"But," insisted Baron Tyler, "let's assume that the Skandians do manage to win through. Then the tables will be turned. We'll be fighting a real enemy in the northwest, with our rear exposed to Morgarath's Wargals coming out of the pass."

Arald managed to suppress a sigh. As a strategist, Tyler was notoriously cautious. "On the other hand," he said, doing his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, "if Halt succeeds, it will be his force that Morgarath sees coming around from the northwest. He'll assume it's the Skandians attacking us from that direction and he'll bring his forces out onto the Plains to attack us from behind. And then we'll have him-once and for all."

The prospect seemed to appeal to him.

"It's still a risk," Tyler said stubbornly. Halt and Arald exchanged a glance, and the Baron's shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug.

Halt said, in a dry tone, "All warfare has a risk attached to it, sir. Otherwise it would be easy."

Baron Tyler looked up angrily at him. Halt met his gaze evenly. As the Baron opened his mouth to say something, Sir David forestalled him, smacking one gauntlet into his palm in a decisive gesture.

"All right, Halt," he said. "I'll put your plan to the King."

At the mention of the King, Halt's face softened slightly.

"How is His Majesty taking the news?" he asked, and Sir David shrugged unhappily.

"Personally, he's devastated, of course. It was the cruelest possible blow to have his hopes raised and then shattered again. But he manages somehow to put his personal life to one side and continue to perform his duties as King. He says he'll mourn later, when this is all over."

"There may be no need for mourning," Arald put in, and David smiled sadly at him.

"I've told him that, of course. He says he'd prefer not to have false hopes raised once more."

There was an awkward silence in the tent. Tyler, Fergus and Sir David felt deep sorrow for their King. Duncan was a popular and just monarch. Halt and Baron Arald, on the other hand, both felt the loss of Will deeply. In a remarkably short time, Will had become an integral part of Castle Redmont. Finally, it was Sir David who broke the silence.

"Gentlemen, perhaps you might begin preparing your orders. I'll take this plan to the King."

And as he turned away to the inner sections of the pavilion, the barons and Halt left the large tent. Arald, Fergus and Tyler walked quickly away, to prepare movement orders for the army. Halt, seeing a dejected figure in Ranger green and gray waiting by the sentry post, moved down the small hill to talk to his former apprentice.

"I want leave to go across the Fissure after them," said Gilan.

Halt knew how deeply he felt the hurt of Will's loss. Gilan blamed himself for leaving Will alone in the hills of Celtica. No matter how many times Halt and the other Rangers told him that he had taken the right course, he refused to believe it. Now, Halt knew, it would hurt him even more to be refused. Nevertheless, as Rangers, their first duty was to the kingdom. He shook his head and answered curtly.

"Not granted. You're needed here. We're to lead a force through the Thorntree to cut off Horth's men. Go to Crowley's tent and get hold of the charts showing the secret ways for this part of the country."

Gilan hesitated, his jaw set. "But:" he began to protest, and then something in Halt's eyes stopped him as the older Ranger leaned forward.

"Gilan, do you think for one moment that I don't want to tear that plateau apart stone by stone until I find him? But you and I took an oath when they gave us these silver oak leaves, and now we have to live up to it."

Gilan dropped his eyes and nodded. His shoulders slumped as he gave in.

"All right," he said in a broken voice, and Halt thought he saw traces of tears in his eyes. He turned away hurriedly before Gilan could see the moisture in his own.

"Get the charts," he said briefly.

The four Skandians and their prisoners had trudged across the bleak, windswept plateau for the rest of the day and into the evening. It wasn't until several hours after dark that Erak called a halt, and Will and Evanlyn sank gratefully to the rocky ground. The ache in Will's head had receded somewhat through the day, but it still throbbed dully in the background. The dried blood on the wound where the jagged rock had hit him itched abominably, but he knew that if he scratched at the irritation, he would only open the wound and set the blood flowing once more.

At least, thought Will, Erak hadn't kept them tied or restrained in any way. As the Skandian leader put it, there was nowhere for the two prisoners to run.

"This plateau is full of Wargals," he'd told them roughly. "You can take your chances with them if you choose." So they'd kept their position in the middle of the party, passing bands of Wargals throughout the day, and heading constantly to the northeast, and Three Step Pass. Now, the four Skandians eased their heavy packs to the ground and Nordal began to gather wood for a fire. Svengal tossed a large copper pot at Evanlyn's feet and gestured toward a stream that bubbled through the rocks close by.

"Get some water," he told her gruffly. For a moment, the girl hesitated, then she shrugged, took up the pot and rose, groaning softly as her tired muscles and joints were called upon once more to take her weight.

"Come on then, Will," she said casually. "You can give me a hand."

Erak was rummaging in his open pack. His head snapped around as she spoke.

"No!" he said sharply, and the entire group turned to look at him. He pointed one blunt forefinger at Evanlyn.

"You, I don't mind wandering off," he said. "Because I know you'll come back. But as for that Ranger, he might just take it into his head to make a run for it, in spite of things."

Will, who had been thinking of doing just that, tried to look surprised.

"I'm no Ranger," he said. "I'm just an apprentice."

Erak gave a short snort of laughter. "You may say so," he replied. "But you dropped them Wargals at the bridge as well as any Ranger might. You stay where I can keep an eye on you."

Will shrugged, smiled wanly at Evanlyn and sat down again, sighing as he leaned his back against a rock. In a few moments, he knew, it would become hard and knobbly and uncomfortable. But right now, it was bliss.

The Skandians went ahead making camp. In short order, they had a good fire going, and when Evanlyn returned with the pot full of water, Erak and Svengal produced dried provisions, which they added to the water as it heated to make a stew. The meal was plain and fairly tasteless, but it was hot and it filled their bellies. Will thought ruefully for a few minutes of the pre-prepared food that came from Master Chubb's kitchen. Sadly, he realized that such thoughts of Master Chubb's kitchen and his times in the forest with Halt were no more than memories now, and the meal was suddenly even more tasteless than before.

Evanlyn seemed to sense his deepening sadness. He felt her warm, small hand cover his and he knew she was looking at him. But he couldn't meet those vivid green eyes with his own, feeling the tears welling up in them.

"It'll be all right," she whispered. He tried to talk, but couldn't form the words. Silently, he shook his head, his eyes downcast, staring intently at the scratched surface of the wooden bowl the Skandians had given him to use.

They were camped some meters from the side of the road, at the top of a slight rise. Erak had stated that he liked to see anyone who might choose to approach. Now, rounding a bend in the road several hundred meters away, came a large group of horsemen, followed by a troop of Wargals, running to keep up with the horses' trot. The sound of the Wargals' chant came to them on the breeze once more and Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising.