Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup by John Flanagan
‘One moment, Halt,’ Gilan interrupted. ‘You said one person, riding two horses?’
Halt met Gilan’s gaze with his own. He could see that the young Ranger had already divined what he had in mind.
‘That’s right, Gilan,’ he said. ‘And the lightest one among us will travel fastest. I want you to turn Blaze over to Will. If he alternates between Tug and your horse, he can do it in the time.’
He saw the reluctance on Gilan’s face and understood it perfectly. No Ranger would like the idea of handing his horse over to someone else – even another Ranger. But at the same time Gilan understood the logic behind the suggestion. Halt waited for the younger man to break the silence, while Will watched the two of them, eyes wide with alarm at the thought of the responsibility that was about to be loaded onto him.
Finally, reluctantly, Gilan broke the silence.
‘I suppose it makes sense,’ he said. ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Follow behind me on foot,’ Halt said briskly, rolling the chart up and replacing it in his saddlebag. ‘If you can get hold of a horse anywhere, do so and catch up with me. Otherwise, we’ll rendezvous at Gorlan. If we miss the Kalkara there, Will can wait for you – with Blaze. I’ll keep following the Kalkara until you all catch up with me.’
Gilan nodded his acquiescence and Halt felt a surge of fondness for him as he did. Once Gilan saw the sense of his proposal, he wasn’t the kind to raise arguments or objections. He did say, rather ruefully:
‘I thought you said my sword might come in handy?’
‘I did,’ replied Halt, ‘but this gives me a chance to bring in a force of fully armoured knights, with axes and lances. And you know that’s the best way to fight the Kalkara.’
‘True,’ said Gilan, then, taking Blaze’s bridle, he knotted the reins together and threw them over the bay’s neck. ‘You may as well start out on Tug,’ he said to Will. ‘That’ll give Blaze a chance to rest. He’ll follow behind you without a lead rein and so will Tug when you’re riding Blaze. Tie the reins up like this on Tug’s neck so they don’t dangle down and snag anything.’
He began to turn back to Halt, then remembered something. ‘Oh yes, before you mount him the first time, remember to say “Brown Eyes”.’
‘Brown eyes,’ Will repeated and Gilan couldn’t help grinning.
‘Not to me. To the horse.’ It was an old Ranger joke and they all smiled. Then Halt brought them back to the business at hand.
‘Will? You’re confident you can find your way to Redmont?’
Will nodded. He touched the pocket where he kept his own copy of the chart, and glanced at the sun for direction.
‘North-west,’ he said tightly, indicating the direction he had chosen. Halt nodded, satisfied.
‘You’ll strike the Salmon River before dusk, that will give you a good reference point. And the main highway is just a little way west of the river. Keep to a steady canter all the way. Don’t try to race the horses – you’ll just tire them out that way and you’ll be slower in the long run. Travel safely now.’
Halt swung up into Abelard’s saddle and Will mounted Tug. Gilan pointed to Will and spoke in Blaze’s ear.
‘Follow, Blaze. Follow.’ The bay horse, intelligent as all Ranger horses were, tossed its head as if in acknowledgement of the order. Before they parted, Will had one more question that had been bothering him.
‘Halt,’ he said, ‘the Ruins of Gorlan … what exactly are they?’
‘It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ Halt replied. ‘They’re the ruins of Castle Gorlan, Morgarath’s former fiefdom.’
The ride to Castle Redmont soon settled into a blur of weariness. The two horses maintained the steady lope for which they had been bred. The temptation, of course, was to urge Tug into a wild gallop, with Blaze following behind. But Will knew that such a course would be self-defeating. He was moving at the horses’ best speed. As old Bob, the horse trainer, had told him, Ranger horses could maintain a canter all day without tiring.
It was a different matter for the rider. Added to the physical effort of moving constantly to the rhythm of whichever horse he was riding – and the two had distinctly different gaits, due to their difference in size – was the equally debilitating mental strain.
