Disclaimer: The Ranger's Apprentice and its characters belong to Mr. John Flanagan. John Blunt and the story line belong to me- but not by much…
Homework, no internet… gosh it's a pain at times.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I was supposed to update on Friday… I just never got around to it. So instead, I'll attempt to post a chapter tomorrow and maybe- maybe- I might post one Sunday night as well. It just depends on whether I'm busy or not.
Read on!
John Blunt wandered the village of Harpstown. The Leader had sent him to Clomnel of all places. His goal: King Sean's court at the castle of Dun Kilty. "This is a waste of time…" He muttered to himself. "Might as well leave Sean to his kingdom. Let him fight his own battle. We serve Duncan and only Duncan."John muttered to himself.
"Stop him!" John heard the yells of guards, followed by a child crying. John turned to see a young man running towards him. The man's brown eyes glinted in the light, making them look dark and almost black. "Stop him!" The guard repeated. The running man kept running- his cloak waving in the wind.
John studied the man further. The green grey cloak on the man seemed to blend in the back ground. A quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder. A double scabbard containing two knives at the man's hip. Something was biting at John's mind. One thing put the puzzle together. A long bow, slung across the man's shoulders. "He's a Ranger…" John muttered to himself.
Instead of stopping the running man, John stopped the guard chasing the man. Curiosity got the best of John, and knowing every guard in town would be on his trail, he followed the Ranger.
"Wait!" John called to the Ranger. "I can help you! Please, Ranger! Stop!" The Ranger slowed and turned his head to see John.
The Ranger quickly unslung his bow from his shoulders, and drew and arrow from his quiver. He nocked it into place, but didn't pull the string back. "Who goes there?"The Ranger called. His voice sounded young, but deep. The voice had a hint of a cold edging it from hard nights sleeping in abandoned barns.
"John Blunt, I work for his majesty King Duncan. Please, lower your weapon." John called to the Ranger. "What is your name, Ranger?" He asked.
The Ranger looked around uncertainly. "My name is Will, but I am no Ranger… or at least not anymore."
Blunt woke from his dream. "That wasn't any dream… that's a memory you idiot." Blunt muttered to himself. The camp fire was still going, providing little warmth to Blunt and Alyss. She lay on the other side of the fire, curled up in a wool blanket. Blunt could hear her soft snoring. "Good thing you didn't wake her up…" He muttered to himself.
"After all, I made Will a promise." Blunt stated before attempting return to the land of dreams… and memories.
The land of dreams didn't welcome him, and he sat around the campfire in the dark night.
(/\/\/\/\/\/\)
She felt cold. Physically, she was warmer than most people in the freezing room. But mentally, she felt cold. She didn't want to listen to Baron Arald persecute someone who supposedly shot… him. She didn't want to hear about his death again. It only brought back the hurt.
"Bring in the prisoner…" Baron Arald stated. He sounded as if it hurt him to say that. Then again, most people in the room felt hurt. This prisoner had killed him.
The prisoner had the almond shaped eyes of most Nihon-Jan people. His skin was pale from weeks in the dungeon. He was thinner- Baron Arald made sure that there was enough food to keep prisoners healthy, but this prisoner had tried to starve himself. The prisoner didn't want to be persecuted. The man was in chains and wore ragged clothing. Die in hell, Alyss thought to herself.
"My lord, the prisoner responsible for the death of Will Treaty." The guard on the left of the prisoner stated. Alyss felt her heart clench as the guard said his name. Next to her, she could hear Lady Pauline comforting Ranger Halt. Ranger Crowley sat to Halt's left, his face marking nothing but disgust. Behind her, Horace was breathing normally, but Alyss could still hear the sadness in each breath. Jenny and Gilan were a few rows behind Horace, comforting each other. Even George, one of their ward mates, attended the small occasion.
Alyss turned to see two other people in the room. One had pale blonde hair and bright green eyes. He looked average height when sitting down. Next to him, there was what Alyss presumed a Ranger. The hood on the Ranger's head was pulled all the way up. A shadow kept Alyss from seeing any details of the man's face, she only knew he was short for the average man.
Anyone looking at the pair would think that the blonde man was the leader out of the two. Alyss knew better. The Ranger was the leader, hiding from view. She could tell by the way they sat. Whenever the two men talked, the blonde one asked questions to the Ranger who answered. Alyss could tell by reading the blonde's lips. "Is that… him?" The blonde man asked. The Ranger shook his head 'no' in reply.
Alyss heard Halt murmur something to Pauline. "That's not the man who shot Will." He said.
"What do you mean?" Pauline asked in return.
"The man who shot Will died with an arrow through his throat." Halt replied. Alyss shuddered at the picture: a Nihon-Jan man with a black shafted arrow running through his esophagus- not a pretty picture.
Alyss returned her gaze to the two men in back. The blonde man was moving his lips differently, making it difficult for her to read his lips. But there was one word that she understood. "Will."
Alyss sat up in her sleep. Blunt was sitting across from the fire, wide awake. His blonde hair was ruffled, showing signs of sleep. "What are you doing awake?" She asked. Blunt raised an eyebrow at her before answering.
"I could ask you that myself." He replied.
"Bad dream…" She murmured after a few moments.
"That makes two of us." Blunt replied. The campfire reflected in his green eyes. Something clicked in Alyss' mind as she stared at Blunt. He had the same hair and eyes as the man from the court room. As she studied him further, she was positive it was him. "Will you stop staring at me?" He asked in a rather blunt tone.
"Y-you were in the court room two years ago." She stuttered in a very undiplomatic tone.
"And you were the pretty blonde staring at me and my friend. Your point?" He asked.
"What were you doing there? And who was the Ranger sitting with you?" Blunt's facial expression saddened, then darkened at the mention of the Ranger.
