Chapter 4

A/N: I am terribly sorry for the long delay. Life sort of swallowed me whole and I only recently escaped. I really hope that this chapter can come close to making up for it, and that you can forgive me for taking so long. Thanks for reading.

Lala the Screaming Fangirl: I'm really glad you liked it. Thanks so much for the review, it totally made my day!

TrustTheCloak: Thanks for the compliment. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Thanks also for the review!

Bronzeoak: I've always wished we got more of his parodies too (I'm sure poor Halt can't have been Will's only victim) Thanks so much for the review, it was really encouraging.

Also special thanks to: Guest, I R. Apprentice, and Little Wishlet.

Chapter 4

Will couldn't contain his own smile at the sight of his friend wide awake and fully coherent. He felt most of his previous worries fading away.

"Gilan, you're awake!"

"And the sight I wake up to is almost as bad as the song," Gilan said, only just managing to keep a straight face.

Though his voice was much softer and more careful than usual, as well as hoarse, it was fairly strong.

"Liar. You're just saying that because you're too embarrassed to admit that you love both… though maybe not equally," Will replied with an air of pride.

"You're right. I did love the song just a touch more than the sight of you so early in the morning."

Will feigned indignance at the insult and looked away disdainfully.

"I'll have you know that you are just as much of an early morning shock as I am—if not more so." His near perfectly affronted front, however, was somewhat spoiled by his inability to hide his own smile.

Gilan, who had opened his mouth to reply, glanced down at himself, winced, and then looked back at Will. "On this one occasion, you might actually be right."

Will laughed. Gilan smiled and then winced again slightly, as he gestured carefully towards Will's mandola with his relatively good arm.

"I've never been personally serenaded before," he said in mock awe, "and I've never felt so honored." His voice then dropped into a tone of friendly seriousness. "You should count yourself lucky that you woke me up instead of Halt. He gets a little touchy when you disturb his sleep, you know."

Will had to agree with that.

"Otherwise that tree over there would be beckoning longingly for you, I think," Gilan finished.

Will felt slightly crestfallen. "You knew about that?"

"How could I not? It's a favorite tale among Rangers," Gilan said, looking annoyingly pleased before he glanced to where Halt lay wrapped in his cloak. "On second thought, I think our dear old master has gotten enough beauty sleep. We can't have him outshining Lady Pauline after all. Perhaps you should play again, but louder. How about Greybeard Halt?"

Both of them grinned devilishly at each other.

"There is room in that tree for two, you know," Halt's voice said clearly from where he lay, a warning note to it.

"I'd certainly love to see that," Horace, who had been on watch, said unhelpfully as he moved into the camp to sit next to Will.

"Traitor," Will accused.

"It's no more that you deserve for writing that awful Lock the Pantry song," Horace said, but he was smiling.

"Lock the Pantry?" Gilan asked innocently, all too obviously innocently.

Halt, who had gotten to his feet, went to join the other two. Gilan tried to carefully shift position to face them better, and paled as trying obviously hurt him. He lay back the way he had been and closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing.

"It's good to see you awake," Halt said, gently placing a hand on his former apprentice's un-bandaged shoulder.

"That goes for me too," Horace added. "Thank you, for what you did back there," he said, his voice now fully serious and earnest.

The tall Ranger tried to brush it off. "You'd have done the same, I'm sure."

Horace smiled a little at that and shook his head. "I certainly might have tried. But I'm not totally sure I could've pulled it off."

Halt and Will added their own thanks to Horace's; Gilan ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement, embarrassed.

"You did well, Gilan, to spot that ambush line," Halt put in. And, when the young man's face showed his obvious pleasure at the rare praise from Halt, the grizzled Ranger couldn't help but add, "Although, I don't recall ever teaching you that it would be a good idea to become a pincushion and nearly drown yourself to do it."

"Oh, don't worry. I don't intend to do that ever again if I can help it," Gilan replied, with some feeling.

"How are you feeling?" Halt asked then.

"Like I got shot and bashed about in the river," the injured Ranger said with a rueful smile, "but fairly alright, considering."

Halt nodded.

It was then that Alyss rose to her feet, still wrapped in Will's cloak. Their conversation had woken her and she made her way towards their little group.

Gilan caught sight of her and his eyebrows went up in mild surprise.

