Will watched with wide-eyed alarm as the stout ash shaft of the spear bent like a bow under the weight of the boar’s rush, then the carefully sharpened tip penetrated to the animal’s heart and it was all over.
With one last screaming roar, the huge boar toppled sideways and lay dead.
The matted body was almost as large as a horse’s and every inch was solid muscle. The tusks, harmless now in death, curved back over his ferocious snout. They were stained with the earth that he’d ripped up in his fury, and with the blood of at least one of the dogs.
Will looked at the massive body and shuddered. If this was a wild boar, he thought, he wasn’t in any hurry to see another one.
The other hunters crowded round the young knight who had made the kill, congratulating him and patting his back. Baron Arald started across towards him, but paused beside Tug, looking up to Will as he spoke.
‘You won’t see another that size in a long time, Will,’ he said gruffly. ‘Pity he didn’t come our way. I would have liked a trophy like that for myself.’ He continued on his way towards Sir Rodney, who was already with the group of warriors around the dead boar.
Consequently, Will found himself, for the first time in some weeks, face to face with Horace. There was an awkward pause, with neither boy willing to make the first move. Horace, excited by the events of the morning, his heart still pounding with the thrill of fear he’d felt when the boar first appeared, wanted to share the moment with Will. In the light of what they had just seen, their childish squabble seemed unimportant, and now he felt badly about his behaviour on that day six weeks ago. But he couldn’t find the words to express his feelings and he saw no encouragement to do so in Will’s set features, so with a slight shrug, he started to step past Tug to go and congratulate the young hunter. As he did so, the pony stiffened and pricked his ears, giving a warning neigh.
Will looked back at the thicket and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins.
There, standing just outside the shelter of the bushes, was another boar – even larger than the one which now lay dead in the snow.
‘Look out!’ he cried, as the huge beast slashed at the earth with its tusks.
It was a bad situation. The line of hunters had broken up, most of them having moved over to marvel at the size of the dead boar and to praise its killer. Only Will and Horace remained in the path of the second boar – mainly, Will realised, because Horace had hesitated for those few vital seconds.
Horace spun round at Will’s shout. He looked at Will, then swung to look at the new danger. The boar lowered his head, tore at the ground again and charged. It all happened with terrifying speed. One moment the huge animal was ripping the ground with its tusks. The next, it was hurtling towards them. Placing himself between Will and the boar, Horace turned without hesitation to face it, setting his spear as Sir Rodney and the Baron had showed him.
But, as he did so, his foot slipped on an icy patch in the snow and he sprawled helplessly onto his side, the long spear falling from his grasp.
There was not a second to lose. Horace lay helpless before those murderous tusks. Will kicked his feet clear of the stirrups and dropped to the ground, sighting and drawing back the bowstring even as he did so. He knew his small bow would have no chance of stopping the boar’s maddened rush. All he could hope to do was to distract the maddened animal, to turn it away from the helpless boy on the ground.
He fired and instantly ran to one side, away from the fallen apprentice. He yelled at the top of his lungs and fired again.
The arrows stuck out of the boar’s thick hide like needles in a pin cushion. They did it no serious harm, but the pain of them burnt through the animal like a hot knife. Its red, angry eyes fastened on the small, capering figure to one side and, furiously, it swung after Will.
There was no time to fire again. Horace was safe for the moment. Now Will himself was in danger. He sprinted for the shelter of a tree and ducked behind it, just in time!
The boar’s enraged charge carried it straight into the trunk of the tree. Its huge body crashed against the trunk, shaking it to its roots, sending showers of snow cascading out of its upper branches.
Amazingly, the boar seemed unaffected by the crash. It backed up a few paces and charged at Will again. The boy darted round the tree trunk again, narrowly avoiding the slashing tusks as the boar thundered by.
Screaming in fury, the huge animal spun in its tracks, skidding in the snow, and came at him again. This time, it came more slowly, giving Will no chance to dart to one side at the last moment. The boar came at a trot, fury in its red eyes, tusks slashing from side to side, its hot breath steaming in the freezing winter air.
Behind him, Will could hear the shouts of the hunters but he knew they’d arrive too late to help him. He nocked another arrow, knowing that he had no chance of hitting a vital spot as the pig came at him head on.
Then there was a thud of muffled hooves on the snow and a small, shaggy shape was driving towards the furious monster.
‘No, Tug!’ Will screamed, in an agony of fear for his horse. But the pony charged at the huge boar, spinning in his tracks and lashing out with his rear hooves as he came within range. Tug’s rear hooves caught the pig in the ribs and, with all the force of the pony’s upper legs behind it, sent the boar rolling sideways in the snow.
The boar was up in an instant, even more furious than before. The pony had caught him off balance but the kick had done no serious damage. Now, the boar slashed and cut at Tug as the little pony neighed in fear and danced sideways out of the reach of those razor-sharp tusks.
‘Tug! Get clear!’ Will screamed again. His heart was in his throat. If those tusks caught the vulnerable tendons in the horse’s lower legs, Tug would be crippled for life. He couldn’t stand by and watch his horse put himself in such peril for his master. He drew and fired again and, dragging the long Ranger knife from his belt, charged across the snow at the huge, furious beast.