What if Halt were wrong? What if the Kalkara had suddenly veered to the west and were heading now on a course that would intercept his? What if he made some terrible mistake and failed to reach Redmont in time?
That last fear, the fear of self-doubt, was the hardest one of all to deal with. In spite of the hard training he had undergone over the past months, he was still little more than a boy. What was more, he had always had Halt’s judgement and experience to rely on in the past. Now he was alone – and he knew how much depended on his ability to carry out the task he had been set.
The thoughts, the doubts, the fears crowded his tired mind, tumbling over each other, jostling for position. The Salmon River came and went beneath the steady rhythm of his horses’ hooves. He paused to water the horses briefly at the bridge then, once on the King’s Highway, he made excellent time, with only short halts at regular intervals to change his mount.
The day’s shadows lengthened and the trees overhanging the road grew dark and menacing. Each noise from the darkening trees, each vaguely seen movement in the shadows, brought his heart to his mouth with a lurch.
Here, an owl hooted and stooped to fasten its claws round an unwary mouse. There, a badger prowled, hunting its prey like a grey shadow in the undergrowth of the forest. With each movement and noise, Will’s imagination worked overtime. He began to see great black figures – much as he imagined a Kalkara would look – in every patch of shadow, in every dark clump of bushes that stirred with the light breeze. Reason told him that there was almost no chance that the Kalkara would be seeking him out. Imagination and fear replied that they were abroad somewhere – and who was to say they weren’t close by?
Imagination and fear won.
And so the long, fear-filled night passed, until the low light of dawn found a weary figure hunched in the saddle of a sturdy, barrel-chested horse that drove steadily onwards to the north-west.
Dozing in the saddle, Will snapped awake with a start, feeling the first warmth of the sun’s rays upon him. Gently, he reined Tug in and the little horse stood, head down, sides heaving. Will realised he had been riding far longer than he should have been, his fear having driven him to keep Tug running through the darkness, long after he should have rested him. He dismounted stiffly, aching in every joint, and paused to rub the horse’s soft nose affectionately.
‘Sorry, boy,’ he said. Tug, reacting to the touch and the voice that he now knew so well, tossed his head and shook his shaggy mane. If Will had asked it, he would have continued, uncomplaining, until he dropped. Will looked around. The cheerful light of early morning had dispelled all the dark fears of the night before. Now, he felt slightly foolish as he remembered those moments of choking panic. Stiffly, he dismounted, then loosened the girth straps on the saddle. He gave his horse ten minutes respite, until Tug’s breathing seemed to settle and his sides ceased heaving. Then, marvelling at the recuperative powers and endurance of the Ranger horse breed, he tightened the girths on Blaze’s saddle and swung astride the bay, groaning softly as he did so. Ranger horses might recover quickly. Ranger apprentices took a little longer.
It was late morning when Castle Redmont finally came in sight.
Will was riding Tug again, the small horse seemingly none the worse for the hard night he’d put in, as they crested the last row of hills and the green valley of Arald’s barony stretched out before them.
Exhausted, Will stopped for a few seconds, leaning tiredly on the pommel. They’d come so far, so quickly. He looked with relief on the familiar sight of the castle – and the tidy little village that nestled contentedly in its shadow. Smoke was rising from chimneys. Farmers were walking slowly home from their fields for their midday meal. The castle itself stood solid and
‘It all looks so … normal,’ Will said to his horse.
Somehow, he realised, he had been expecting to find things changed. The Kingdom was about to go to war again for the first time in fifteen years, but here life went on as normal.
Then, realising he was wasting time, he urged Tug forward until he was stretched out in a gallop, both boy and horse eager to finish this final leg of their journey.
People looked up in surprise at the rapid passing of the small, green and grey clad figure, hunched low over the neck of his dusty horse, with a larger bay horse following behind. One or two of the villagers recognised Will and called a greeting. But their words were lost in the rattle of hooves.