"I think I might have missed something fairly important. How long was I out?"

Alyss moved to join them, her concerned expression turning into a smile when she saw that Gilan was awake.

"Hello, stranger. I'm glad to see you're feeling better. You had me worried," she said, weaving her way through to sit beside him too.

Will and the others began to fill Gilan in on everything that had happened and everything that they knew. When they were finished, Halt noticed that his former apprentice was looking fairly exhausted. He still needed to rest so the wounds could heal properly, Halt knew. So he called the rest of them away so that the injured Ranger could have some relative quiet to sleep. Alyss was the last to leave.

"Gilan?" she asked softly, and his tired eyes focused on her slowly.

"Will tells me that you saved his life yesterday, Horace and Halt too. I just wanted to let you know that I can hardly thank you enough for what you did. It means more to me than you could ever know and I won't ever forget it. Thank you," she said, leaning forwards to kiss his cheek.

His face lit with a smile that still lingered very slightly at the corners of his lips as his eyes started to slip closed. At the sight of it, Alyss could not keep an echo of it from appearing on her own lips.

Will smiled too as he saw it and then felt a frown beginning to take its place. Now that things had calmed down, they knew their enemy, and Gilan was on the mend, he had found himself with more time to think. His frown deepened. It was mainly John's fault that everything had gone so wrong. He had betrayed Alyss and he had set up that ambush, after all. But Will was starting to realize something, and it was a painful realization: it wasn't wholly John's fault that Gilan had been injured.

Will realized that part of the blame rested with him. He'd been responsible for checking the area beforehand, and he'd missed seeing the men hidden in ambush. If he had been a little more careful, thorough, or observant it might not have happened.

The truth was that he'd failed—and Gilan had been the one to pay the price for that failure.

"Are you alright?" Horace's voice broke through his troubled thoughts.

"Fine," Will said, managing a smile. It felt false on his face. "I was just thinking."

"Hopefully about ways to save the diplomat, and stop John and his allies before war breaks out between us and the Scotti," Halt said mildly.

"You intend to stop him and fix all this?" Alyss asked, surprised. "How?"

"Between all of us here, I'm sure we'll be able to think of something. And if the four of us can't come up with anything, we could always enlist the help of sleeping beauty there," Halt said nodding his head in Gilan's direction. "On rare occasions he surprises me by coming up with an idea that could almost be considered good."

"Just so long as it isn't you who tries to kiss me awake," Gilan replied solemnly from across the way without opening his eyes.

Will saw Horace and Alyss smile, but couldn't bring himself to do the same as his gaze landed on where Gilan lay wrapped in his blanket. He switched his attention back to Halt as the older Ranger continued.

"Besides, I'm not about to let this John and his men get away with starting a war."

And Will decided that he wasn't going to either. He had to make this right, for the sake of the peace talks and Araluen…and for Gilan.

"In order to do that, we first would have to find the diplomat—if they haven't killed her already," Horace was saying, frowning, "and then we'd have to just hope she'd still be willing to negotiate after everything…"

"Let's assume for now that she is alive and focus on that problem first," Halt said.

Alyss nodded, "If she's still alive, I doubt John and his men would keep her at the castle. Aside from the obvious, the harvest feast festival was supposed to start today and, so far as I know, it hasn't been canceled."

Will knew of this, the Baron of Devon held the feast every year at this time, he'd invite the villagers into the walls of his castle for the celebration where there'd be entertainment, vendors' stalls, and games set out for the people to enjoy.

"With so many people around, it'd be impractical to keep the Scotti's diplomat there where someone might stumble across her, or their plot. They would have her moved somewhere else."

Halt agreed with Alyss and said something else, but Will failed to hear it. His mind had focused in on the mention of the festival. Something about that fact was significant to him. He found himself standing as he paced away, the vaguest shape of an idea hanging in the corner of his mind, just waiting to be formed.

"Care to share Will?" Horace asked him, grinning.

He knew Will well and knew also that, whenever he started acting like this, he was usually coming up with some brilliant scheme or other. Will startled in surprise as Horace's words jolted him out of his revelry.

"Oh, um, yes." He said finally. "It's just an idea I was having... I haven't worked out all the details of it just yet."

