As Halt sat in the darkness next to their camp that night, keeping watch as they got closer to the Skandian border, his thoughts turned to Will, as they often did these days. That bright face, so full of life, and fun, and love. How he missed it. It had been so long. He wondered where Will was now.
Halt and Horace had stopped for the night in the middle of a large plain, as there were no towns nearby. They found a large area clear of snow and set up camp, each one doing the chores in the pattern they had followed over the past few weeks. Halt made another stew that night, despite the fact he was getting a bit tired of it. Horace never seemed to tire of any food. Sometimes, his eating habits truly amazed Halt.
Once all of the jobs had been finished, and all that remained was finishing the stew and letting it simmer, Horace sat down, in a quiet mood. His thoughts drifted toward Will, wherever he was. Unintentionally, he was replaying the scene at the bridge in his mind. He remembered watching in agony as he saw the hulking shapes of the Skandians among the rocks, slowly, inevitably advancing. Will had shown such courage that night, and Horace could do nothing to help. Then, Will had been spirited away to Skandia, and Horace had been left to live life without his closest friend. Battleschool had continued, and his skills grew, but his life felt a little empty without Will's enthusiasm. He remembered the game they sometimes played with a sad smile. When Horace wasn't in school, and Will wasn't in training, Will would take the opportunity to sneak up on him and surprise him. It usually worked. Then, they would go on a ride or a hunt. Without that, in the few months after the battle with Morgarath, and the time on the road with Halt since, Horace had been sorely missing his friend, and had been deeply worried about him. It came as no surprise that, when he accepted his dinner from Halt, he was uninterested in his food.
Halt, expecting to see him wolf down another bowl of stew, was shocked to see that Horace used his spoon only to scoop up some food, then plunk it back down into the wooden bowl. Halt gave him a sidelong glance, past the hood of his cloak. "You're not eating. Something's majorly wrong."
Horace gave him a helpless look. "Well, it's just–" He looked down at his hands. Halt could tell he was uncomfortable. "I've been worrying about Will. I hope he's okay."
Halt's voice softened and took on a more serious tone. "He will be. He can take care of himself." He kept his voice as confident as he could to comfort the young boy, but as he said it, he knew, deep down, that Will was captured. A slave. He couldn't fight the Skandians, and he couldn't sneak away with Evanlyn in tow. Just as Halt had stayed with Horace at Chateau Montsombre, Halt knew, Will would never even think of leaving Evanlyn. He was too loyal and kind. Somehow, Halt didn't consider that these virtues could have come from him, and thinking of Will's integrity made him miss Will even more. Halt had witnessed the gruelling, harsh lives slaves led, and he knew the cruelty of the Skandians. He only hoped they weren't too late to save him. Halt couldn't help but feel that he had betrayed Will in some way. He sent the young Ranger out on a mission so early. He hadn't foreseen one inkling about Morgarath's plan and the bridge that had been his apprentice's downfall. It was Halt's responsibility to take care of the boy, and he knew, if something had happened to him… He knew he would forever blame himself for causing harm to come to that gentle, innocent boy. He simply had to save him.
The night around them felt soft and cool, while the fire gave them a constant warmth. A small breeze blew through the camp. The crickets chirped softly in the grass and a whip-poor-will called, far off in the distance. A silence stretched between the two companions as the grizzled former Ranger and young Battleschool apprentice each became lost in thought, staring into the orange flames.
Horace had continued thinking of Will. He also felt secretly guilty. He knew it wasn't his fault that Will had been captured, but that was what logic told him. His feelings were an entirely different matter. And now Will had been taken as a slave to a cold, icebound land so far from home. He also remembered his vow to Will that he had made almost two years before, when they had first saved each other's lives during the boar hunt. If you ever need a friend, you can call on me.
An especially near cricket chirped loudly, and Horace snapped out of his thoughts, looking up. He took a deep breath. "I think I'll head to bed." Halt only nodded silently, his gaze unmoving. Horace shrugged and climbed under the blankets on his bedroll, glad for the warmth they provided.
He settled himself and murmured, "Goodnight, Halt."
"Goodnight, Horace," the Ranger replied.
Some minutes later, Horace heard a barely audible sigh of such deep and lonely sorrow, that he opened his eyes to see Halt in the light of the dying fire. He was looking down at the recurve bow he had made for Will. His countenance was a mask of suffering, of anguish, and his lips were moving repetitively, mouthing his promise to Will. Horace knew he probably blamed himself too, and he felt a pang of sadness, having to see the Ranger so broken. As he fell off into sleep, he was left thinking of Will and Halt and Evanlyn, and the predicament they had all found themselves in. Soon, the fire dwindled into gray embers, glowing at the edges with a soft red light, and Horace finally fell asleep.