'Sit down,' he told them. 'I'll make coffee and you can tell me what happened.'

They briefly recounted the events among the drowned trees. Neither of them mentioned the moments of dry-mouthed fear as they faced up to an invisible enemy, knowing that the first sign they might have of him was the sudden flash of a crossbow bolt coming at them. Similarly, Will omitted to mention the desperate moments he had spent freeing himself from the stay-with-me vine's thorns. A few more seconds' delay there, he realised, and he might not have arrived in time to save Halt from that first crossbow bolt. He pushed the thought aside. That was the sort of detail that didn't need pondering.

'So what do we do now?' Horace asked, as they sat cross-legged round the small fire, sipping their coffee. 'Do you think the survivor will be likely to set up another ambush?'

Will and Horace both looked at Halt as he considered the question.

'I doubt it,' he said at length. 'The Genovesans are mercenaries. They fight for money, not for any cause or out of any sense of commitment. And our friend knows that now the odds are stacked against him. If he waits for us again, he might get one of us. But the chances are that the other one will get him. That's not good business. It might suit Tennyson's purpose but I doubt he'll be able to convince our purple friend that he should give his life for the Outsiders' cause.'

He glanced towards the west. Already the sun had dipped well below the tops of the dead trees. Nightfall would be upon them soon.

'We'll camp here for the night,' he declared.

'And tomorrow?' Will asked him.

Halt turned and reached behind him for his saddle bag. He winced in discomfort as he stretched his left arm towards them. The wound had dried and stiffened and the movement set the blood welling again inside the bandage. Horace rose quickly to his feet and fetched the saddle bag for him.

'Thanks, Horace,' he said. He took his map out of the saddle bag and spread it out before him.

'Pity that map doesn't indicate the dead forest,' Will said. Halt nodded agreement.

'It will after this,' he said. 'It's actually shown here as Ethelsten Forest. Doesn't mention that it's all dead trees. But it does show something that is important to us.'

Will edged round to see the map more clearly and Horace knelt on one knee behind Halt, gazing over his shoulder.

'I don't think our friend will lie in wait for us again, but I could be wrong. And "I was wrong" have been the last words of too many careless travellers. So I'm not about to blindly follow him through that forest again. We'll go in further along – say, down here about a kilometre or so to the west of where we are now, and make our way through from there.'

'How will we pick up their tracks again?' Will asked. 'They could have gone in any direction once they're through the forest.'

'Could have,' Halt said. 'But any direction they go, they're hemmed in by the river that caused all this trouble.' He indicated the grey trunks, now ghostly in the evening shadows. 'No matter where they're heading, they'll have to cross it. And there's only one ford within fifteen kilometres. That's where they'll have headed.'

'True,' said Horace, with a grin. 'Somehow I can't see Tennyson being too keen to swim across a deep river and get himself all soaking wet.'

'He is a man who enjoys his comforts, isn't he?' Halt agreed dryly. 'But that's another reason for us to move west a little before we head into the forest again. Aside from avoiding any further traps set by that purple assassin, it'll bring us out close by the ford.'

'Where we should pick up their tracks again,' Will said, with a sense of satisfaction.

'With any luck,' Halt agreed. He rolled up the map and replaced it in his saddle bag. 'And I think it's time a little luck went our way for a change. The other side seem to be getting the lion's share.'

'Except for the one who's still in the forest,' Will said.

Halt nodded. 'Yes. Except for him. I suppose I'm being ungrateful. We've had our share of good luck today.'

Which was ironic, in the light of what was to happen the following morning. Twenty-four The day started normally enough. The three travellers rose early. It was going to be a long day in the saddle, so they ate a substantial breakfast, then broke camp and rode west through the grassland along the forest's fringe. After several kilometres, Halt spotted a narrow path between the trees, swung Abelard's head south and led the way into the forest.

Will and Halt were familiar with the sepulchral feeling of the grey, lifeless shapes massed around them. Horace, on the other hand, was a little overawed by his surroundings. His eyes darted continuously from side to side, trying to pierce the blur of dead trunks.

'How did you manage to see anyone in this mess?' he asked. The two Rangers grinned at him.

'It wasn't easy,' Will said. The monotone colouring of the trees tended to destroy any sense of perspective, as he had noted the day before.

'Gilan did well to get the first one,' Halt said absently.

Will looked at him with a slight frown. 'Gilan?'

Halt looked at him curiously. 'What about him?' he asked, his face blank.

'You said, "Gilan did well to get the first one",' Horace explained. Now it was Halt's turn to frown.

'No I didn't,' he said. Then he added, 'Did I?'

The expressions on the faces of his two companions told him that he had said Gilan. He shook his head and gave a short laugh.

'I meant Will,' he said. 'Sorry, Will. You know I'm always confusing the two of you.'

'No matter,' said Will. But as they rode on, he felt a worm of worry in his mind. He had never before known Halt to confuse him with Gilan. He glanced quickly at Horace but the tall warrior seemed satisfied with the explanation, so he let it pass.

There was little opportunity to discuss it as they traversed the forest. Halt spread them out in single file at five-metre intervals, just in case the surviving Genovesan had decided to set another trap, and had discovered the path they were taking. This time, feeling sympathy for Horace, Will acted as the rearguard, regularly checking the trail behind them for any sign of pursuit.

All three of them heaved silent sighs of relief when they finally emerged from the drowned forest. Ahead of them lay grasslands, and, once they topped the low ridge on the far side of the forest, the tree-covered banks of the river wound before them.

'I'm glad to be out of those trees,' Horace said.

Halt smiled at him. 'Yes. I couldn't help thinking those damn Genovesans might have something cooked up for us.'

Again, Will frowned. 'Those Genovesans? How many do you think there are?'

Halt looked at him, momentarily confused.

'Two,' he said. Then he shook his head. 'No. One, of course. You got one of them, didn't you?'

'We both got him,' Will reminded him and Halt looked blank for a moment, then nodded, as if remembering.

'Of course.' He paused, frowned again and asked, 'Did I say two?'

'Yes,' Will said. Halt gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head, as if to clear it.

'Must be getting absentminded,' he said cheerfully.

Now it was Will's turn to frown. He was beginning to sense that something was very wrong. Halt wasn't usually so affable. And he definitely wasn't absentminded. He spoke tentatively now, not wanting to offend his teacher.

'Halt? Are you sure you're all right?'

'Of course I am,' Halt said, with a trace of his usual asperity. 'Now let's find that ford, shall we?'

He touched his heels to Abelard and surged ahead of them, cutting off further conversation on the matter. As he rode, Will noticed that he was rubbing his injured left arm.

'Is your arm all right?' he called.

Halt immediately stopped rubbing it. 'It's fine,' he replied shortly, in a tone that brooked no further discussion on the matter. Behind him, riding side by side, Will and Horace exchanged slightly puzzled looks. Then Horace shrugged. It wasn't the first time that Halt's behaviour or demeanour had ever puzzled him. He was used to the older Ranger's unpredictable moods. Will was less inclined to dismiss the matter, but he hesitated to say anything to Horace about his growing concern – partly because he wasn't completely sure what he was concerned about.