Everyone made a gesture for him to continue and Will, after hesitating for a moment, obliged. They didn't have enough time for him to flesh out all the details on his own. They needed to act soon. Also, he was surrounded by good minds and he trusted them to fill in any details he hadn't gotten to yet.

"You said that the harvest festival was going on. The Baron of Devon invites all the villagers into his castle for the festival and hires, and allows in, all sorts of entertainment as well as vendors, right?"

They nodded.

"Well I was thinking that that just might give us a way in." He pointed to his mandola. "If Alyss, Horace, and I disguise ourselves as a troupe of musicians, we can get into the castle easily enough."

"But John was a Courier," Alyss said, "he would have told his men to expect us to try something like that. We'd be recognized and then we'd be targets."

"I'm counting on that," Will said.

He saw two pairs of eyes look up at him in surprise. Only Halt was looking at him calmly. The grizzled Ranger thought he had an idea where Will was going with this.

"You want them to try and kill us?" Horace asked, incredulously.

"Yes, if it means they'll reveal themselves. Alyss, you remember what John said: his assassins reported that they'd missed two of us. They've seen Horace and me and they know that you are with us, and that means they think that they've killed both Halt and Gilan."

Alyss was starting to catch on. "So when they reveal themselves to get rid of us, Halt can be waiting for it and get to them first."

Will nodded. "All we need is to capture one of them in order to find out what they've done with the Scotti's diplomat."

"Wait," Horace said, interrupting, "You said that you Alyss and I will disguise as musicians?"

And when Will nodded, Horace continued.

"But Will, I don't know how to play any instruments, and I'm not especially good at singing either."

"I know," Will said, smiling at Horace, "but I figured that even a knight like you should be able to hit a drum."

Horace seemed to think about that seriously for a moment then nodded agreeably. "Yes, I think I could do that."

"Then it's settled," Will said, turning to look at Halt to see what he thought.

"It's a well conceived plan," Halt said. "There is just one problem."

Will made a gesture for Halt to continue.

"The problem is that for John and his friends to operate as freely as they have been, they have to have someone at Devon Castle in on their scheme. And judging by how they sent some soldiers after you last night, it has to be someone of high rank. If we try this idea of yours Will, we are going to have to stay careful and alert. We can't afford to expect help from anyone on the inside. We'd be on our own; and we'd have to get in and out quickly, cleanly, and without notice by anyone else."

"I have a thought about that," Alyss said.

~x~X~x~

Late that afternoon a troupe of players dressed in bight eye-catching clothes made their way inside the walls of Devon Castle, pulling a handcart that was painted in the same colors as their garb behind them. Shortly after their arrival, a simply dressed forester made his unobtrusive way in with a group of villagers.

"I feel like an idiot," Horace grumbled softly as he pulled the colored cart that contained Will's mandola and the drum they had gotten from Alyss's contact in Brunswick. That was also where they had gotten the colorful clothing and the cart itself. The clothes and cart did help them look the part, but the handcart was also Alyss's idea for getting whatever assassin Halt would capture out quickly and without notice.

Horace's sword and Will's bow were currently concealed in the cart as well. Horace found himself feeling a little naked without its usual weight at his hip… but players usually didn't wield longswords. Unfortunately for Horace, the lack of his sword wasn't the only think making him feel ill at ease. He resisted the urge to tug at the brightly colored hose he wore as it chafed uncomfortably.

"It's all part of the disguise," Alyss said warningly in answer to his earlier complaint, without turning around to look at him. Her voice was pitched low so that only they could hear, "just go with it."

"Hard to go anywhere with it," Horace grumbled, using all his will power not to tear the annoying tights to pieces. He was also sure that he and Will looked absolutely ridiculous. "Why do you jongleurs insist on dressing like this?" he suddenly asked Will in a whisper, almost as an afterthought.

"How should I know?" Will replied, a little more shortly than he had meant to.

"Well, I just thought that…" Horace trailed when Will turned around slightly to glare at him.

Truthfully, Will was as uncomfortable as his friend was. He was used to drab grays and browns. Even when he had posed as a jongleur, he hadn't worn such flamboyant colors as he was wearing now. He felt a little out of place because of it, and as naked without his longbow as Horace felt without his sword. Besides that, his mind was still filled with his earlier troubled and guilty thoughts, as well as a slight worry for Gilan. They had had to leave him behind at their camp, alone aside from Blaze. Then he felt a little guilty for his short response. Horace hadn't deserved that.

