"I take it these are the three who gave you those bruises?" he asked. Horace said nothing for a moment, then realized that his continued silence was ridiculous. There was no reason why he should shield the three bullies any further. There never had been a reason." Yes, sir," he said decisively. Halt nodded, rubbing his chin. "I rather thought so," he said. "Well then, I've heard rumors that you're pretty good with a sword. How about a practice bout with this hero in front of me?"

A slow grin spread over Horace's face as he understood what the Ranger was suggesting. He started forward. "I think I'd like that. " Bryn backed away a pace. "Just a moment!" he cried. "You can't expect me to…"

He got no further. The Ranger's eyes glittered with that dangerous light once more and he took a half step forward, his hand dropping to the hilt of the saxe knife again.

"You've got a cane. I suggest you use it. Now get on with it," he ordered, his voice very low and dangerous.

Realizing he was trapped, Bryn turned to face Horace. Now that it was a matter of one-on-one, he felt far less confident about dealing with the younger boy. Everyone had heard of Horace's almost uncanny natural swordsmanship.

Deciding that attack might be the best defense, Bryn stepped forward and aimed an overhead slash at Horace. Horace parried it easily. He parried Bryn's next two strokes with equal ease. Then, as he blocked Bryn's fourth stroke, he flicked his wooden blade down the length of the other boy's cane in the instant before the two weapons disengaged. There was no crosspiece to protect Bryn's hand from the movement and the hardwood drill sword slammed painfully into his fingers. With a cry of agony, he dropped the heavy stick, leaping back and wringing his injured hand painfully under his arm. Horace stood, ready to resume. "I didn't hear anybody call stop," Halt said mildly. "But… he's disarmed me!" Bryn whined.

Halt smiled at him. "So he has. But I'm sure he'll let you pick up your cane and start again. Go ahead." Bryn looked from Halt to Horace and back again. He saw no pity in either face. "I don't want to," he said in a very small voice. Horace found it hard to reconcile this cringing figure with the sneering bully who had been making his life hell for the past few months. Halt appeared to consider Bryn's statement. "We'll note your protest," he said cheerfully. "Now continue, please." Bryn's hand throbbed painfully. But even worse than the pain was the fear of what was to come, the certainty that Horace would punish him without mercy. He bent down and reached fearfully for the cane, his eyes fixed on Horace. The younger boy waited patiently until Bryn was ready, then made a sudden feint forward.

Bryn yelped in fear and threw the cane aside. Horace shook his head in disgust. "Who's the baby now?" he asked. Bryn wouldn't meet his gaze. He shrank away, his eyes cast down. "If he's going to be a baby," Halt suggested, "I suppose you'll just have to paddle him." A grin spread over Horace's face. He sprang forward and grabbed Bryn by the scruff of his neck, spinning him around. Then he proceeded to whack the older boy's backside with the flat of the drill sword, over and over again, following him around the clearing as Bryn tried to pull away from the remorseless punishment. Bryn howled and hopped and sobbed but Horace's grip was firm on his collar and there was no escape. Finally, when Horace felt he had repaid all the bullying, the insults and the pain that he had suffered, he let go.

Bryn staggered away and dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing with pain and fear.

Jerome had watched the proceedings in horror, knowing his turn was coming. He began to edge away, hoping to escape while the Ranger's attention was distracted. "Take one more step and I'll put an arrow through you." Will tried to model his voice on the quiet, threatening tone Halt had used. He had retrieved several of his arrows from the nearest target and now he had one of them ready, laid on the bowstring. Halt glanced around approvingly. "Good idea," he said. "Aim for the left calf. It's a very painful wound." He glanced over to where Bryn lay, sobbing, on the ground at Horace's feet. "I think he's had enough," he said. Then he jerked a thumb at Jerome.

"Your turn," he said briefly. Horace retrieved the cane that Bryn had dropped and moved toward Jerome, holding it out to him. Jerome backed away. "No!" Jerome yelled, wide-eyed. "It's not fair! He…"

"Well, of course it's not fair."

Halt agreed in a reasonable tone. "I gather you think three against one is fair. Now get on with it." Will had often heard the saying that a cornered rat will eventually show fight. Jerome proved it now. He went onto the attack and to his own surprise, Horace gave ground before the rain of blows aimed at him. The bully's confidence began to grow as he advanced. He failed to notice that Horace was blocking every stroke with consummate ease, almost with contempt. Jerome's best strokes never even looked like they were breaking through Horace's defense. The second-year apprentice might as well have been hitting a stone wall.

Then, Horace stopped retreating. He stood fast, blocking Jerome's latest stroke with an iron wrist. They stood chest to chest for a few seconds, and then Horace began to push Jerome back. His left hand gripped Jerome's right wrist, keeping their weapons locked together. Jerome's feet skidded on the snow as Horace forced him backward, farther and farther. Then he gave a final heave and sent Jerome sprawling on the ground.

Jerome had seen what happened to Bryn. He knew that surrender wasn't an option. He scrambled to his feet and defended himself desperately as Horace began his own attack. Jerome was driven back by a whirlwind of forehands, backhands, side and overhead cuts. He managed to block some of the strokes, but the blistering speed of Horace's attack defeated him. Blows rained on his shins, elbows and shoulders almost at will. Horace seemed to concentrate on the bony spots that would hurt most. Occasionally, he used the rounded point of the sword to thrust into Jerome's ribs just hard enough to bruise, without breaking bones.

Finally, Jerome had had enough. He wheeled away from the onslaught, dropped the cane and fell to the ground, hands clasped protectively over his head. His backside was raised invitingly in the air and Horace paused and looked a question at Halt, The Ranger made a little gesture toward Jerome. "Why not?" he said. "An opportunity like that doesn't come every day." But even he winced at the thundering kick in the backside that Horace delivered. Jerome, nose down in the wet snow, skidded at least a meter from the force of it.

Halt retrieved the cane that Jerome had dropped. He studied it for a moment, testing its weight and balance. "Really not much of a weapon," he said. "You have to wonder why they chose it." Then he tossed the cane to Alda. "Get busy," he ordered.

The blond boy, still crouched, nursing his injured ankle, looked at the cane in disbelief. Blood streamed down his face from his shattered nose. He'd never be quite so good looking again, Will thought. "But… but… I'm injured!" he protested, hobbling awkwardly to his feet. He couldn't believe that Halt would require him to go through the punishment he'd just witnessed.

Halt paused, studying him as if that fact hadn't occurred to him. For a moment, a ray of hope shone in Alda's mind. "So you are," the Ranger said. "So you are. " He looked a little disappointed, and Alda began to believe that Halt's sense of fair play would spare him the sort of punishment that had been handed out to his friends. Then the Ranger's face cleared.

"But just a minute," he said, "so is Horace. Isn't that right, Will?" Will grinned. "Definitely, Halt," he said, and Alda's brief hope vanished without a trace.

Halt now turned to Horace, asking with mock concern, "Are you sure you're not too badly injured to continue, Horace?" Horace smiled. It was a smile that never reached his eyes. "Oh, I think I can manage," he said. "Well, that's settled then!" Halt said cheerfully. "Let's continue, shall we?" And Alda knew there was to be no escape for him either. He faced up to Horace and the final duel began.