Halt's Peril

by John Flanagan

  'What happened?' Horace interrupted, sensing they might launch into one of those interminable exchanges of banter that Rangers seemed so fond of. 'Did you get them?'

  'One of them,' Will replied, the smile on his face fading quickly. 'The other one got away.'

  'Only one?' Horace said, before he could stop himself. He wasn't used to partial success from the Rangers. Then he noticed their expressions and realised that his exclamation might have been a little tactless.

  'I mean,' he amended hastily, 'that's excellent. Well done.' He paused awkwardly, waiting for a sarcastic reply. He was faintly surprised when none came.

  The truth was, of course, that both Halt and Will agreed with the sentiment he'd expressed. Both of them wished they had managed a more complete result. And although neither would voice the thought aloud, they both felt they had left the job half done.

  Horace regarded them for a second or two, puzzled at their non-reaction, then he gestured for them to come into the camp site, where he had a small fire burning, and the ever-present coffee pot sitting ready by its side.

  'Sit down,' he told them. 'I'll make coffee and you can tell me what happened.'

  They briefly recounted the events among the drowned trees. Neither of them mentioned the moments of dry-mouthed fear as they faced up to an invisible enemy, knowing that the first sign they might have of him was the sudden flash of a crossbow bolt coming at them. Similarly, Will omitted to mention the desperate moments he had spent freeing himself from the stay-with-me vine's thorns. A few more seconds' delay there, he realised, and he might not have arrived in time to save Halt from that first crossbow bolt. He pushed the thought aside. That was the sort of detail that didn't need pondering.

  'So what do we do now?' Horace asked, as they sat cross-legged round the small fire, sipping their coffee. 'Do you think the survivor will be likely to set up another ambush?'

  Will and Horace both looked at Halt as he considered the question.

  'I doubt it,' he said at length. 'The Genovesans are mercenaries. They fight for money, not for any cause or out of any sense of commitment. And our friend knows that now the odds are stacked against him. If he waits for us again, he might get one of us. But the chances are that the other one will get him. That's not good business. It might suit Tennyson's purpose but I doubt he'll be able to convince our purple friend that he should give his life for the Outsiders' cause.'

  He glanced towards the west. Already the sun had dipped well below the tops of the dead trees. Nightfall would be upon them soon.

  'We'll camp here for the night,' he declared.

  'And tomorrow?' Will asked him.

  Halt turned and reached behind him for his saddle bag. He winced in discomfort as he stretched his left arm towards them. The wound had dried and stiffened and the movement set the blood welling again inside the bandage. Horace rose quickly to his feet and fetched the saddle bag for him.

  'Thanks, Horace,' he said. He took his map out of the saddle bag and spread it out before him.

  'Pity that map doesn't indicate the dead forest,' Will said. Halt nodded agreement.

  'It will after this,' he said. 'It's actually shown here as Ethelsten Forest. Doesn't mention that it's all dead trees. But it does show something that is important to us.'

  Will edged round to see the map more clearly and Horace knelt on one knee behind Halt, gazing over his shoulder.

  'I don't think our friend will lie in wait for us again, but I could be wrong. And "I was wrong" have been the last words of too many careless travellers. So I'm not about to blindly follow him through that forest again. We'll go in further along – say, down here about a kilometre or so to the west of where we are now, and make our way through from there.'

  'How will we pick up their tracks again?' Will asked. 'They could have gone in any direction once they're through the forest.'

  'Could have,' Halt said. 'But any direction they go, they're hemmed in by the river that caused all this trouble.' He indicated the grey trunks, now ghostly in the evening shadows. 'No matter where they're heading, they'll have to cross it. And there's only one ford within fifteen kilometres. That's where they'll have headed.'

  'True,' said Horace, with a grin. 'Somehow I can't see Tennyson being too keen to swim across a deep river and get himself all soaking wet.'