"Just because I've disguised as a jongleur before, doesn't mean I know why they choose what they do when it comes to fashion," he said in a more agreeable tone, shrugging.

"It's really not all that bad," Alyss said, interrupting their discussion before it went any further.

"That's easy for you to say. Your clothes don't look half as bad or uncomfortable as ours," Will told her, and he was right.

She was wearing an attractive dress that was rendered beautiful in its simple lines and rural style. The bright colors didn't looks so terrible on her, he thought… and it looked all the better because she wore it so well.

His thoughts were interrupted as they rounded the corner to the empty space near the left wall where they had been told they could set up and perform. On their way in, they had walked past several vendors and a few scattered performers who attracted small crowds of watchers as they wandered through the festival. The castle was nearly completely filled. Most open spots had already been taken. The three quickly set up their space, Will tuning his mandola and Horace bringing out the drum he was going to use.

They had rehearsed as much as they could, considering the short notice... but that hadn't been all that much. Their performances probably weren't going to be the best by any means, but that wasn't the true point of this exercise after all.

Once they were ready, Will caught sight of Halt who had positioned himself near a crowd surrounding a pastry vendor, where he had a good vantage of the castle courtyard; and especially the area around Will, Alyss and Horace. Will caught Halt's eye and saw the Ranger nod once at them: their cue to begin.

~x~X~x~

Gilan tossed uncomfortably atop his blankets, his mind locked in a fitful slumber that was not helped by his pain. He saw confused images parading around his head: the ambush, the white water, Will, Horace, Alyss and Halt, along with jumbled memories of his past—from before he had started training under Halt. His father had been teaching him…making him memorize the crests of royal and noble families and famous knights. It was something that nobles and knights were expected to know after all. He still remembered most of them and he could see them dimly in his dreams. The Baron of Devon castle had a sunburst over a field of red as his device and his Battlemster had a nettle over a tawny field.

Gilan muttered uneasily, shifting again. Something was wrong about that; there was something significant, something he was missing. His eyes came open tiredly and he lay there, puzzling over his confused thoughts and dreams. He tried to remember exactly what it was that he had been thinking about before he had fallen asleep and then it came to him.

Before the others had left him alone, Halt had made sure that he would have plenty of water and firewood within close reach. Gilan had been sleeping fitfully at the time, only vaguely aware of his old mentor's movements. He remembered that Halt had just finished putting an extra folded blanket near his head when a thought had obviously occurred to him.

"Alyss," Halt had asked, turning to look behind him. His question had woken Gilan fully from the partial slumber that he'd been in and he had listened absently as they talked, watching them through half-lidded eyes.

"Yes Halt?" Alyss had asked.

"You said it was John who betrayed you. I was wondering which one it was."

John, after all, was a fairly common name and Halt had known, as Gilan did, that Alyss had had two Johns that worked with her; one had been with her for many years and the other for only about two.

"John Macleod," she had said, naming the one who had only been with her for a few years.

Halt had nodded, his eyes narrowing. "What is the Scotti's diplomat's name?"

"Rhona MacKinnon," Alyss had replied promptly. "Is there something significant in that?"

"It might be nothing," Halt had admitted, "but I seem to recall that, in Picta, the MacKinnon and Macleod clans have been feuding for quite some time and that the MacKinnons have recently taken the Macleods' spot as head of all the clans. Also, your John's parents moved from Picta to Araluen when he was young, if I recall correctly."

"So you think there could still be some ties there?"

"Maybe," Halt had said, "I know that just having a surname that's the same as a clan name doesn't automatically guarantee that a person is from the clan or connected with it, but it is possible."

"And, it gives us more of a motive, if that's true," Will who had been listening in had said thoughtfully. "John could get revenge on the clan he and his family hate and then be in a position to profit from any war that might break out between us and the Scotti."

Gilan had thought about that conversation for a while after they had left. His last thoughts, before he had fallen back to sleep, had been about coats of arms. His eyes widened as he realized what it was that had been bothering him so much: the Battlemaster of Devon fief had a nettle as the device on his shield.

