Yay! First fanfic! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice, or any of the characters in here. I don't even actually own this plot. It's Flanagan's.
Halt sprinted toward the forest, whistling for Abelard again. But like the last seven times, the loyal little horse didn't come. Something had happened to him. Which was another complication he definitely didn't need right then.
Wargals were stomping around the battlefield, killing anyone in their sight, which was making Halt more grateful by the second that his mottled Ranger's cloak kept him out of it. Everyone, warriors, Rangers, and Barons, had thought this war ended a few days ago with the victory at Hackman Heath. This sudden, vicious counter-attack had caught them all by surprise, and this was the result. Dead bodies were strewn about seemingly carelessly, with many more sure to follow—Halt included, if he couldn't find Abelard and his saddlebags soon.
Halt held his longbow in his left hand, useless with its snapped bowstring. He had a spare in his saddlebags, but only if he could find the darn things first. His double-scabbard had been emptied to dispatch a pair of particularly nasty Wargals, and he'd even used his strikers to incapacitate another. He was now empty-handed, and the half-dozen arrows mocking his crippled bow from the quiver weren't improving his mood.
He heard a frantic whinny from only twenty meters away. Hearing it, Halt had no doubt it was his horse. So he'd heard the whistles—why hadn't he come?
Moments later, Halt burst through a screen of trees to see Abelard on the ground, attempting to stand up even though his right foreleg obviously wouldn't support his weight. The leg's angle was odd; it was most likely dislocated.
Halt shook his head at the injured horse. He held his hand out, palm down, and the Ranger horse obediently slumped to the ground. He strode forward and knelt down, tugging the saddlebags from his horse. The Ranger began riffling through them, searching with growing desperation for his bowstring. Not there. Which pouch was it in? he thought, nearing panic. He moved on to the next one.
There was a deep grunt from above him. Halt froze. Abelard didn't grunt.
Halt threw himself backwards a fraction of a second before the Wargal's battleaxe thudded into the dirt where he'd been crouching just a moment before. The Ranger sprang to his feet, turningand sprinting back the way he'd come. As expected, the Wargal followed, stomping through the trees and undergrowth. Halt knew the odds were slim that he'd be able to lose the beast. They navigated by smell as much as they did sight. Maybe in the chaos of the battle, however…
He broke through the trees, back to the sight of blood and bodies on the dusty ground, the cries of pain, and the clang of weapons. Halt paused briefly, then continued running.
Another Wargal appeared before him, grunting and brandishing his spear. Halt skidded to a stop and turned sharply left. A third Wargal stepped up to greet him. The Ranger spun around swiftly, his eyes confirming what he'd suspected, and feared.
He was surrounded.
One of the Wargals took a step and swung his battleaxe in an overhead arc toward the defenseless Ranger. Halt dove to the side to avoid it and it sliced his left shoulder as another Wargal thrust his spear at him. He twisted to evade the attack, but not quite fast enough. The razor-sharp spearhead cut deeply into his calf, causing Halt to cry out. Blood seeped though his clothes onto the ground, muddying the dirt below He gritted his teeth and attempted to stand, but with the wound on his right leg, he collapsed immediately. Ugly grunts emitted from the circle of Wargals and Halt realized they were laughing.
A Wargal with a sword stepped forward, raising his weapon high for the final stroke. Halt almost closed his eyes. No, he thought, keeping them determinedly open. They might kill me, but I won't be defeated completely.
Suddenly, a man burst through the circle, holding a spear tightly. Halt stared. There were ten Wargals around them, and yet the man barely looked afraid.
The Wargal holding the sword barely spared a glance for the intruder. One man dead or the other, he didn't care much which went first. Raising his blade a few more centimeters, he began the downward stroke.
Fast as a leopard, the man leaped forward and thrust his spear into the beast's chest. He yanked it out roughly and the Wargal crumpled. A Wargal swung his battleaxe in a deadly arc for the man, but he nimbly jumped aside and the axe only succeeded in taking off the head of his spear.
The man swapped his grip on the shaft, holding it like a quarterstaff. He jabbed it twice, left then right, and two Wargals staggered backwards out of the circle. Another of the brutes snarled and darted forward, smashing the spear shaft with a massive paw, them bringing the other around to rake the man's side with its claws. He grunted and fell back, grasping his side as crimson blood leaked through his fingers. He fell to his knees near the first Wargal he'd killed. The Wargal that had wounded him growled, closing in for the kill.