  'He is a man who enjoys his comforts, isn't he?' Halt agreed dryly. 'But that's another reason for us to move west a little before we head into the forest again. Aside from avoiding any further traps set by that purple assassin, it'll bring us out close by the ford.'

  'Where we should pick up their tracks again,' Will said, with a sense of satisfaction.

  'With any luck,' Halt agreed. He rolled up the map and replaced it in his saddle bag. 'And I think it's time a little luck went our way for a change. The other side seem to be getting the lion's share.'

  'Except for the one who's still in the forest,' Will said.

  Halt nodded. 'Yes. Except for him. I suppose I'm being ungrateful. We've had our share of good luck today.'

  Which was ironic, in the light of what was to happen the following morning.

  Twenty-four

  The day started normally enough. The three travellers rose early. It was going to be a long day in the saddle, so they ate a substantial breakfast, then broke camp and rode west through the grassland along the forest's fringe. After several kilometres, Halt spotted a narrow path between the trees, swung Abelard's head south and led the way into the forest.

  Will and Halt were familiar with the sepulchral feeling of the grey, lifeless shapes massed around them. Horace, on the other hand, was a little overawed by his surroundings. His eyes darted continuously from side to side, trying to pierce the blur of dead trunks.

  'How did you manage to see anyone in this mess?' he asked. The two Rangers grinned at him.

  'It wasn't easy,' Will said. The monotone colouring of the trees tended to destroy any sense of perspective, as he had noted the day before.

  'Gilan did well to get the first one,' Halt said absently.

  Will looked at him with a slight frown. 'Gilan?'

  Halt looked at him curiously. 'What about him?' he asked, his face blank.

  'You said, "Gilan did well to get the first one",' Horace explained. Now it was Halt's turn to frown.

  'No I didn't,' he said. Then he added, 'Did I?'

  The expressions on the faces of his two companions told him that he had said Gilan. He shook his head and gave a short laugh.

  'I meant Will,' he said. 'Sorry, Will. You know I'm always confusing the two of you.'

  'No matter,' said Will. But as they rode on, he felt a worm of worry in his mind. He had never before known Halt to confuse him with Gilan. He glanced quickly at Horace but the tall warrior seemed satisfied with the explanation, so he let it pass.

  There was little opportunity to discuss it as they traversed the forest. Halt spread them out in single file at five-metre intervals, just in case the surviving Genovesan had decided to set another trap, and had discovered the path they were taking. This time, feeling sympathy for Horace, Will acted as the rearguard, regularly checking the trail behind them for any sign of pursuit.

  All three of them heaved silent sighs of relief when they finally emerged from the drowned forest. Ahead of them lay grasslands, and, once they topped the low ridge on the far side of the forest, the tree-covered banks of the river wound before them.

  'I'm glad to be out of those trees,' Horace said.

  Halt smiled at him. 'Yes. I couldn't help thinking those damn Genovesans might have something cooked up for us.'

  Again, Will frowned. 'Those Genovesans? How many do you think there are?'

  Halt looked at him, momentarily confused.

  'Two,' he said. Then he shook his head. 'No. One, of course. You got one of them, didn't you?'

  'We both got him,' Will reminded him and Halt looked blank for a moment, then nodded, as if remembering.

  'Of course.' He paused, frowned aga
in and asked, 'Did I say two?'

  'Yes,' Will said. Halt gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head, as if to clear it.

  'Must be getting absentminded,' he said cheerfully.

  Now it was Will's turn to frown. He was beginning to sense that something was very wrong. Halt wasn't usually so affable. And he definitely wasn't absentminded. He spoke tentatively now, not wanting to offend his teacher.

  'Halt? Are you sure you're all right?'

  'Of course I am,' Halt said, with a trace of his usual asperity. 'Now let's find that ford, shall we?'

  He touched his heels to Abelard and surged ahead of them, cutting off further conversation on the matter. As he rode, Will noticed that he was rubbing his injured left arm.

