clamped his hand over the old man’s mouth immediately and pointed to where Will stood beside Tug.
‘That’s Will there.’ Salt Peter nodded, his eyes wide over the hand that was clamped firmly over his mouth, stopping any further questions or interruptions. The Ranger continued:
‘Tell him Halt and Will are tracking a wild boar. When we find its lair, we’ll return to the castle. In the meantime, the Baron should gather his men for a hunt tomorrow morning.’
He slowly took his hand down from the farmer’s mouth. ‘Have you got all that?’ the Ranger asked. Salt Peter nodded carefully. ‘Then repeat it back to me,’ Halt prompted.
‘Go to the castle, tell the gate guard I have a message from you … Halt … for the Baron. Tell the Baron that you … Halt … and him … Will … are tracking a wild boar to find its lair. Tell him to have his men ready for a hunt tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ said Halt. He gestured to Will and the two of them swung back into their saddles. Salt Peter stood uncertainly on the track, looking up at them.
‘Off you go,’ said Halt, pointing in the direction of the castle. The old farmer went a few paces then,
‘I don’t believes you, you know! Nobody grows shorter and thinner!’
Halt sighed and turned his horse away into the forest.
They rode slowly through the failing light, leaning sideways in their saddles to follow the trail left by the boar.
They had no trouble tracking him. The huge body had left a deep trench in the thick snow. Even without the snow, Will thought, it would have been easy. The boar was obviously in a very bad temper. It had slashed at the surrounding trees and shrubs with its tusks as it went, leaving a clear-cut path of destruction through the forest.
‘Halt?’ he said tentatively, when they had gone a kilometre or so into the dense trees.
‘Mmmm?’ said Halt, a little absently.
‘Why bother the Baron? Couldn’t we simply kill the boar with our bows?’
Halt shook his head.
‘He’s a big one, Will. You can see the size of the trail he’s left. We could take half a dozen arrows to kill him, and even then he’d take time to die. With a brute like this, it’s better to make sure.’
‘How do we do that?’
Halt looked up for a second. ‘I suppose you’ve never seen a boar hunt?’
Will shook his head. Halt reined in for a few seconds to explain and Will brought Tug to a stop beside him.
‘Well, first,’ said the Ranger, ‘we’ll need dogs. That’s another reason why we can’t simply finish him off with our bows. When we find him, he’ll have most likely gone to ground in a thicket or in dense bushes where we can’t get at him. The dogs will drive him out and we’ll have a ring of men around the lair with boar spears.’
‘And they throw them at him?’ Will asked. Halt shook his head.
‘Not if they have any brains,’ he said. ‘The boar spear is more than two metres long, with a double-sided blade and a crosspiece set behind the blade. The idea is to make the boar charge at the spearman. Then he sets the butt of the spear in the ground and lets the boar run onto it. The crosspiece stops the boar running right down the shaft and getting the spearman.’
Will looked doubtful. ‘That sounds dangerous.’
The Ranger nodded. ‘It is. But men like the Baron and Sir Rodney and the other knights love it. They wouldn’t miss the chance of a boar hunt for worlds.’
‘What about you?’ asked Will. ‘Will you have a boar spear?’
Halt shook his head. ‘I’ll be sitting right here on Abelard,’ he said. ‘And you’ll be on Tug, in case the boar breaks through the ring of men around him. Or in case he’s just wounded and gets away.’
‘What do we do if that happens?’ Will asked.
‘We run him down before he can go to ground again,’ said Halt grimly. ‘And then we kill him with our bows.’
The following day was a Saturday and, after breakfast, the Battleschool students were free to spend the day as they pleased. In Horace’s case, this usually meant trying to stay out of sight whenever Alda, Bryn and Jerome came looking for him. But lately they’d realised he was avoiding them and had taken to waiting for him outside the mess hall. As he came out onto the parade ground this morning, he saw them waiting, smiling at him. He hesitated. It was too late to turn back. With a sinking heart, he continued on towards them.
‘Horace!’ He was startled by a voice coming from right behind him. He turned and saw Sir Rodney watching him, a curious look in his eyes as he glanced at the three second year cadets waiting in the yard. Horace wondered if the Battlemaster knew about the treatment he was getting. He assumed he did. Horace guessed it was part of the toughening process of Battleschool.
‘Sir!’ he replied, wondering what he’d done wrong. Rodney’s features softened and he smiled at the young man. He seemed extraordinarily pleased about something.
‘Relax, Horace. It’s Saturday, after all. Ever been on a boar hunt?’
‘Um … no, sir.’ In spite of Sir Rodney’s invitation to relax, he remained stiffly at attention.
‘Time you did then. Draw a boar spear and hunting knife from the armoury, have Ulf assign you a horse and report back here in twenty minutes.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Horace replied. Sir Rodney rubbed his hands together with evident pleasure.