The rattle turned to an echoing drumming as they swept across the lowered drawbridge into the foreyard of the castle itself. Then the drumming became an urgent clattering on the cobblestones of the yard. Will drew back lightly on the reins and Tug slid to a halt by the entrance to Baron Arald’s tower.
The two men at arms on duty there, surprised by his sudden appearance and breakneck pace, stepped forward and barred his path with their crossed pikes.
‘Just a moment, you!’ said one of them, a corporal. ‘Where do you think you’re off to in such a clatter and a rush?’
Will opened his mouth to reply but before words could form, an angry voice boomed from behind him.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, you idiot? Don’t you recognise a King’s Ranger when you see one?’
It was Sir Rodney, striding across the courtyard on his way to see the Baron. The two sentries stiffened to attention as Will turned, gratefully, to the Battlemaster.
‘Sir Rodney,’ he said, ‘I have an urgent message from Halt for Lord Arald and yourself.’
As Halt had observed to Will after the boar hunt, the Battlemaster was a shrewd man. He took in Will’s dishevelled clothing, the two dusty horses, standing, heads drooping tiredly, and realised this was no time for a lot of foolish questions. He jerked a thumb at the doorway.
‘Best come in and tell us then.’ He turned to the sentries. ‘Have these horses looked after. Feed and water them.’
‘Not too much of either, please, Sir Rodney,’ Will said quickly. ‘Just a small amount of grain and water, and maybe you could have them rubbed down. I’ll be needing them again soon.’
Rodney’s eyebrows rose at that. Will and the horses looked as if they could use a long rest.
‘Something must be urgent,’ he said, adding to the corporal, ‘See to the horses then. And have food brought to Baron Arald’s study – and a jug of cold milk.’
The two knights whistled in astonishment as Will told them the news. Word had already come that Morgarath was mustering his army and the Baron had sent out messengers to assemble his own troops – both knights and men at arms. But the news of the Kalkara was something else entirely. No hint of that had reached Castle Redmont.
‘You say Halt thinks they may be going after the King?’ Baron Arald asked as Will finished speaking. Will nodded, then hesitated before he added:
‘Yes, my lord. But I think there’s another possibility.’
He was loath to go further but the Baron gestured for him to continue and he finally gave voice to the suspicion that had been building inside him through the long night and day.
‘Sir … I think maybe there’s a chance that they’re after Halt himself.’
Once the suspicion was voiced, and the fear was out in the open to be examined and evaluated, he felt the better for it. Somewhat to his surprise, Baron Arald didn’t dismiss the idea. He stroked his beard thoughtfully as he digested the words.
‘Go on,’ he said, wanting to hear Will’s reasoning.
‘It’s just that Halt felt Morgarath might be looking for revenge – looking to punish those who fought him last time. And I thought, probably Halt did him the most harm of all, didn’t he?’
‘That’s true enough,’ said Rodney.
‘And I thought, maybe the Kalkara knew we were following them – the Plainsman had plenty of time to find them and tell them. And maybe they were leading Halt on, until they found a place for an ambush. So while he thinks he’s hunting them, he’s actually the one being hunted.’
‘And the Ruins of Gorlan would be an ideal place for it,’ Arald agreed. ‘In that tumble of rocks, they could be on him before he had a chance to use that longbow of his. Well, Rodney, there’s no time to waste. You and I will go immediately. Half armour, I think. We’ll move faster that way. Lances, axes and broadswords. And we’ll take two horses each – we’ll follow Will’s example there. We’ll leave in an hour. Have Karel gather another ten knights and follow us as soon as he can.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the Battlemaster replied.
Baron Arald turned back to Will.
‘You’ve done a good job, Will. We’ll take care of this now. As for you, you look as if you could use eight hours’ solid sleep.’
Wearily, aching in every muscle and joint, Will drew himself erect.
