"Yes. Through a hole in the top of his head. When he does that, the tide comes back in again. He does it twice a day."

"So why doesn't he do it at the same time every day?" Will asked, and Svengal showed a further flash of annoyance. Truth be told, he had no idea. The legend hadn't covered this point.

"Because he's a whale, boy! And whales can't tell what time it is, can they?" Irritably, he grabbed the string of cleaned fish, making sure that he had the knife as well, and stalked off up the beach, leaving Will to wash the fish blood and scales off his hands.

Erak was sitting on a bench outside the eating hall as Svengal came up the beach.

"Nice cod," he said, and Svengal nodded briefly. Erak jerked a thumb in Will's direction and added, "What was all that about?"

"What? Oh, the boy? We were just talking about the Great Blue Whale," Svengal replied.

Erak rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Really? How did you get onto that subject?"

Svengal paused, thinking back on the conversation. Finally, he said, "He just wanted to know about the tide, that was all." He waited to see if Erak had anything further to say, then shrugged and went inside.

"Did he now?" Erak said to himself. The boy was going to need watching, he thought. For the next few hours, he remained outside the hut, to all appearances dozing in the sun. But his eyes followed the apprentice Ranger wherever he went. Several hours later, he saw the boy tossing pieces of driftwood into the water, then watching them as the receding tide took them out to sea.

"Interesting," the wolfship skipper muttered to himself. Then he noticed that Will was standing and peering under his hand at the harbor entrance. Erak followed the direction of his gaze and stood up in surprise.

Listing heavily to one side, lying low in the water and crabbing with an uneven complement of oars, a wolfship was dragging itself into the bay.

T HE GRAY-CLAD RIDER HUNCHED MISERABLY INSIDE HIS CLOAK as he rode slowly through the misting rain that swept across the fields. The hooves of his two horses-one a saddle horse and the other serving as a lightly laden packhorse-clopped wetly in the puddles that had gathered in the undulations of the road.

Behind him as he reached a crest, the towers and spires of Castle Araluen soared into the gray sky. But Halt didn't look back at the magnificent sight. His gaze was set forward.

He heard the two riders following him long before they caught up.

Abelard's ears twitched at the sound of the drumming hoofbeats and Halt knew his small horse had recognized the other two as Ranger horses. Still he didn't look back. He knew who the two riders would be. And he knew why they were coming. He felt a small shaft of disappointment. He had hoped that, in the confusion and sorrow over his banishment, Crowley had forgotten the one small item that Halt would now have to surrender.

Sighing and accepting the inevitable, he touched Abelard's reins lightly. The highly trained Ranger horse responded instantly, coming to a halt. Behind them, the packhorse did the same. The hoof-beats grew closer and he sat, staring dully ahead, as Crowley and Gilan reined in beside him.

The four horses nickered gently in greeting to one another. The three men were a little more reserved. There was an unpleasant silence between them, finally broken by Crowley.

"Well, Halt, you got away early. We had to ride hard to catch up to you," he said, striving for a false heartiness that concealed his misery at the way events had turned out. Halt glanced incuriously at the two other horses. Steam rose gently from them in the cold damp air.

"I can see that," he replied calmly. He tried to ignore the anguish on Gilan's young face. He knew that his former apprentice would be suffering deeply because of his inexplicable actions and he hardened his heart to shut out the young Ranger's sorrow.

Now Crowley lost his heartiness as well. His face grew serious and troubled.

"Halt, there is one thing you may have forgotten. I'm sorry to have to insist, but:" He hesitated. Halt tried to play the scene out to the bitter end, assuming a puzzled expression.

"I have forty-eight hours to leave the kingdom," he replied. "The time started from dawn this morning. I'll make it clear of the border by then. There's no need for you to escort me."

Crowley shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw Gilan drop his gaze to the road. This was simply causing pain to all of them. He knew what Crowley had come for. He reached inside his cloak to the silver chain around his throat.

"I had rather hoped you might forget," he said, trying to make his voice light. But there was a catch in his throat that belied the effort. Sadly, Crowley shook his head.

"You know you can't keep the Oakleaf, Halt. As a person under banishment, you're automatically expelled from the Corps as well."

Halt nodded. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes as he unclasped the chain and passed the small silver amulet to the Ranger Commandant. The metal was still warm from contact with his body. His vision blurred as he saw it coiled in Crowley's palm. Such a small piece of bright metal, he thought, and yet it meant so much to him. He had worn the Oakleaf, with the intense pride that all Rangers felt, for the greater part of his life. And now it was no longer his.

"I'm sorry, Halt," Crowley said miserably. Halt lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"It's a small matter," he said.

Again, a silence fell between them. Crowley's eyes looked into his, trying to penetrate the veil that Halt held in place there. A veil of uncaring, unfeeling acceptance of the situation. It was a sham, but it was a superbly maintained one. Finally the Commandant leaned toward him in the saddle, gripping Halt's forearm tightly.

"Why, Halt? Why did you do it?" he asked fiercely. Again, that infuriating shrug of the shoulders.

"As I said," Halt replied, "too much brandy-spirit. You know I could never hold my liquor, Crowley."

He actually managed a smile at that. It felt ghastly on his face, like a death's-head grin.

Crowley released his arm and sat back, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Godspeed, Halt," he said finally, in a voice that broke with emotion. Then, with an uncharacteristically rough jerk of his reins, Crowley wheeled his horse's head and galloped away, back along the road to Castle Araluen.

Halt watched him go, the mottled Ranger cloak soon almost lost in the misting rain. Then he turned to his former apprentice. He smiled sadly, and this time the smile and the sadness were genuine.

"Good-bye, Gilan. I'm glad you came to farewell me."

But the younger Ranger shook his head defiantly.

"I'm not here to farewell you," he said roughly. "I'm coming with you." Halt raised one eyebrow. It was an expression so familiar to Gilan that it tore at his heart to see it.

"Into banishment?" Halt asked the younger man, and again Gilan shook his head.

"I know what you're up to," he replied. He jerked his head at the packhorse standing patiently behind Abelard. "You have Tug with you.

You're going after Will, aren't you?"

For a moment, Halt was tempted to deny it. But the days of pretense were getting too much for him. He knew it would be a relief, just this once, to admit his reasons.

"I have to, Gilan," he said quietly. "I promised him. And this was the only way I could be released from service."

"By getting yourself banished?" Gilan's voice rose in an incredulous note. "Did it occur to you that Duncan could have had you executed?"

Halt shrugged. But this time, it wasn't a mocking gesture. This time, it was simply a gesture of resignation.

"I didn't think he would. I had to take the chance."