‘Seems Halt and his apprentice have scared us up a wild boar. Time we all had a bit of fun.’ He grinned encouragingly at the apprentice, then strode away eagerly to get his own equipment ready. When Horace turned back to the yard, he noticed that Alda, Bryn and Jerome were nowhere to be seen. He might have thought more about why the three bullies would disappear when Sir Rodney was around, but he had too much on his mind, wondering what he’d be expected to do in a boar hunt.
It was midmorning by the time Halt led the hunting party to the boar’s lair.
The huge animal had gone to ground in a dense clump of undergrowth deep inside the forest. Halt and Will had found the hiding place just before dark the previous evening.
Now, as they approached, Halt made a signal and the Baron and his hunters dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of one of the stable hands who had accompanied them. They covered the last few hundred metres on foot. Halt and Will were the only two who remained on horseback.
There were fifteen hunters in all, each one armed with a boar spear of the type Halt had described. They spread out in a wide circle as they came closer to the boar’s lair. Will was a little surprised to recognise Horace as one of the hunting group. He was the only apprentice warrior in the party. All the others were knights.
With a hundred metres to go, Halt held up his hand, signalling the hunters to stop. He urged Abelard into a gentle trot and crossed to where Will sat nervously astride Tug. The little horse was moving restlessly as he scented the presence of the boar.
‘Remember,’ the Ranger said quietly to Will, ‘if you have to shoot, aim for a spot just behind the left shoulder. A clean shot to the heart will be your only chance to stop him if he’s charging.’
Will nodded, licking his dry lips nervously. He reached forward and comforted Tug with a quick pat on the neck. The little horse tossed his head in response to his master’s touch.
‘And stay close to the Baron,’ Halt reminded him, before moving to resume his position on the opposite side of the circle of hunters.
Halt was in the position of most danger, accompanying the hunters who were least experienced – and therefore most likely to make a mistake. If the boar broke through the ring on his side, he would be responsible for chasing it down and killing it. He had assigned Will to stay with the Baron and the more experienced of the hunters, where there was less likely to be trouble. This placed him close to Horace as well. Sir Rodney had positioned the apprentice between himself and the Baron. After all, this was the boy’s first hunt and the Battlemaster didn’t want to take any undue risks. Horace was there to watch and learn. If the boar charged in their direction, he was to let the Baron or Sir Rodney take care of it.
Horace glanced up once, making eye contact with Will. There was no animosity in the look. In fact, he gave the Ranger’s apprentice a strained half smile. Will realised, watching Horace lick his lips over and over again, that the other boy was every bit as nervous as he was himself.
Halt signalled again and the circle began closing in on the thicket. As the circle became smaller, Will lost sight of his teacher and the other men on the far side of the boar’s lair. He knew, from Tug’s continued nervousness, that the boar must be inside the bushes still. But Tug was well trained and continued to move in as his rider urged him gently forward.
A deep roaring sound came from inside the thicket and Will’s hair stood on end. He’d never heard the cry of an angry wild boar before. The noise was halfway between a grunt and a scream and, for a moment, the hunters hesitated.
‘He’s in there all right!’ called the Baron, grinning at Will with excitement. ‘Let’s hope he comes out on our side, eh, boys?’
Will wasn’t at all
But the Baron and Sir Rodney were both grinning like schoolboys as they readied their boar spears. They were enjoying this, just as Halt had said they would. Quickly, Will unslung his bow from across his shoulders and fitted an arrow to the string. He fingered the tip for a moment, making sure it was still razor-sharp. His throat was dry. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to talk if anyone spoke to him.
The dogs plunged against their restraining leashes, setting the echoes awake in the forest with their excited baying. It was their noise that had aroused the boar. Now, as they continued to give voice, Will could hear the huge animal slashing and cutting at the trees and shrubs in its lair with its long tusks.
The Baron turned to Bert, his dog handler, and made a hand signal for the hounds to be released.
The big, powerful animals were gone almost instantly, flashing across the cleared space to the thicket and disappearing inside. They were savage, heavily built beasts, bred specifically for the purpose of hunting boar.
The noise from the thicket was indescribable. The furious baying of the dogs was joined by the blood-chilling screams of the angry boar. There was a crashing and snapping of bushes and young saplings. The very thicket seemed to shake.
Then, suddenly, the boar was in the clear.
He came out halfway round the circle, between the points where Will and Halt were stationed. With an infuriated scream, he threw off one of the dogs that still clung to him, paused a moment, then charged at the hunters with blinding speed.
The young knight directly in front of the boar’s charge didn’t hesitate. He dropped to one knee, bracing the butt end of his spear into the ground and presenting the gleaming point to the charging animal.
The boar had no chance to turn. His own rush carried him onto the spear head. He plunged upwards, screaming in pain and fury, trying to dislodge the killing piece of steel. But the young knight held grimly to the spear, holding it firmly against the ground and giving the enraged animal no chance to throw it free.