The Lost Stories (46 page)

“The new Tug?” Will said.

Crowley, sensing the time was right, nodded to Bob. The old horse breeder turned away and walked back to the stable. When he had gone, Crowley answered the question.

“Bob's just one of our horse breeders, Will. We have many of them and they do an amazing job. They keep track of the bloodlines of all our horses and the breeding records from our herds. Tug will go into that breeding process now, just as his ancestors did. He'll be well looked after and he'll be safe. And he'll ensure that in the future, there will be other horses like himself available to Rangers. Did you see that little gray in the front paddock when you rode up?”

Will nodded. “I thought it
was
Tug for a few minutes.”

“As well you might have. His sire was Tug's grandfather. And his dam was a mare whose characteristics were almost identical to Tug's mother. When Bob saw this one foaled, he set him aside specifically for you. Of course, we had no idea you'd be needing him quite so soon. Normally, we would have prepared you for it over the next year or two. But this came out of the blue. That's why Bob sent for me to explain it. Sooner or later, we all have to go through it.”

He looked sympathetically at the younger Ranger and his horse. Will had moved close to Tug. His left arm was around the horse's neck and his right hand was stroking the soft muzzle.

“Couldn't I just keep him at Redmont anyway?” Will asked.

Crowley smiled. “We all ask that. But think about it. He's not a pet. And he's needed here in the breeding program. He's one of our best horses. On top of that, it wouldn't be fair to your new horse. You wouldn't bond properly. And it wouldn't be fair to Tug either. He'd have to watch you going off on missions without him.”

In spite of himself, Will couldn't help smiling at that. “So what will your new name be?” he asked.

Tug hesitated, his head to one side.
I've always fancied myself as a Bellerophon.

“Bellerophon?” Will said, surprised. It was an unexpected choice.

Crowley grinned. “Not bad. We should mention it to Bob. And here he comes now.”

Will turned and saw Bob approaching, leading the gray he had seen earlier. Now, however, the horse was saddled and bridled. Every inch of the horse was familiar, even the way he held himself as he walked. Except for the small patch of black hair on his leg and the lack of white hairs around his muzzle, he was identical to the Tug who had served Will for the past fifteen years.

“You would think so,” Will said. Then, as Bob handed him the reins, he stepped forward and scratched the young horse's muzzle. The horse moved his head in appreciation, then nuzzled against Will's pockets, searching for an apple. It was such a familiar action, such a
Tug
action, that Will was startled for a second or two.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I gave my last apple to . . .” He hesitated, then said, with a grin, “Bellerophon.”

Bob reached into his own pocket and tossed an apple to him. “Thought you might have,” he said.

Will held the apple out on the flat of his hand to the horse, who took it gently, his lips tickling the palm of Will's hand, then crunched it happily.

“Why don't you two get to know each other?” Bob said, gesturing to the saddle. Will nodded. Suddenly he was eager to know just how much like Tug this new horse really was.

“Good idea,” he said. He stepped his left foot into the stirrup and swung easily up onto the horse's back. Crowley and Bob exchanged wicked grins.

“Now,” Will said, “let's see . . .”

He got no further. The horse beneath him suddenly exploded into motion, bounding off all four feet, twisting and spinning in the air, heaving his hindquarters up as his forelegs came back to earth. Will shot into the air over his neck, turning a somersault, feeling several seconds of weightlessness, then crashing to the dusty earth so that the air was driven from his body. He lay groaning, trying desperately to refill his lungs. The horse stood by him, its head cocked curiously to one side.

Bob and Crowley stood by, laughing helplessly, as Will lay there, propped on his elbows, gradually getting air back into his lungs.

“This one ain't retired, Will Treaty!” Bob told him cheerfully. “You need your code phrase for him, same as for old Tug here.”

Will looked up, his mind flashing back to an identical incident many years ago. He realized old Tug, now Bellerophon, was watching him, shaking his head.

“He bucks just like you, too,” Will said breathlessly.

 

As they cantered home later that morning, Will continued to be amazed at the resemblance between the two horses. It was as if Tug had suddenly and inexplicably been rejuvenated, and he realized now that Crowley and Bob had been right. In the past few years, Tug had become fractionally slower, a little less sure of foot. This new Tug was a reminder of how his horse had been in their very first days together.

He thought about those times now. About how Tug had stormed to protect him when the wild boar had charged him. About the desperate race with the Bedullin stallion, Sandstorm, when Tug showed him a blazing turn of speed that Will had never known about. As he thought about that day, the new Tug shook his head, rattling his mane.

Will looked at him with surprise. “How do you know about Sandstorm?” he asked. Again, the horse shook his mane.

“You sound just like Tug,” Will told him.

“Yes,” Will replied thoughtfully. “I believe you are.”

 

WILL LOOKED DOWN AND CHECKED HIMSELF ONE LAST TIME. HIS jacket was neat and uncreased. The open collar of a spotless white silk shirt showed above it, and the silver oakleaf that indicated his rank was just visible in the V formed by his collar. His pants were free of any stains or marks. His boots were clean and freshly worked with oil. They weren't shiny. A Ranger never shined his boots. Shiny boots could reflect flashes of light and make it easier for someone to spot a concealed Ranger. He buckled on his broad leather belt. Like the boots, the buckle itself was a dull, mat black and the hilts of his two knives were bound in plain leather. Only the blades would have caught the light had they been exposed. They were kept carefully honed and they were of a fine grade steel, harder than the swords carried by the Kingdom's knights.

