I told you. Horses don’t make speeches.
“No. But you’ll know something good if you hear it,” Will told him. He set down the brush and reached for his inner pocket.
Tug rolled an eye doubtfully. What if I don’t?
“What if you don’t know something good?” Will asked.
No. What if I don’t hear something good?
Will was taken aback by this lack of faith.
“Oh, you will,” he said stiffly. “Just listen to this.”
I haven’t had my apple yet.
“You can have it when you’ve heard my speech.”
Is it a long speech?
“It’s several pages now. But it’s so good, it won’t seem long. You’ll be begging for more at the end.”
He looked at the horse and was surprised to see a skeptical expression on his face. Will had no idea that horses could show such an emotion. It was unsettling. He unfolded the sheets on which he had written the speech, smoothed it out and cleared his throat.
Bless you.
“What?”
You sneezed.
“I didn’t sneeze. I cleared my throat. Like this.” He did it again. Tug blinked several times.
Sounded like a sneeze to me. Could be the plague.
“It was not a sneeze and it’s not the plague. You’re going to hear this speech whether you like it or not,” he said firmly. Then he hastened to add, “Although I’m sure you will like it. It’s really good.”
Tug emitted a deep abdominal rumble. Will looked sidelong at him. It had sounded like criticism, he thought. Then he realized it couldn’t have been, as he hadn’t begun the speech yet.
He smoothed the pages once more and began reading.
“. . . It would be contumelious of me not to pay tribute at this juncture in time to a multifarious assemblage of persons who, by the assiduous attention to the needs of . . .”
Will paused. He had been reading for several minutes and Tug hadn’t stirred. Now he wasn’t sure, but he thought Tug had made a noise—a deep, droning noise.
“What was that?” he asked. But there was no immediate reply. Shrugging, he looked back to the sheet of paper in his hand.“Where was I? Oh yes . . . to a multifarious assemblage . . .”
The noise came again. This time he was sure it came from Tug. It seemed to be centered in his throat and chest. Then the horse’s entire body shuddered. Will looked at him curiously. Perhaps his beautiful words had reduced his old friend to tears, he thought. He stepped around to face Tug as the droning noise came once more. The horse’s eyes were tight shut and his knees were locked. He was fast asleep. Will realized, as the droning noise came again, that he was snoring.
“You faithless wretch,” he said. Tug snored again.
Disgusted, Will folded the sheet of paper and returned it to his inner pocket. He turned on his heel and strode from the stable. As he reached the door, the regular droning sound stopped. He glanced back at Tug.
Where’s my apple?
He glared at the horse. “I’m sorry. I don’t have one. Perhaps you could dream one up.”
He walked out of the stable, his back stiff, every line of his body showing how affronted he was by his horse’s behavior. He reached the front of the cabin, where Ebony lay sprawled on her side in the sun. As he mounted the steps to the cabin, one eye opened and her heavy tail thumped once on the boards of the verandah.
He regarded her for a moment. Dogs were never judgmental, he thought. A dog would stick by you, right or wrong. In a dog’s eyes, you could do no wrong. A dog would always give you an honest opinion.
“Good girl, Eb,” he said, and the tail thumped again. He sat down on a bench set against the wall of the cabin. Ebony watched him, craning her head back to see him without moving her body. He clicked his fingers at her.
“Come here, Ebony. Come here, girl.”
With a grunt, she rolled onto her belly, then stood and shook herself. Then she came to him, head lowered, tail sweeping slowly.
“Down.” He gestured and she sank onto her belly at his feet, her eyes fixed on him. He took the paper from his pocket once more and looked at those big beautiful eyes. One deep brown, the other a slightly manic blue.
“I’m going to read you a speech, Ebony,” he said.
The tail thumped once.
“And I want your honest opinion.”
