The Battle for Skandia (34 page)

Now, he bowed his head to the King. Not for the first time, Duncan found himself studying the Ranger's shaggy, uneven hair-cut. It had obviously been recently trimmed in honor of the event, but Duncan couldn't help grinning. Halt had been at Castle Araluen for over a month, surrounded by servants, valets and, above all, skilled barbers. Yet apparently, he still chose to cut his own hair with his saxe knife. Duncan realized the crowd was waiting while he appraised Halt's tonsorial efforts. He gathered his thoughts and continued.

“Halt has already stated that his restoration to the ranks of the Ranger Corps is sufficient reward,” Duncan said, and once again there was a murmur of surprise.

“As on so many occasions before this, I stand in debt of one of my most loyal officers and I accede to his wishes in this matter. Halt, I owe you more than any King ever owed a man. I will never forget all you have done.”

And at that, Halt inclined his head once more and slipped back to his seat, moving so quickly and unobtrusively that most of those present didn't realize he was gone, and their startled applause died stillborn.

“Next,” Duncan said, raising his voice slightly to still the buzz of conversation that had broken out, “let the warrior apprentice Horace stand forward.”

Will slapped his friend on the back as Horace, an apprehensive look on his face, rose from his seat and moved forward to stand at attention before the King. The crowd waited expectantly.

“Horace,” Duncan began, straight-faced but with a hint of laughter in his eyes, “it has come to our attention that you traveled throughout Gallica in the guise of a fully qualified knight . . .” He made a show of consulting a note on the table before him, then added, “The
Chevalier de Feuille du Chêne—
the Oakleaf Knight.”

Horace gulped nervously. He knew, of course, that the tale of his exploits had been told. But he had hoped that officialdom would turn a blind eye to the fact that he had no right to pose as a knight.

“Your majesty, I'm sorry . . . I sort of felt that it was necessary at the . . .”

He realized that Duncan was eyeing him coolly, one eyebrow raised, and then it dawned on him that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette by interrupting the King. Belatedly, he stopped, and came to attention once more as the King resumed.

“As you know, I'm sure, it is highly irregular for an apprentice to bear an insignia or to pose as a knight, so now it is necessary that we rectify this irregularity.” He paused.

Horace was about to say, “Yes sir,” then realized he'd be interrupting again and said nothing.

Duncan continued. “I've conferred with your Baron, your Battlemaster and the Ranger Halt, and we all agree that the best solution is to regularize the situation.”

Horace wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't sound good. Duncan made a signal and Horace heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind. Glancing sideways, he saw Battlemaster Rodney coming to a stop beside him, holding a sword and shield before him. In a daze, Horace saw the device on the shield—a green oakleaf on a field of white. He watched in awe as Duncan stepped down from his dais, took the sword and touched him lightly on the shoulder with it.

“Kneel,” Rodney hissed out of the corner of his mouth, and Horace did so, then heard the next words ringing in his ears.

“Arise, Sir Horace, Knight of the Oakleaf, and ensign in the Royal Guard of Araluen.”

This caused bedlam in the crowd. It was virtually unheard of for an apprentice to be knighted in his second year and then to be appointed as an officer in the Royal Guard—the elite force who garrisoned Castle Araluen. The nobles and their ladies went wild with delight.

“Get up,” Rodney hissed again. Slowly, a huge grin spreading over his face, Horace rose and took the sword from the King's hand.

“Well done, Horace,” the King said quietly. “You've more than earned it.”

Then he shook the hand of his newest knight and indicated that he might return to his seat. Horace did so, the faces around him in a blur. He saw only the huge, delighted grin on Will's face as his friend pounded him on the back in congratulation. Then the crowd was hushed again and this time both boys heard the King's voice:

“Would the Ranger apprentice Will stand forward.”

Even though he had assumed that such a thing might happen, Will was caught unprepared. He hurried from his seat, stumbling as he went, and finally regained his balance to stand before the King.