The insignias that adorned knights' shields could be given to them as a sign of their own deeds or valor, such as how Sir Rodney and Horace had gotten theirs, but they could also be passed down through families.

Gilan's old sword master MacNeil had told him of the feuding MacKinnon and Macleod's when he'd been instructing Gilan in Scotti sword forms. MacNeil was an old northerner and knew quite a lot about the Scotti. Gilan remembered him saying that each clan had a specific pattern of tartan that was theirs, as well as a specific insignia. The Macleod's device was a nettle. The Battlemaster of Devon had that same device on his shield, and Halt had said earlier that he thought that there was probably a high ranking person in Devon Castle in on this whole scheme.

Halt had also thought that perhaps John still had close ties with the Macleod clan. It was more than possible that the Battlemaster of Devon had old family connections with the Macleods as well. Perhaps that had been enough to procure his services in John's scheme. It was all purely conjecture, he knew. All of that could simply be a coincidence; but Halt had taught him to always be suspicious of coincidences. There was a good chance that his conjecture was right.

He needed to warn Halt and the others. He tried to rise, gasping softly at the pain that accompanied the action. He was exhausted and the injuries he had accumulated during his time in the river had stiffened while he had been lying idle and seized up when he had tried to move. His arm and chest hurt horribly on top of that. He fell back weakly. Then he gritted his teeth, took several deep breaths and tried again.

~x~X~x~

"Sunshine lady,

Color of Sunshine in your hair.

Happiness is the gown you wear.

I would follow you anywhere,

My sunshine lady."

Halt stayed in his position, his attention split between Will, Alyss and Horace, as they played the part of entertainers, and the area and people around them. Will was very skilled with his Mandola, he knew well how to read a crowd and act the part of a trained jongleur. Though Halt would never admit it, Will had a pleasing and resonant singing voice with good control.

Alyss danced and sometimes sang harmony with Will. She also took turns playing Will's Mandola while he sang. Halt knew that Will had been teaching her how to play the instrument and, though she wasn't yet as good as Will, she was still fairly good. When she danced, her gracefulness made her beautiful to watch. Even Horace was doing well enough with his drum; he kept the beat well and didn't lose cadence or tempo when he made embellishments. All in all, though they would never be considered master performers, they were doing fairly well and had attracted a substantial crowd.

Halt carefully swept his gaze along the crowd in question. His eyes flicked to each of the different individual people. Then he saw him. One man pushed his way casually towards the front to look at the new minstrels. Once he had gotten a good look, he backed carefully away.

The man had clearly made Will, Alyss and Horace, but he had been made in his turn. Halt moved so that he was following parallel but slightly behind the man as he made his way back through the milling people and towards the keep tower.

He emerged a short while later with two other men behind him. All three carried crossbows. Halt watched as they made their way towards the steps that let up to the catwalk that ran the battlement's length. Halt made his subtle way through the press of villagers as he saw the men take up positions inside one of the guard towers that stood at the corner of each of the four walls. There were archer's slits in the stones of those turrets, facing both outside and inside the castle. It would be a perfect spot for them to pick off Will, Alyss and Horace without fear of being spotted or fear of any return shots. Halt made his own way up the battlement stairs then, his passage absolutely noiseless, and ghosted towards the open door of the tower.

Halt crouched low and peered cautiously around the corner of the door jamb to see inside. If the men inside were checking their surroundings, the chances were good that they'd expect that anyone that might try peering in would do so at head or chest height, not near the ground. It would decrease his chances of being spotted drastically. But the men weren't checking their surroundings. They were all crouching near the archer's slits in the tower wall that faced the inside of the castle.

They had their crossbows loaded and ready as they measured angles and distances to shoot. Halt moved carefully forwards, coming up behind them, a striker in each hand. The men never heard him coming and never once looked behind them. Halt got within arms reach and then knocked the two nearest him out cold with simultaneous blows. The third man startled and tried to turn around, but stopped when he felt the prick of a blade at the back of his neck.

"Put down your bow," a low, cold, dangerous, and slightly accented voice told him.

The assassin dropped his bow and held his hands out in surrender.