When it was only five feet away, the man suddenly leapt up and spun around, hacking at the approaching Wargal with its fallen comrade's sword. The blade bit deep into its neck and the Wargal went down. Quick as thought, he swung strongly twice more, bringing a Wargal to the ground each time.
He turned to face the remaining four and brought the sword to a defensive position, standing over Halt and protecting him. The Wargals stared, and one took a half step backwards. That did it. The beasts turned and ran, heedless to their need to finish every battle.
The man slowly sank to one knee beside the injured Ranger. Halt stared at him and tried to prop himself up on an elbow.
"Thank you, friend." It was all he could say.
"Daniel," the man corrected.
Halt nodded. "Thank you, Daniel." He glanced around at the beasts fallen from Daniel's hand. "You are quite the swordsman."
Daniel shook his head. "Spear man. I never trained with a sword."
Halt's eyebrows shot up. "But you just brought down half a dozen Wargals with one."
A smile flashed across his face. "Call it instinct, I suppose. Or dumb luck." The smile disappeared and a grimace of pain replaced it as he gingerly pressed his hand to the four parallel gashes in his side. Halt saw how bad the wound was and realized that Daniel was bleeding to death where he knelt.
"Your side," he said, "you need to get—"but Daniel shook his head.
"It's too late for me." It was true; the warrior's voice was already audibly weakening. He didn't have much time left. He looked at the Ranger with clear eyes. He knew what was coming and saw no future in denying it—or any future at all for himself.
Daniel suddenly grabbed Halt's arm with a vise-like grip. Halt suppressed a wince—it was the arm with the damaged shoulder. But the sudden desperation in the warrior's manner prevented him from saying anything. "Back at my farm, in the village of Redmont Castle, my wife…" he took a deep shuddering breath. His time was running out while he still had something to say. "She's alone… A baby due any day now… Please… I can't…" The plea went unfinished.
Halt nodded. "Very well. I'll see that she is looked after."
Relief flooded Daniel's eyes. "Thank you, Ranger…"
"No," the Ranger said softly. "Thank you."
Daniel closed his eyes and exhaled, then was still.
Halt took a moment to cast his gaze, laden with a terrible sadness, on the body of the man who had saved his life and paid with his own. "Thank you," he muttered again.
Slowly, trying not to put too much weight on either his injured shoulder or leg, he dragged himself back to the cover of the trees. Five minutes there, then fifteen back to Abelard. It was agonizingly slow, his wounds throbbing and bleeding all the way, but he made it at last. As he neared, Abelard whinnied a greeting, happy to see his master in one piece.
"Still," he hissed. Instantly, the Ranger horse silenced itself and froze. Halt decided Abelard had about as much cover as he was going to get, and proceeded to hide himself. He'd staunched the flow of blood from his leg and shoulder on the way here, so there was no crimson trail leading to him. That was good. He found a large bush within earshot of his horse and wedged himself under it, lying perfectly still with his gray-green cloak draped over him in case another Wargal should come near.
Minutes slowly dragged into hours. Halt reached the point where he didn't think he could move a muscle if he wanted to. Everything was cramped, his right leg thankfully numb and his left shoulder stiff as a board but still throbbing. He should get moving soon, the advantage of being unseen gone or not.
The general cacophony of war had finally finished, leaving only faint groans and hoarse pleas to pollute the air. Now was as good a time as any. Halt squirmed out from under the bush and attempted to hurry on straight to Abelard, but his protesting limbs forced him to take it slow. He spent several minutes stretching out his legs and arms, wincing as feeling returned to his thigh. Pain was something he felt he could do without.
The Ranger limped back over to his horse to examine the leg. Abelard let out an involuntary high-pitch whinny when his master tried to move the leg, but otherwise kept obediently still. It was definitely dislocated, but he doubted he could get it back in its socket by himself.
After stringing his bow, refilling his quiver, and throwing two quick bandages around his wounds, he considered about what to do with his horse. If he could find someone to help him yank it back into the socket, then Abelard would be able to walk again. Not at full speed, most likely, but perhaps at the speed of a normal horse.
Something snapped behind him.
Instantly nocking an arrow to the bowstring, he spun around clumsily; only to see Crowley glaring at the offending twig his horse had just trodden on. The Corps Commandant looked up again and grinned wryly.
"Looks like even Ranger horses aren't perfect, eh, Halt?"