“Will, your Ranger Corps have their own ways and their own regulations. I've spoken to your mentor, Halt, and to the Corps Commandant, and unfortunately it's beyond my power to rescind your period of training and declare you a fully qualified Ranger. Halt and Crowley insist that you must complete your full period of training and assessment.”

Will swallowed nervously and nodded. He knew that. There was still so much he had to learn about his craft, so many skills he had to develop. Horace's natural talent was sufficient for the King to waive his further training. But Will knew that could never be the case for him.

“However,” Duncan continued, “I can offer an alternative. It is within my power to appoint you as a lieutenant in the Royal Scouts. Your masters have agreed that you are totally qualified for such an appointment and will release you from your apprenticeship if that is your wish.”

The assembled people gave one concerted gasp of surprise. Will was speechless. The Royal Scouts were an elite force of light cavalry, tasked with the responsibility of training the kingdom's archers and scouting ahead of the King's army in battle. Scout officers and recruits generally came from the ranks of the nobility and the appointment was virtually the equivalent of a knighthood.

It meant honor, prestige, rank and recognition, compared to another three years of grinding study and application as an apprentice.

And yet . . .

In his heart of hearts, Will knew it was not for him. It was tempting, to be sure. But he thought of the freedom of the green forests, of the days spent with Tug and Halt and Abelard, of the fascination of learning and perfecting new skills and the intrigue of always being at the heart of events. That was a Ranger's life, and when he compared it with the protocol and etiquette, the formality and restrictions of life in Castle Araluen, he knew, for the second time in the space of a few years, what he really wanted.

He turned to look for some hint of advice from Halt, but his master was sitting, eyes cast down to the table, as was Crowley, a few places away. Then, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the expectant silence of the room, he replied:

“You do me great honor, your majesty. But my wish is to continue my training as an apprentice.”

And now the babble of surprise rose to fever pitch in the room. Rangers were, as everyone agreed, different. And most people present simply could not understand Will's choice. Duncan, however, could. He gripped Will's shoulder and spoke to him alone.

“For what it's worth, Will, I think you've chosen wisely. And for your ears alone, your Craftmasters tell me that they believe you will be one of the greatest of the Rangers in the years to come.”

Will's eyes widened. To him, that knowledge was sufficient reward. He shook his head.

“Not as great as Halt, surely, your majesty?”

The King smiled. “I'm not sure anyone could be that great, wouldn't you agree?”

And with his hand still on his shoulder, he turned the lad around, to where Crowley and Halt were smiling warmly at him, making a space between them for him. The applause as he sat down was polite but a little confused. Nobody could really understand Rangers, after all.

There was one small pang of sadness in Duncan's heart as he turned toward the place where his daughter was sitting. His lips were already forming the words “I tried,” but when he looked, Cassandra was gone from the room.

 

Two days later, Will and Halt rode out from Castle Araluen, heading for the cottage by Castle Redmont. From time to time, Halt glanced fondly at his young friend. He knew Will had made a big decision and he knew his mind was troubled. He suspected it was to do with the Princess. Since the banquet, Will had tried to see her several times, to explain his decision. But she had been unavailable.

He sensed that Will wanted to be alone with his thoughts as they rode to the southwest, so he kept his peace, resolving to plunge the boy into a regimen of unremitting hard work and training that would give him no time to ponder his heartbreak.

Behind the riders, two figures on a terrace of the huge castle stood watching, dwarfed by the soaring turrets and buttresses. Evanlyn raised a hand in farewell and Horace put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“He's a Ranger,” the newly made knight told her sympathetically. “And people like us can never understand Rangers. There's always a part of them they keep to themselves.”

She nodded, unable to speak. The early-morning mist that was cloaking the riders seemed to be thickening for a moment, then she blinked rapidly, and realized that it was tears misting her eyes. As they watched, the sun finally broke through and washed Castle Araluen in a pale golden light.

But Will was riding to the south, and he didn't notice.