The third arrow struck the pig in the side. Again, he had missed a vulnerable spot and only wounded the monster. He yelled at it as he ran, screaming for Tug to get clear. The boar saw him coming, recognising the small figure that had first driven it to such fury. Its red, hate-filled eyes fastened upon him and its head lowered for a final, killing charge.
Will saw the muscles bunch in the massive hindquarters. He was too far from cover to run. He’d have to face the charge here in the open. He dropped to one knee and, hopelessly, held out the keen-bladed Ranger knife in front of him as the boar charged. Dimly, he heard Horace’s hoarse cry as the apprentice warrior charged forward to help him, his spear at the ready.
Then a deep, whistling hiss cut across the sound of the boar’s hooves, followed by a solid, meaty SMACK! The boar reared up in mid-stride, twisting in sudden agony, and fell, dead as a stone, in the snow.
Halt’s long, heavy-shafted arrow was almost buried in its side, driven there by the full power of the Ranger’s mighty longbow. He’d struck the charging monster right behind the left shoulder, driving the head of the arrow into and through the pig’s massive heart.
A perfect shot.
Halt reined in Abelard in a shower of snow and hurled himself to the ground, throwing his arms around the shaking boy. Will, overcome with relief, buried his face into the rough cloth of the Ranger’s cloak. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears that were streaming down his face.
Gently, Halt took the knife from Will’s hand.
‘What on earth were you hoping to do with this?’ he asked.
Will simply shook his head. He couldn’t speak. He felt Tug’s soft muzzle butting gently against him and looked up into the big, intelligent eyes.
Then it was all noise and confusion as the hunters gathered around, marvelling at the size of the second boar and slapping Will on the back for his courage. He stood among them, a small figure, ashamed still of the tears that slid down his cheeks, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
‘They’re cunning brutes,’
said Sir Rodney, nudging the dead boar with his boot. ‘We all assumed there was only one because they never left the lair together.’
Will felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find he was looking into Horace’s eyes – and the apprentice warrior was shaking his head slowly in admiration and disbelief.
‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.’
Will tried to shrug the other boy’s thanks aside but Horace pressed on. He remembered all the times in the past when he’d teased Will, when he’d bullied him. Now, acting instinctively, the smaller boy had saved him from those murderous, slashing tusks. It said something for Horace’s growing maturity that he had forgotten his own instinctive action, when he had placed himself between the charging boar and the apprentice Ranger.
‘But why, Will? After all, we …’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the statement, but Will somehow knew what was in his mind.
‘Horace, we may have fought in the past,’ he said. ‘But I don’t hate you. I never hated you.’
Horace nodded once, a look of understanding coming over his face. Then he seemed to come to a decision. ‘I owe you my life, Will,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘I’ll never forget that debt. If ever you need a friend, if ever you need help, you can call on me.’
The two boys faced each other for a moment, then Horace thrust out his hand and Will took it. The circle of knights around them was silent, witnessing, but not wanting to interrupt, this important moment for the two boys. Then Baron Arald stepped forward and put his arms around them both, one either side of him.
‘Well said both of you!’ he said heartily and the knights chorused their assent.
The Baron grinned delightedly. It had been a perfect morning, all told. A bit of excitement. Two huge boars killed. And now two of his wards forging the sort of special bond that only came from shared danger.
‘We’ve got two fine young men here!’ he said to the group at large, and again there was that hearty chorus of assent. ‘Halt, Rodney, you can both be proud of your apprentices!’
‘Indeed we are, my lord,’ Sir Rodney replied. He nodded approvingly at Horace. He’d seen the way the boy had turned without hesitation to face the charge. And he approved of Horace’s open offer of friendship to Will. He remembered all too well seeing them fighting on Harvest Day. It seemed such childish squabbles were behind them now and he felt a deep satisfaction that he had chosen Horace for Battleschool.
Halt, for his part, said nothing. But when Will turned to look at his mentor, the grizzled Ranger met his eye, and simply nodded.
And that, Will knew, was the equivalent of three hearty cheers from Halt.
In the days following the boar hunt, Will noticed a change in the way he was treated. There was a certain deference, even respect, in the way people spoke to him and looked at him as he passed. It was most noticeable among the people of the village. Being simple folk, with rather limited boundaries to their day-to-day lives, they tended to glamorise and exaggerate any event that was in any way out of the ordinary.
By the end of the first week, the events of the hunt had been so blown out of proportion that they had Will single-handedly killing both boars as they charged out of the thicket. A couple of days after that, to hear the story related, you could almost believe that he had accomplished the feat with one arrow, firing it clean through the first boar and into the heart of the second.
‘I really didn’t do too much at all,’ he said to Halt one evening, as they sat by the fire in the warm little cottage they shared on the edge of the forest. ‘I mean, it’s not as if I thought it through and decided to do it. It just sort of happened. And after all, you killed the boar, not me.’
Halt merely nodded, staring fixedly at the leaping yellow flames in the grate.
‘People will think what they want to,’ he said quietly. ‘Never take too much notice of it.’