The eyes never wavered from his. He unfolded the paper and began to read. After a few paragraphs, Ebony sighed and dropped her nose onto her outstretched forepaws, but she continued to watch him, seemingly without blinking, as he read the beautiful phrases of his speech. Finally, he reached the ending, a part he was particularly proud of. He read it out, then read it again for emphasis.
“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”
The eyes continued to stare at him. The nose remained resting on the forepaws. There was no movement. But at least, he thought, she was awake.
“Did you like it, Ebony?” he asked, and the tail thumped once on the floorboards. He smiled at her, reached down and ruffled her ears. A good dog would never let you down.
“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” he asked. There was no reaction from the dog.
“Is it good, Ebony?” The tail thumped on the floorboards again and Will was assailed by a terrible doubt. He stared at the dog, their gazes locked.
“Is it good?” he repeated. There was no reaction.
“Is it good, Ebony?” Thump went the tail.
“Is it the biggest load of rubbish you’ve ever heard?” No reaction.
“Is it the biggest load of rubbish you’ve ever heard . . . Ebony?”
Thump went the tail. He glared at her.
“You’re just reacting when I say your name, aren’t you?”
No reaction.
“You’re just reacting to your name, aren’t you . . . Ebony?”
Thump.
Will stood, shaking his head in annoyance.
“I just can’t trust anyone to give me an honest answer. Well, blast Tug. And blast you too, Ebony.”
Thump went the tail.
In high dudgeon, Will went into the cabin and shut the door firmly behind him. On the verandah, Ebony lay watching the door for a few seconds. Then, when Will didn’t come out again, she rose, shook herself and walked to a patch of warm sunlight. With a groan of pleasure, she flopped onto her side, legs outstretched, head tilted back, and went to sleep.
3
HOW WOULD YOU RATE THE BATTLESCHOOL’S STATE OF READINESS? Excellent. Good. Average. Below average. Bad.
Will shrugged and made a check mark beside Excellent.
Part of any Ranger’s job was to periodically assess the fief’s Battlesschool and report to Castle Araluen on the quality of training, the proficiency of Battleschool members and the overall state of readiness in the event of an attack. Redmont’s Battleschool was one of the best in the country and Will’s assessments were almost always in the Excellent range. He sometimes wondered why he couldn’t just write “see last assessment,” but the King’s Battlemaster demanded detailed answers each time. He sighed as he saw the next question.
On what do you base this rating?
He couldn’t answer this with a simple check mark. He’d have to write something justifying the rating. He tried to remember the wording of his previous report. As he did so, the door flew open suddenly and Halt entered the cabin.
“Hullo. Didn’t hear you coming,” Will said.
Halt gave him a satisfied nod. “Good. Every now and then I try not to blunder around like a blind man in a pottery shop. I’m surprised Tug didn’t hear me.”
“Tug’s sulking. I didn’t give him an apple yesterday.”
Of course, they both knew that if it had been anyone other than Halt approaching, Tug would have given a warning signal, sulking or not.
“Good. He eats too many apples anyway.” Halt looked at the papers on the desk before Will and a wary expression came over his face. “You’re not working on th
at speech, are you?”
Will sighed. “No. Doing my Battleschool assessment for the Royal Battlemaster. I don’t know why I have to spell it all out. They should know by now that there are no problems at Redmont Battleschool.”
Halt shrugged. “An army runs on paperwork,” he said. “Anyway, you can forget about it for now. We’ve got a job.”
Will sat up and took notice at that. “A job?” he said. “Where are we going?”
There was a large-scale map of Araluen on the wall of the cabin and Halt moved to it, tapping his forefinger on a spot in the southwest coast, a little above the border with Celtica.
“Hambley,” he said.“We’ve had reports that there are moondarkers working their way down the coast. Hambley is their next logical target.”
“Moondarkers?” Will hadn’t heard the term before. Halt wasn’t surprised. It had been many years since any organized gangs of moondarkers had operated in Araluen.