Halt let a breath hiss out between his teeth as he relaxed the bowstring and replaced the arrow into his quiver. "Don't do that, Crowley! One of these days I'm going to shoot before I think and the Corps is going to find themselves short a Commandant! You scared me half to death," he added.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Then I'm surprised you're not pushing up the daisies. That nasty gash on your leg seems to have bled you of the other half."
Halt glanced down. Sure enough, the bandage around his thigh was soaked crimson as the wound was bleeding once more. He glanced up at Crowley and saw the question in his eyes and answered it.
"A couple Wargals got too close. I was unarmed. I only just restrung my bow after the last string snapped."
Crowley nodded. He'd already noticed that the double scabbard was empty. Apparently the strikers were gone as well.
"You're lucky you got out of there."
Halt nodded in agreement, thinking about Daniel again. He shook the thoughts.
"Crowley, I need your help with Abelard. His leg is dislocated."
The Corps Commandant shifted his gaze to his peer's horse. "Yes, it certainly is." He moved towards Abelard and knelt beside him. Halt knelt as well, exhaling sharply as the pain in his leg hit him once more.
Halt put his whole weight on Abelard to hopefully keep the Ranger horse still. Crowley firmly grabbed the injured leg and yanked it back into its socket. The little horse kicked and let out shrill whinny of pain that changed to one of relief halfway through.
Patting his horse's flank, Halt looked up. "That was simple enough. I guess it's time to see if he can walk." He tried to stand, but his thigh thwarted him, cramping up and stopping his progress. Losing momentum, he fell back on his backside.
Crowley chuckled. "Or to see if you can walk."
Halt gave him a glare that would have sent most men scurrying, or at least effectively swipe the smile off their faces. Not Crowley, however, to his annoyance. The man still had that infuriatingly amused grin on his face.
"It makes you wonder what the Ranger Corps has come to when their Commandant enjoys watching a crippled comrade struggle," he said peevishly, his brow furrowed.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "You're hardly crippled, Halt. That little cut was just a Wargal's way of saying thank you." None the less, he extended a hand and helped him to his feet. Halt limped over in front of Abelard, whistling for him to stand. The little horse heaved himself up, much to the relief of his master. As he walked, however, he was still favoring his fight leg. Halt pursed his lips. They could probably still make it home, even though that would take a while. Abelard's leg would heal soon.
And then he remembered Daniel—and even more importantly, the promise he'd made to the dying warrior. The warrior that had been killed saving him. There was a debt to be paid, and unfortunately, Abelard was not currently up to the task of helping him complete it.
He thought for a moment, staring at the ground and ignoring the odd look Crowley was giving him. And then the obvious answer occurred to him.
He looked up at Crowley and asked, "Crowley, can I borrow your horse?"
This question obviously took the Commandant by surprise. He blinked and cocked his head to one side, his face adopting a perplexed expression.
"My horse?" he asked, looking as though he didn't think he had heard correctly. "I don't see what you need mine for. Yours is up and walking again, after all."
Halt was already shaking his head at the last comment. "Yes, he's up and walking, but he'll be too slow. I need to get to Redmont as soon as possible. Abelard's hardly up to that kind of travel with that leg," he pointed out.
Crowley sighed. "Is there any point in asking what needs your immediate attention all the way in Redmont?"
Halt considered. "I'll just say I'm repaying a debt."
"Oh, yes, and that clears it all up," Crowley responded sarcastically. "Which one, pray tell, are you planning on repaying this time?"
"I'll take that as an okay," Halt growled, limping forward and snatching the reigns. It would take nearly a week to reach Redmont even with a good horse; he had no time for unproductive banter. "Follow me on Abelard and we'll trade horses when we meet up," he added over his shoulder as he swung up into the saddle. He touched his heels to the horse's side, and it started off without hesitation. He thanked his lucky stars for the mission last year in Celtica—it had been dangerous enough to make it necessary for the two Rangers to exchange the code word for their horses.
Crowley watched silently as Halt rode off. When he was out of sight, Crowley turned to the horse.
"Looks like your master decided to haul off and leave us alone. What was that all about, anyway?" Abelard looked directly at him and gave a loud snort.
Crowley eyed the horse disapprovingly. "So you're not going to give me a straight answer either?"
The Ranger horse shook its mane. Nope.
Crowley blinked. "All Rangers talk to their horses, right? Because you seem to have had an awful lot of practice."
Abelard just tossed his mane once more, remaining silent and leaving Crowley to wonder.
Is it just me or was that really long? Well, that's not the end of it ^?^ Next chapter will have baby Will in it. If anyone likes the story... Well, do you? Review!