Nevertheless, Will was troubled by the adulation. He felt people were making too big a thing out of it all. He would have enjoyed the respect if it had been based on what had actually happened. In his heart, he felt he had done something worthwhile, and perhaps even honourable. But he was being lionised for a totally fictional account of events and, being an essentially honest person, he couldn’t really take any pride in that.
He also felt a little embarrassed because he was one of the few people who had noticed Horace’s original, instinctively courageous action, placing himself between the charging boar and Will and Tug. Will had mentioned this last fact to Halt. He felt that perhaps the Ranger might have an opportunity to appraise Sir Rodney of Horace’s unselfish action, but his teacher had merely nodded and said briefly:
‘Sir Rodney knows. He doesn’t miss much. He’s got a little more up top than the average bash and whacker.’
And with that, Will had to be content.
Around the castle, with the knights from the Battleschool and the various Craftmasters and apprentices, the attitudes were different. There, Will enjoyed a simple acceptance, and the recognition of the fact that he had done well. He noticed that people tended to know his name now, so that they greeted him as well as Halt when the two of them had business in the castle grounds. The Baron himself was friendlier than ever. It was a source of pride to him to see one of his castle wards acquit himself well.
The one person Will would have liked to discuss it all with was Horace himself. But as their paths seldom crossed, the opportunity hadn’t arisen. He wanted to make sure that the warrior apprentice knew that Will set no store by the ridiculous stories that had swept the village, and he hoped that his former wardmate knew he had done nothing to spread the rumours.
In the meantime, Will’s lessons and training proceeded at an accelerated pace. In a month’s time, Halt had told him, they would be leaving for the Gathering – an annual event in the Rangers’ calendar.
This was the time when all fifty Rangers came together to exchange news, to discuss any problems that might have arisen throughout the Kingdom and to make plans. Of greater importance to Will, it was also the time when apprentices were assessed, to see if they were fit to progress to the next year of their training. It was bad luck for Will that he had been in training for only seven months. If he didn’t pass the assessment at this year’s Gathering, he would have to wait another year, until the next opportunity arose. As a result, he practised and practised from dawn till dusk each day. The idea of a Saturday holiday was a long forgotten luxury to him. He fired arrow after arrow into targets of different sizes, in different conditions, from standing, kneeling, sitting positions. He even fired from hidden positions in trees.
And he practised with his knives. Standing to throw, kneeling, sitting, diving to the left, diving to the right. He practised throwing the larger of the two knives so that it struck its target hilt first. After all, as Halt said, sometimes you only needed to stun the person you were throwing at, so it was a good idea to know how to do it.
He practised his stealth skills, learning to stay stock-still even when he was sure that he had been discovered and learning that, all too often, people simply didn’t notice him until he actually did move and gave the game away. He learned the trick that searchers would use, letting their gaze pass over a spot and then flicking back to it instantly to catch any slight movement. He learned about sweepers – the rear scouts who would follow silently behind a party on the move to catch out anyone who might have remained unseen, then broken cover when the party had gone past.
He worked with Tug, strengthening the bond and affection that had taken root so quickly between the two of them. He learned to use the little horse’s extra senses of smell and hearing to give him warning of any danger and he learned the signals that the horse was trained to send to its rider.
So it was little wonder that, at the end of the day, Will had no inclination to walk up the winding path that led to Castle Redmont and find Horace so that he could discuss things with him. He accepted that, sooner or later, the chance
would come. In the meantime, he could only hope that Horace was being given credit for his actions by Sir Rodney and the other members of the Battleschool.
Unfortunately for Horace, it seemed that nothing could be further than the truth.
Sir Rodney was puzzled by the muscular young apprentice. He seemed to have all the qualities that the Battleschool was looking for. He was brave. He followed orders immediately and he was still showing extraordinary skill in his weapons training. But his class work was below standard. Assignments were handed in late or sloppily finished. He seemed to have trouble paying attention to his instructors – as if he were distracted all the time. On top of that, it was suspected that he had a predilection for fighting. None of the staff had ever witnessed him fighting, but he was often seen to be sporting bruises and minor contusions, and he seemed to have made no close friends among his classmates. On the contrary, they took pains to steer clear of him. It all served to create a picture of an argumentative, anti-social, lazy recruit who had a certain amount of skill at arms.
All things considered, and with a great deal of reluctance, the Battlemaster was beginning to feel that he would have to expel Horace from Battleschool. All the evidence seemed to point in that direction. Yet his instincts told him he was wrong. That there was some other factor he wasn’t aware of.
In point of fact, there were three other factors: Alda, Bryn and Jerome. And even as the Battlemaster was considering the future of his newest recruit, they had Horace surrounded once more.
It seemed that each time Horace managed to find a place where he could escape their attentions, the three older students tracked him down. Of course, this wasn’t difficult for them, as they had a network of spies and informants among the other younger boys who were afraid of them, both in and outside the Battleschool. This time, they had cornered Horace behind the armoury, in a quiet spot that he had discovered a few days before. He was hemmed in against the stone wall of the armoury building, the three bullies standing in a half circle before him. Each of them carried a thick cane and Alda had a piece of heavy sacking folded over one arm.
Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup Page 13