"It doesn't matter; that business is taken care of and the man is dead." Blunt replied softly.
. . .
A figure clad in the greens and browns of a Ranger road hard through the night. His horse was tired from exhaustion, but knew that his owner was doing his best to find shelter for the night. Rain poured heavily, drenching the rider, his horse, and the landscape around them. The rain fell hard and felt like needles piercing your skin when it touched the rider. It came down in sheets, making it almost impossible to see a meter in front of him.
Lighting cracked on the barren, snow covered ground. The lighting sent streaks across the sky and its landscape, giving some light to see. The rain had made everything look black in the night. The rider padded his horse gently, muttering comforting words to his worried steed. The rider's cowl covered his face, hiding all his features.
"Come on, boy." The rider whispered. His voice was deep and fake; it sounded as if it weren't the rider's real voice. The rider was hiding a secret beneath that voice. "We're almost there…" He bent down and whispered in his horse's ear. The horse neighed in reply, but the sound was lost in the wind of the storm. The rider urged his horse farther, trying to reach the tall mountain and its secured caves. "Once there, it'll be nice and dry. We'll light a fire, dry our clothing, and maybe even make some coffee." The rider whispered in his horse's ear again.
Once again, the horse whinnied in reply.
Once again, the reply was lost in the dark of the storm.
. . .
Halt stared at the messenger expectantly. The petite man had a look of absolute fear on his face as he stared into the dark eyes of a Ranger. He opened his mouth many times to speak, but no sound erupted from his vocal chords. "I-I-I… h-h-his… m-m-majesty-" The messenger attempted. Halt sighed in annoyance and rolled his eyes.
"Yes?" He asked. The messenger gulped, and took another try at talking.
"His Majesty, K-king Duncan would like to s-speak to you." He spook before running. The man acted like Halt was planning to slice him to bits.
There, now was that so hard? Halt thought to himself as the small man ran off. Halt sighed, then began the hike up the steep, dirt covered hill, whilst rain drizzled- which made mud, which made the hike even harder (1). Duncan better have something good to say. That or he better have coffee. Halt thought to himself.
The Royal tent loomed on the hill's crest. It was made out of the same fabric everyone else's tent was made of, but was slightly taller and much larger. It had to be, considering that's where all the battle planning was done. The Royal family, Sir David, Sir Rodney, Horace, Crowley, Baron Arald, a few others, and Halt all had to fit inside the tent. The tent was set up into three rooms; one for King Duncan, one for Princess Cassandra and Horace, and the third room was a large central area with a fire for warmth and a table for planning.
All in all, it wasn't the most luxurious state of affairs, but it would do for the King's living courters and command center.
Halt was nearly at the top of the hill. Outside, there were a few pale faces of Couriers. Halt couldn't stop his eyebrow from shooting up as he realized that they were all Redmont Couriers. What in the blazes is going on?
Halt pushed back the flaps of the command tent and entered. King Duncan, Horace, Sir David, and Baron Arald were all arguing over the positioning of sentries…
"Halt!" Horace said in a relieved tone as he saw the older man enter.
"What in the world is going on?" Halt asked. His hand gestured for the little wooden figures of sentries and the Couriers outside the tent.
"The escort for Lady Alyss was ambushed. They were all found dead- and she wasn't there."Arald stated flatly. Alyss? Halt asked himself. Halt's face softened at the mention of the young Courier. She was one of the few people who could bring the grumpy old Ranger to a smile.
"Who ambushed them?" Halt asked.
"Picta," This time, Duncan spoke. "This is my kingdom we're talking about, so I'd like to have a share of this conversation." His facial features said it all: his kingdom was under attack, and he wanted to fix it. That, plus he was frustrated by the fact that a valuable Diplomat may or may not be dead.
"And I'm here, why?" Halt asked.
"You have the best knowledge when it comes to placing sentries. We need to have them positioned around the camp- just in case of an attack." Duncan spoke again.
Halt nodded, conceding the point. It wouldn't be good for the Scotti to attack during the night. Many Araluen soldiers would be caught in pajamas and without their weapons. Halt peered onto the table displaying the map of the Araluen camp.
"Place sentries a little over twenty meters apart from each other, and have their shifts changed every three hours. Have Crowley assemble some Rangers to scout the forest and areas around it. If there was one ambush in the forest, they'll be others." Halt began. Horace's face gained a smirk that simply said this: I told you so. He looked over at his father in law and Sir David, all who glared at the young knight.
"Why not just use the Royal Scouts?" David asked, trying to find a way for Horace to be wrong.
"They don't have as much experience with tracking. Send a more experienced Ranger to track the group that attacked Alyss' escort." Halt continued. Horace's smirk grew, whilst David beat the young man with his sword- mentally.
"Can't," David continued, regaining his compsure. "They were all found dead- each killed either by sword wounds or a throwing knife." Halt's eyebrow shot up.
"Throwing knife?"
"Throwing knife."
"Did you recover one?"
"Right here," Duncan spoke and gestured towards a silver knife sitting on the table. The hilt of the knife was covered with mud, covering any details. Halt examined it.
He scrubbed away at the dirt,
Cleaned away any mud,
And peered at the knife closely.
The knife had the initials 'WT' engraved into the hilt.
. . .
1: it's a run on and I don't know how to fix it.
BLUNT IS NOT WILL. I REPEAT: BLUNT IS NOT WILL!
You know, considering that this chapter was longer than normal, I believe that makes up for the fact that I didn't update. The last part about Halt and everyone was originally going to be in the beginning of the next chapter, but I decided to give you guys a bit more than just Blunt and Alyss' dreams/memories.
Well, depending on how much time I have, you may or may not see an update from me tomorrow.
-Sharkbait
(Yes, as in the Finding Nemo shark bait)