  'Is your arm all right?' he called.

  Halt immediately stopped rubbing it. 'It's fine,' he replied shortly, in a tone that brooked no further discussion on the matter. Behind him, riding side by side, Will and Horace exchanged slightly puzzled looks. Then Horace shrugged. It wasn't the first time that Halt's behaviour or demeanour had ever puzzled him. He was used to the older Ranger's unpredictable moods. Will was less inclined to dismiss the matter, but he hesitated to say anything to Horace about his growing concern – partly because he wasn't completely sure what he was concerned about.

  They came to the ford, a place where the river widened, so that the fast-flowing water slowed somewhat, and shallowed as it spread out to fill the wider space between the banks. Halt rode forward until Abelard was fetlock-deep in the water. He leaned out to the side, staring down into the clear water below him and ahead of him.

  'Clean sandy bottom by the look of it,' he said. 'Seems to stay shallow enough.' He urged Abelard forward, walking him out to the centre of the river. The water rose slowly past the little horse's knees as he moved forward, then stayed at a constant depth.

  'Come ahead,' he called to Will and Horace, and they splashed through the water after him. As they came level with him, they slowed and he proceeded, checking the bottom carefully as he went. They let him go a few paces, then followed, maintaining their distance behind him in case of an unexpected deep hole in the river bed. But there was none and the water level began to fall again as they passed the midpoint. A few minutes later, they splashed up onto the far bank.

  'Well, well. What do we see here?' Halt asked. He was pointing to the river bank where it sloped gently up from the water. The ground was muddy and it had been heavily travelled only recently. There were multiple tracks leading away from the bank.

  Will dismounted and knelt to study the tracks. He found several familiar signs among them, noting that the bulk of their quarry was still on foot.

  'It's them all right,' he said, looking up at Halt. The grey-bearded Ranger nodded and swept his gaze round the horizon before them.

  'Still heading south?' he said.

  'Still heading south.'

  Halt pondered the information for a few seconds, then scratched his bearded chin. 'Maybe we should camp here for the night.'

  Will looked sharply at him, not sure if he'd heard him correctly.

  'Camp?' he said, his voice rising in pitch. 'Halt, it's barely noon! We've hours of daylight left!'

  The Ranger seemed to absorb this information. Then he nodded assent.

  'Right. We'll push on then. Lead the way.'

  Halt seemed remote, Will thought as he swung up into Tug's saddle. He nodded from time to time, as if he were going over information in his mind. And as he nodded, he muttered to himself, but in a low tone so that Will couldn't make out the words. The small thread of worry Will had felt earlier in the day was now a broad ribbon of concern. There was definitely something wrong with his old mentor. In all the years they had been together, Will had never seen him so . . . he searched for the right word and found it eventually . . . disconnected from the world around him.

  They emerged from the band of trees that lined the banks of the river and now they were travelling more open country – grassland interspersed with clumps of trees and low-lying bushes.

  They had left the coarse heather and gorse of the border country behind them and the land was more lush and gentle. In the distance, Will could see a dim line that marked a range of hills. He estimated that they were at least a day's travel away, possibly more. The clear air made distances deceptive.

  'Looks like they're heading for those hills,' he said.

  'That'd make sense,' Halt replied. 'The map says there are caves all through them. And the Outsiders just love to hide away in dark places. I think we'll go into combat formation,' he added.

  Will glanced at him, but the suggestion made sense. The countryside here was open and the going was easy. There was no reason to bunch up together on the trail. Combat formation meant they would ride on a wide front, with some thirty metres between them. That made them a more difficult target and it allowed each of them to provide cover and support for his companions if necessary.

  Will edged Tug out to the left, while Horace went right. Halt stayed in the centre and they rode quietly, in a long extended line, for about an hour. Then Halt whistled and placed his clenched fist on top of his head, the field signal for 'join me'.