“Wreckers,” he explained. “Ship wreckers. They work in the dark of the moon and light false beacons on dangerous stretches of the coast. Ships passing by see the beacon fires and think they’ve reached port. So in they sail, and before they know it, they’re on the rocks. The ship breaks up and the moondarkers help themselves to the cargo.”
“What happens to the crews?” Will asked.
“If they survive the wreck, they come ashore. Usually, they don’t survive that.”
“These moondarkers sound like nasty people,” Will commented.
Halt nodded. “Exactly. And they’re hard to track down because the locals are usually frightened of them.” A frown crossed his face. “Or in some cases, they’re in league with them.”
“They share in the spoils,” Will said.
“That’s right. There’s a lot of stuff the wreckers don’t want—timber and cordage, for example. Casks of dried food. Canvas, metal fittings. All the sorts of things that a poor village would find invaluable. Now let’s get a move on. The dark of the moon is only a week away, and that’s when they’ll come out of hiding. I want to be on the road this afternoon. I’ve sent a message to Gilan and he’ll keep an eye on things here while we’re away.”
“I’ll get my travel gear,” Will said. He hesitated, looking at the unfinished assessment form. “I suppose I could do this while we’re on the road,” he said.
Halt picked up the form and tore it in half, before Will’s cry of protest could stop him. “Better idea. Leave Gilan a note saying the assessment is due but you haven’t got around to it yet. Then he can do an assessment of his own and fill out the form for you.”
Will hesitated, looking at the torn piece of paper in Halt’s hands.
“Isn’t that a little sneaky?” he said. Halt grinned happily.
“It certainly is. And isn’t that what Rangers are supposed to be?”
An hour later, they were on the road to the southwest. Mindful of Ebony’s recent abduction by Roamers, Will had left her at the castle, in Pauline’s care. Intelligent and loyal as she was, Ebony was still young and excitable. They couldn’t risk taking her along on what would probably turn out to be a dangerous assignment. Pauline was delighted to have the dog for company, and Ebony was devoted to her.
As they rode, Will chuckled quietly to himself. Halt turned in his saddle to look at him.
“Something funny?”
“I keep thinking about Gilan doing that Battleschool report,” Will said. “You’re right. It’s so sneaky.”
Halt beamed. “It serves him right for all the times he tried to ambush me on the way to Gatherings,” he said. “Sometimes former apprentices lose all their respect for their former masters.” He glanced meaningfully at Will, who hastened to reply.
“Not me!” he said. “I still have enormous respect for you, Halt!” Halt looked searchingly at him for several moments, then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded to himself. “Just bear it in mind.”
They continued without speaking any further for a few hundred meters, then Will broke the silence again.
“The good thing about this is that I can work on my speech in the evenings,” Will said.
“You brought it with you?” Halt asked him, a little apprehensively. Will nodded.“I thought it would be a good opportunity to work on it without distractions.”
There was a long silence, then Halt said, “I certainly won’t interrupt you. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impede the creative flow or anything like that. In fact, you can just consider me not there at all if you want to work on it.” He wondered if Will would detect the sarcasm behind that statement, but his former apprentice nodded gratefully.
“Thanks, Halt. I appreciate that. Now, what’s our course of action going to be?”
Halt considered for a few moments as he marshaled his thoughts.
“As I said this morning, we can’t expect any help from the locals. We can’t take the chance that they’ll betray us to the moondarkers.”
“The moondarkers aren’t locals, then?” Will asked.
Halt shook his head. “No. They travel up and down the coast. If they work one area for too long, word gets out and people like us turn up to stop them. Also, ships quickly learn to avoid that part of the coast.”
“You said you had word from an informer. Can we expect any help from him?” Will asked. But again, the answer was in the negative.
“If he’s wise, he’ll have nothing to do with us. After all, he’s got to live in the area after we’ve gone.”
“That makes sense. So what’s our plan?”