‘I’d like to come with you, my lord,’ he said. He sensed that the Baron was about to disagree and added hurriedly, ‘Sir, none of us know what is going to happen and Gilan is out there somewhere on foot. Besides …’ He hesitated.
‘Go on, Will,’ the Baron said quietly and, when the boy looked up, Arald saw the steel in his eyes.
‘Halt is my master, sir, and he’s in danger. My place is with him,’ Will said.
The Baron assessed him shrewdly, then came to a decision.
‘Very well. But at least you can get an hour’s rest. There’s a cot in that annexe over there.’ He indicated a curtained-off section of the study. ‘Why don’t you use it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Will gratefully. His eyes felt as if he’d had handfuls of sand rubbed into them. He had never been happier to obey an order in his life.
Through that long afternoon, Will felt as if he had lived his entire life in the saddle, his only respite being the hourly changes from one horse to another.
A brief pause to dismount, loosen the girth straps of the horse he had been riding, tighten those on the horse which had been following, then he would remount and ride on. Again and again, he marvelled at the amazing endurance shown by Tug and Blaze as they maintained their steady canter. He even had to rein them in a little, to keep pace with the battlehorses ridden by the two knights. Big, powerful and trained for war as they might be, they couldn’t match the constant pace of the Ranger horses, in spite of the fact that they were fresh when the small party had left Castle Redmont.
They rode without speaking. There was no time for idle talk and, even if there had been, it would have been difficult to hear one another above the drumming thunder of the four heavy battlehorses, the lighter rattle of Tug and Blaze’s hooves and the constant clank of equipment and weapons that accompanied them as they rode.
Both men carried long war lances – hard ash poles more than three metres in length, tipped with a heavy iron point. In addition, each had a broadsword strapped to his saddle – huge, two-handed weapons that dwarfed the swords they normally wore in day-to-day use – and Rodney had a heavy battleaxe slung at the rear right pommel of his saddle. It was the lances on which they would place greatest trust, however. They would keep the Kalkara at a distance, and so reduce the chance that the knights might be frozen by the terrifying stare of the two beasts. Apparently, the hypnotic gaze was only effective at close quarters. If a man couldn’t see the eyes clearly, there was little chance of their paralysing him with their gaze.
The sun was dropping fast behind them, throwing their shadows out before them, long and distorted by the low angle light. Arald glanced over his shoulder at the sun’s position and called to Will.
‘How long before dusk, Will?’
Will turned in his saddle and frowned at the descending ball of light before answering.
‘Less than an hour, my lord.’
The Baron shook his head d
The hour’s rest at the castle had done wonders for Will. But it seemed that it had happened in another lifetime now. He thought over the cursory briefing that Arald had given as they mounted to leave Redmont. If they found the Kalkara at the Ruins of Gorlan, Will was to hold back while the Baron and Sir Rodney charged the two monsters. There were no complex tactics involved, just a headlong charge that might take the two killers by surprise.
‘If Halt’s there, I’m sure he’ll take a hand too. But I want you well back out of harm’s way, Will. That bow of yours won’t make any impression on a Kalkara.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Will had said. He had no intention of getting close to the Kalkara. He was more than content to leave things to the two knights, protected by their shields, helmets and half armour of chain mail shirts and leggings. However, Arald’s next words quickly dispelled any overconfidence he might have had in their ability to deal with the beasts.
‘If the damn things get the better of us, I’ll want you to ride for more help. Karel and the others will be somewhere behind us. Find them, then go after the Kalkara with them. Track those beasts down and kill them.’
Will had said nothing to that. The fact that Arald even contemplated failure, when he and Rodney were the two foremost knights within a two hundred kilometre radius, spoke volumes of his concern about the Kalkara. For the first time, Will realised that in this contest, the odds were heavily against them.
The sun was trembling on the brink of the world, the shadows at their longest, and they still had several kilometres to go. Baron Arald raised a hand and brought the party to a stop. He glanced at Rodney and jerked a thumb at the bundle of pitch-soaked torches each man carried behind his saddle.