He wished he had a mirror. This was an important day, after all. But mirrors were wildly expensive. Only someone as wealthy as Baron Arald could afford such a luxury. A Ranger's pay didn't stretch to that sort of thing.

Ebony was lying by the door, her chin on her outstretched paws, her eyes riveted on him. He glanced at her now and held out his hands.

“How do I look?” he said. She thumped her tail twice on the floor, her eyes never moving from him.

“As good as that?” he mused.
Thump, thump
went the tail again.

He glanced out the window. The sun was well down, below the tops of the trees that surrounded the little cabin.

“Time to go,” he said. He pulled back the curtain that covered the hanging space in his simple wardrobe and took out his cloak.

This time, Ebony showed some interest. Her head cocked to one side and she looked at him curiously. He hadn't selected his normal, workaday cloak. He had taken out the formal uniform cloak, with the stylized silver representations of arrows set diagonally across its back. He swung it around his shoulders and grinned at her.

“Special day,” he said. Ebony let her head slump back onto her paws again. He moved to the door and made a shooing motion for her to get out of the way. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and took a few steps to the side as he opened the door and moved out onto the porch. He paused and looked back at her.

“You coming?” he said. “You
are
invited, after all.” Tail wagging once more, she sidled past the open door and joined him on the porch. She looked up at him in that way that border shepherds have of constantly looking to their master for direction.

Where are we going now?
the look said. Will didn't answer but instead let out a low whistle. Ebony's ears pricked up at the sound. A few seconds later, they heard the soft
clip-clop
of hooves as Tug appeared around the end of the little cabin. He had been resting in the stable behind. But since Will never needed to tether him, he was able to answer the whistle immediately.

Unlike Ebony, Tug seemed to know where they were going. He glanced once at Ebony, standing ready beside Will.

“Of course,” Will told him. “She's part of the family, after all. You don't object, do you?”

Tug shook his mane explosively.
Not at all. But she does sometimes lack a sense of decorum. I don't want her to start scratching herself in the middle of things.

Will grinned at the dog. “Hear that, Eb? No disrespectful scratching.” The dog's tail moved with the mention of her name. Tug looked sidelong at his master.

“I'm glad we have you along as chief of protocol,” Will said. “Are we going?”

Will shook his head. After all these years, he thought, you'd think I'd have learned that I'll never get the last word with this horse.

He looked at Tug suspiciously. If a horse could be said to have assumed an innocent air, that was what he was doing.

He clicked his fingers to Ebony and stepped off the verandah. She fell into place immediately at his right heel. Tug walked on his left, his head alongside his master's shoulder. The three of them made their way across the small clearing in front of the cabin to a track that ran through the woods. Space was restricted on the track, so Tug fell back to bring up the rear.

It was dim under the trees, but the path was a familiar one. It meandered down a slight slope, taking the line of least resistance, to a small stream that was a tributary of the Tarbus River. There was a deep pool where he and Halt had fished for trout over the years. There was a grassy clearing by the pool as well, and in more recent times, he and Alyss had often picnicked there on summer evenings—like this one.

The air was soft and warm on his face, and a few birds rustled around in the trees and bushes as they settled in for the night. He glanced off into the darkness among the trees and saw the tiny, darting pinpoints of light that marked the movement of fireflies. One strayed out of the trees, the light in its tail dimming as it moved out of the comparative darkness. It came close to Ebony and there was a sudden
clop!
as her jaws snapped shut, then she shook her head and pawed at her tongue to remove the debris of the dead insect.

“You'll never learn, will you?” he said affectionately. Ebony could never resist the temptation to snap at flying insects. This was inevitably followed by frantic efforts to get rid of the results. Somehow, they never seemed to taste as good as Ebony expected.

As they came closer to the clearing by the stream, he was aware of a low buzz of conversation.

“We're the last ones here,” he commented. But Tug shook his head.

They emerged from the trees. The clearing was lit by torches on poles driven into the ground, and lanterns in different colors were strung among the branches. A small crowd of people was waiting for him. As Will, Tug and Ebony stepped out into the clearing, there was a low smatter of applause and a few softly called words of greeting.

He looked around with a warm sense of pleasure. There weren't many people here, but they numbered all of those who were important in his life.

Halt, of course. And his beautiful wife beside him, standing half a head taller than he did. Since Will's sixteenth birthday, Halt had been a father figure to him. And in more recent years, he had begun to think of Lady Pauline as a surrogate mother.

He glanced to one side and his face lit up with a smile. Horace was here. Well, he'd assumed that he would be. And with him was Evanlyn, his wife.

I'm really going to have to start calling her Cassandra, Will thought. He was touched that they'd made the long journey from Castle Araluen to be with him today. It didn't occur to him that he would have done exactly the same for them without a second thought. He looked keenly at the Princess. He'd had an excited letter from Horace telling him that they were expecting a child. So far, there was no sign of the pregnancy. Evanlyn—Cassandra, he corrected himself—looked as slim as ever.

Standing by a podium set up beside the river was Baron Arald, grinning widely at the most famous of all his wards. Will nodded a respectful greeting to him, and his gaze scanned the rest of the people assembled. Jenny and Gilan, he noticed, standing hand in hand, Jenny beaming proudly at him and from time to time looking up with adoring eyes at the tall, handsome Ranger by her side.