“We’ll make camp and scout around—hopefully without being seen ourselves. Usually the moondarkers don’t stay in the villages, so they’ll have a camp somewhere in the area as well. That’ll be hard to conceal because there will be fifteen to twenty of them. So we scout around for that—and we look for signs that they’re getting ready.”
“Like what?”
“Like a beacon fire being prepared on the wrong headland. They’ll have to build that a day or two in advance. Plus we’ll need to post a lookout to the north for ships making their way down the coast. And we need to keep an eye out for other people who are looking for the same thing.”
“And if we see any of these things happening?” Will asked. Halt smiled at him. The smile reminded Will of a wolf showing its teeth.
“Then I’ll ask them to stop. I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”
“I’ve noticed that in the past,” Will said.
They made good time for the rest of the day, setting the horses into the Ranger forced march pattern, alternating between cantering and walking. Dusk was falling when Halt indicated a cleared spot under a group of trees.
“That looks like a decent campsite,” he said. “We may as well get set up before it’s too dark.”
“Do you want me to cook?” Will asked. He knew Halt was capable of doing it. But Will actually enjoyed the work of preparing meals and he was an excellent camp cook, always carrying a traveling kit of spices and ingredients to improve the flavor of the meals he prepared. Since Rangers were often forced to exist on dried meat and fruit and flat bread, he always felt they should enjoy good meals when they had the chance.
Halt agreed with him in this matter.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he said. “Once we’re near Hambley, it’ll be cold camps and hard rations, so we might as well enjoy some hot food and coffee while we can. I’ll clean up later.”
In spite of their former master-apprentice relationship, Halt nowadays considered Will an equal and was always willing to share campsite chores with him.
“Excellent,” Will said. Like a lot of cooks, he liked the process of preparation but was less enthusiastic about the cleaning up that followed. “That’ll give me time to work on my speech.”
“I’ll look forward to that, too,” Halt said, straight-faced.
4
A RIDGE OF HILLS RAN BEHIND THE TOWN OF HAMBLEY, ABOUT half a kilometer inland. The town itself was built around a small but well-protec
ted harbor. On the northern breakwater, Will could see a large metal framework some six meters in height.
“That’s the real beacon,” Halt told him, noticing his interested gaze. “It’s lit every night and it shows any approaching ship where the north breakwater is and gives them a steering point. But as you can see, the tall headland behind it hides it from the view of any ship coming down the coast until the ship is only half a kilometer away.”
They were lying on their bellies at the top of the ridge of hills overlooking the town. The horses were back on the reverse side of the ridge, out of sight. The two Rangers, lying prone and concealed by their cloaks, would be invisible to anyone within fifty meters, let alone half a kilometer.
“Now look farther north,” Halt said, and Will obediently shifted his point of view. Beyond the headland, a curving strip of beach swept north, ending in another, slightly lower headland. “My guess is, that’s where they’ll build the false beacon. You can see how the water is shallow for several hundred meters out from the beach. Any ship turning in there, thinking they’ve found the harbor, will be on the sand before they know it. I imagine the wreckers will set up spot fires and lanterns on the low ground behind the beach so it’ll look like the town. The ship’s captain will see what he expects to see. A beacon and a township. But it’ll be a kilometer farther north than the real one. This ridge of hills we’re on will create a dark backdrop. Someone looking from out to sea will see the lights against the darkness. They won’t see details.”
He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, brushing away an ant that had ventured to explore his beard.
“That shallow sandy bottom will suit them admirably. The ship will be stuck on it, but unless there’s really bad weather, she won’t break up. That means the moondarkers can wade out at low tide and unload her at their leisure. And they’ll get all the cargo instead of losing some as it’s washed away.”
Will glanced sideways at the gray-bearded Ranger. “You seem to know a lot about how they work, Halt.”
Halt nodded grimly. “Moondarking was a blight on this nation during the first war with Morgarath,” he said. “The King’s troops were too preoccupied with the rebellion to attend to other matters. And you know how quickly criminals will take advantage of a situation like that.”
The Lost Stories Page 16