Will glanced up unobtrusively and saw Halt exiting the tower. He'd been watching goings on out of the corner of his eye as he played; he had seen the three men enter the tower and then Halt follow after. Now his mentor had reappeared, and he wasn't alone, he had one of the three men with him. To anyone else, it would have looked as if Halt and the other man were simply walking side by side, but Will's keen eyes picked up the subtle hold that the Ranger had on the man as well as the glint of Halt's throwing knife.

He saw Halt make eye contact with him and then nod once. Will simply looked down and continued playing. Once they'd finished their song, Will stepped forwards and addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been an honor and a pleasure." He bowed slightly. "But, alas, my friends and I must take our leave. As much as we would like to stay, we have another engagement we must make."

The crowd dispersed reluctantly after that, many leaving a few coins in Will's mandola case that he had set out. Once the coast was clear, Will, Horace, and Alyss packed up. Although, this time, Will carried his mandola case with him.

The three moved along the inner perimeter of the wall so as not to run into anyone with their cart. Nobody attached any significance to their brief pause near the battlement steps as they stood in front of the cart to shield Halt and the assassin from view; and nobody saw as the assassin disappeared into the colored handcart. Will had also reclaimed his bow and Horace his sword, though they held them unobtrusively so that they wouldn't be in the view of any of the people around them. The three young people then continued on their way with Halt following a fair distance behind them.

They headed around to the other side of the keep tower where the area was clear of the celebrating people. The little side gate that led outside the castle walls was just ahead and currently unguarded. They headed towards it. They had just reached the gate when a sudden flash of movement caught Halts's eye. Hanging back as he was, he had a clearer view of the open space. He saw a line of about thirteen armed men appear suddenly from around the side of the keep tower. They were led by a spear wielding knight that Halt recognized as the Battlemaster of Devon Castle.

He saw, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that there were two crossbow men among the sword and spearmen, and that those two men were already ready to shoot. Their bows were trained on the three young people near the gate, their fingers already moving to pull the release.

Halt had instinctively knocked an arrow as soon as he had registered the group's first movements; but he knew was already too late. He could definitely stop one of the crossbowmen, but knew that the second one would probably be able to get off his first shot before Halt's second would reach him. Will, Horace, and Alyss must have either heard something or sensed the danger because Halt saw that they had started to turn: but he was fairly certain that they wouldn't be able to make it behind the cover of their small cart in time. All these thoughts flashed through his mind in the milliseconds it took for him begin to release his fingers from the string of his bow as he sighted. Then, suddenly, the two crossbowmen fell one after the other.

Will, his bow at half draw, saw both men go down and then saw a familiar shape behind the line of men. Gilan was standing there, disheveled and breathing heavily, his throwing knife and saxe empty from the double scabbard at his side.

Will saw one of the swordsmen turn to engage Gilan, who drew his own sword with his good arm. The pair squared off. More men probably would have joined the first, but Horace had reacted quickly to the appearance of the threat. He had moved as soon as the crossbowmen were down. He was already three quarters of the way across the distance to the line of armed men. Horace had their leader in his sights and moved to intercept him. All their earlier sneaking around, double blinds, and disguises weren't the sort of thing Horace liked; it wasn't the sort of thing he was comfortable doing, or how he liked to operate. He much preferred the directness of front on, face to face, combat. In short, he was at home with this sort of situation. It was what he had been trained for.

A swordsman tried to intercept Horace. They traded a few blows before the swordsman went down and Horace continued towards the spear wielding Battlemaster. Horace and the traitor Battlemaster began circling each other. Horace was armed only with his sword—he had been forced to leave his shield behind at their camp as it was too large and cumbersome for the minstrel disguise—but the Battlemaster had his sword at his hip as well as the spear he carried.

Horace could also tell, by the way the man handled himself and the familiar way that he held his weapon, that he would be very skilled with it. And that left Horace at a disadvantage. Armed as he was, the Battlemaster had the advantage of a greater reach as well as a backup weapon. In order for Horace to be able to defeat him, he would have to find a way to negate those advantages—and that was going to be a problem. Because of the extra reach, even a beginner spearman could hold an intermediate swordsman at bay, Horace knew.

It was the Battlemaster who made the first move, after yelling at his men to take care of Halt, Will and Alyss. Horace brought his sword up to parry the first darting thrust of the spear, deflecting it away from his body and then swinging his own sword in riposte. The Battlmaster blocked that in turn.