  Mystified, because he had seen nothing to indicate a reason to move closer again, Will trotted Tug through the long grass to where Halt sat waiting on Abelard. Horace joined them a few moments later and Will waited until he was with them before he queried Halt.

  'What is it?'

  Halt looked a little puzzled. 'What's what?'

  Alarm bells began to jangle even louder than before in Will's brain at the reply. He spoke carefully and patiently.

  'Halt, you put us into combat formation an hour or so ago. Now you're calling us in. What happened to make you change your mind?'

  'Oh, that!' A look of comprehension dawned on Halt's face as he realised the reason for Will's question. 'I just thought we might ride together for a while. I was feeling . . . lonely, I suppose.'

  'Lonely?' It was Horace who said it, his voice shrill with disbelief. 'Halt, what are you . . .?'

  Will made a quick hand gesture to Horace and the young warrior left the question unfinished.

  Will nudged Tug closer to Abelard and leaned towards Halt, peering closely at his face and eyes. He seemed a little pale, he thought. He couldn't see the eyes clearly. The shadow of the cowl of Halt's cloak hid them.

  Abelard moved nervously, taking little steps in place. He uttered a deep rumble in his chest. It wasn't due to the proximity of Will and Tug, the young Ranger knew. Abelard was completely at home with both of them. He realised that the horse sensed something was wrong with Halt as well and was unsettled by the fact.

  'Halt, look at me, please. Let me see your eyes,' he said.

  Halt glared at him and urged Abelard a few paces away.

  'My eyes? There's nothing wrong with my eyes! And don't crowd in on me like that! You're bothering Abelard!' Unconsciously, he rubbed his injured forearm.

  'How's the arm?' Will asked, keeping his voice calm and unconcerned.

  'It's fine!' Halt flared angrily at him, and again Abelard shifted his feet nervously.

  'It's just that you were rubbing it,' Will said in a placating tone. But Halt's temper was fully aroused by now.

  'Yes. I was. Because it hurts. Let yourself get shot by a crossbow one of these days and you'll know about that! Now are we going to dillydally here all day talking about my eyes and my arm and worrying my horse? Be still, Abelard!' he snapped.

  Will's jaw dropped. He had never, ever, in the time he had spent with Halt, heard the Ranger raise his voice to Abelard. Rangers just didn't do that with their horses.

  'Halt,' he began, but Halt interrupted him.

  'Because while we waste time here, Farrell and his henchmen are getting further and further away!'

  'Farrell?' This time it was Horace's turn to be totally concerned. 'Halt, we're after Tennyson, not Farrell. Farrell was the Outsider leader at Selsey village!'

  He was
right. Farrell had led a band of Outsiders in an attempted raid on a small isolated fishing village on the West Coast of Araluen. It was this event that first alerted Halt to the Outsiders' wider plans in Hibernia. Halt glared now at Horace.

  'I know that!' he snapped. 'Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I'm mad?'

  There was a pause. Neither Will nor Horace knew what to say next. Halt swung his furious glare from one to the other, challenging them.

  'Well? Do you?' he repeated. Then, when neither of them said anything, he shook Abelard's reins roughly and set him to a slow canter.

  Heading west.

  'Will, what's happening?' Horace asked as Halt rode off in the wrong direction.

  'I don't know. But it's all bad, I can tell you that,' Will replied. He urged Tug after Abelard, calling after his mentor.

  'Halt! Come back!'

  Horace followed, uncertainly. The bearded Ranger didn't bother to turn in the saddle to reply to Will. But they heard him calling.

  'Come on, if you're coming! We're wasting time and those Temujai can't be far behind us now!'

  'Temujai?' Horace said to Will. 'The Temujai are thousands of kilometres away!'

  Will shook his head sadly, urging Tug to increase his pace.

  'Not in his mind,' he said grimly. He understood now. Something had caused Halt to lose all sense of the situation and time. He was seeing enemies and events from the past. From a few months back and from years prior to that, all hopelessly jumbled in his mind.