With an easy, fluid motion, Halt reached for an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string of his bow. He made no attempt to draw the bow. Years of constant practice made him capable of drawing, aiming, firing and hitting in the blink of an eye.

"I'd like to see you in the open," he called, in a carrying voice.

There was a moment's hesitation, then a heavyset mounted figure spurred forward from the trees, coming to a halt on clear ground at the verge of the road.

A warrior, Halt saw, noting the dull gleam of chain mail at his arms and around his neck. He wore a cloak as well, to keep the rain off. A simple, conical steel helmet was slung to his saddlebow and a round, unblazoned buckler was slung at his back. Halt could see no sign of a sword or other weapon, but he reasoned that any such would most likely be worn on the man's left side, the side farthest away from him. It was safe to assume that the rider would be carrying a weapon of some kind. After all, there was no point in wearing half armor and going weaponless.

There was something familiar about the figure, however. A moment more and Halt recognized the rider. He relaxed, replacing the arrow in his quiver with the same smooth, practiced movement.

He urged Abelard forward and rode to greet the other rider.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, already having a pretty good idea what the answer was going to be.

"I'm coming with you," said Horace, confirming what Halt had suspected. "You're going to find Will and I want to join you."

"I see," Halt said, drawing rein as he came alongside the youth.

Horace was a tall boy and his battlehorse stood several hands higher than Abelard. The Ranger found himself having to look up at the young face. It was set in determined lines, he noted.

"And what do you think your apprentice master will have to say about that when he finds out?" he asked.

"Sir Rodney?" Horace shrugged. "He knows already. I told him I was leaving."

Halt inclined his head in some surprise. He'd expected that Horace would have simply run away in his attempt to join him. But the apprentice warrior was a straightforward type, not given to guile or subterfuge. It was not in Horace's character to simply run off, he realized.

"And how did he greet this momentous news?"

Horace frowned, not understanding.

"Pardon?" he asked uncertainly and Halt sighed quietly.

"What did he say when you told him? I assume he gave you a good clout over the ear?" Rodney wasn't known for his tolerance of disobedient apprentices. He had a quick temper and the boys in Battleschool often felt the full force of it.

"No," Horace answered stolidly. "He said to give you a message."

Halt shook his head in wonder. "And the message was?" he prompted, and noted that Horace shifted uncomfortably in his saddle before answering.

"He said, 'Good luck to you,'" the boy replied finally. "And he said to tell you that I came with his approval-unofficial, of course."

"Of course," Halt replied, successfully masking the surprise he felt at this unexpected gesture of support from the Battleschool commander. "He could hardly give you official approval to go running off with a banished criminal, could he?"

Horace thought about that and nodded. "I suppose not," he replied.

"So you'll let me come with you?"

Halt shook his head. "Of course I won't," he said briskly. "I don't have time to look after you where I'm going."

The boy's face flushed with anger at Halt's dismissive tone.

"Sir Rodney also said to tell you that you could possibly use a sword to guard your back on your travels," he said. Halt regarded the tall boy carefully as he spoke.

"Those were his exact words?" he asked, and Horace shook his head.

"Not exactly."

"Then tell me exactly what he said," Halt demanded.

Horace took a deep breath. "His exact words were, 'You could use a good sword to guard your back.'"

Halt hid a smile.

"Meaning who?" he challenged. Horace sat his horse, flushing furiously, and didn't answer. It was the best reply he could have made. Halt was watching him closely. He didn't take Rodney's recommendation lightly and he knew the boy had courage to spare. He'd proven that when he'd challenged Morgarath to single combat at the Plains of Uthal.

But there was the chance that he might have become boastful and overconfident-that too much adulation and praise had turned his head.

If that were the case, however, he would have answered Halt's sarcastic challenge immediately. The fact that he hadn't, but merely sat in front of him, face set in determined lines, said a lot about the boy's character. Strange how they turn out, Halt thought. He remembered Horace as somewhat of a bully when he'd been younger.

Obviously, Battleschool discipline and a few years' maturity had wrought some interesting changes.

He considered the boy again. Truth be told, it would be handy to have a companion along. He'd refused Gilan because he knew the other Ranger was needed here in Araluen. But Horace was a different matter.

His Craftmaster had given permission-unofficially. He was a more than capable swordsman. He was loyal and he was dependable. And besides, Halt had to admit that, since Will had been taken prisoner, he'd missed having someone younger around him. He'd missed the excitement and the eagerness that came with young people. And, God help him, he'd even missed the endless questions that came with them as well.

He realized now that Horace was regarding him anxiously. The boy had been waiting for a decision and so far had received nothing more than Halt's sardonic challenge as to the identity of the "good sword" suggested by Sir Rodney. He sighed heavily and let a savage frown crease his brow.

"I suppose you'll bombard me with questions day and night?" he said. Horace's shoulders slumped at the tone of voice, then, suddenly, he understood the meaning of the words. His face shone and his shoulders lifted again.

"You mean you'll take me?" he said, excitement cracking his voice into a higher register than he intended. Halt looked down and adjusted a strap on his saddlebag that required no adjustment at all. It wouldn't do to let the boy see the slight smile that was creasing his weathered face.

"It seems I have to," he said reluctantly. "You can hardly go back to Sir Rodney now that you've run away, can you?"

"No, I can't! I mean:that's wonderful! Thanks, Halt! You won't regret it, I promise! It's just that I sort of promised myself that I'd find Will and help rescue him." The boy was fairly babbling in his pleasure at being accepted. Halt nudged Abelard with his knee and began to ride on, Tug following easily. Horace urged his battlehorse to fall into step with Halt, and continued his flow of gratitude.

"I knew you'd go after him, Halt. I knew that's why you pretended to be angry with King Duncan! Nobody at Redmont could believe it when we heard what had happened, but I knew it was so you could go and rescue Will from the Skandians-"

"Enough!" Halt finally said, holding up a hand to ward off the flow of words, and Horace stopped in midsentence, bowing his head apologetically.

"Yes. Of course. Sorry. Not another word," he said.

Halt nodded thankfully. "I should think not."

Chastened, Horace rode in silence beside his new master as they headed toward the east coast. They had gone another hundred meters when he finally could stand it no more.

"Where will we find a ship?" he asked. "Will we sail directly to Skandia after the raiders? Can we cross the sea at this time of year?"

Halt turned in the saddle and cast a baleful eye on the young man.

"I see it's started already," he said heavily. But inside, his heart felt lighter than it had for weeks.