Halt had made his way towards Will and Alyss. The remaining eight swordsmen, who were not currently engaged or already out of the fight, headed towards the two Rangers and the Courier. Alyss drew her knife and Halt and Will had their longbows at full draw.

"King's Rangers!" Will and Halt said in unison, "Stand down!"

But the line of men ignored the call to surrender and kept up their steady advance. Within the matter of a few seconds, the eight became four who quickly lifted their hands in surrender.

Horace meanwhile was still trading blows with the Battlemster. The young knight was able to block, dodge or deflect anything that the Battlemaster threw at him, but the Battlemaster was able to do the same. Worse still, Horace couldn't find any opening that would allow him to get in close enough; the Battlemaster was too skilled and too experienced for that.

He really needed to do something about the man's extra reach. Suddenly, an idea of just how to that came to him. The Battlemaster struck forwards with another lightning fast thrust. Horace deflected the murderous point away from his body and again moved forwards with a counter-strike. This time, however, he launched his sword forward as he thrusted, letting the hilt of his weapon slip through his hand until his fingers came into contact with the pummel and he again tightened his grip. The move gave him the extra length of his sword hilt as well as his blade.

The Battlmaster was taken a little by surprise at the sudden extra reach of the lightning fast thrust and didn't quite manage to block or deflect it in time. Horace's sword skimmed off the man's arm just below his shoulder armor and drew blood. Horace took the moment to press his advantage further, closing the distance between them, moving inside the reach of the man's spear.

The Battlemaster, however, was an experienced fighter. He recovered quickly. As Horace moved towards him, he slid his grip on the spear shaft until he held it closer to its murderous head. He was able to fight at close quarters that way. However, now that they were close, and their weapons had equal reaches, Horace's superior skill became more evident. Also, unlike a sword, a spear wasn't sharp it's whole length.

Soon the young knight saw an opening and he took it. He slipped past the Battlemaster's guard with is free hand whilst distracting the man's attention with a side cut. He gripped the man's spear shaft with his left hand, grappling with him.

The Battlemaster, realizing his danger, let go of his spear with his right hand in order to draw the sword at his hip. He stopped, however, when he felt the point of Horace's sword at his throat, pressing deeply into the soft flesh there. Slowly, he dropped his spear and his sword, raising his hands in defeat and surrender.

Horace kicked the man's weapons further away and made him move forwards at sword point until he was kneeling next to the other men who had surrendered or been taken out of action by Halt and Will.

Will and Halt, during the brief battle, had aimed mainly to wound when they could—as Gilan had when he had thrown his saxe and throwing knife. They'd had no idea how many of the Battlemaster's men were actually in on his scheme, and none of them had wanted to kill the soldiers of Devon castle just for doing what they thought was their job. Horace made the enraged Battlemaster kneel next to his men, keeping the point of his sword trained on him all the while.

"Well, I suppose that settles that," Horace said, smiling at Will.

"I suppose it does," Will agreed, returning the smile.

"And it answers the question of the identity of the high ranking traitor," Alyss put in, sheathing her dagger now that the danger was past.

As she said it, Will's smile dropped and his eyes searched over the faces of his companions, doing an unconscious head count. "Where's Gilan?"

The last he had seen, the tall Ranger had been engaging a swordsman in close combat, but he was nowhere to be seen now. A twisting feeling began to take hold in the pit of his stomach. The companions exchanged worried glances before looking around themselves. Will's gaze swept over the few crumpled bodies in the open space until it landed on the figure he sought. Gilan was slumped against a nearby wall, his legs spread out before him. His face was pale, and his right hand was pressed against his chest, red blood staining his fingers from where the arrow wound had obviously reopened during the fight.

"Gilan?" Will called, worry making his words a little sharp; though he relaxed a little when he heard a slightly breathy answering call.

"I'm alright."

Will saw Halt moving towards the injured Ranger and was about to do likewise, opening his mouth to ask another question, when a motion caught his eye. Heading towards them was none other than the Baron of Devon himself with several knights at his back.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated, if you've the time it helps feed the muse. Also don't hesitate to let me know if you see any problems or mistakes and I'll try to fix them as soon as possible. There will probably be only one more chapter after this one— at the most, one more and an epilogue, I'm not sure yet. There will also be a few more parodies. Sorry again for the long wait. I'll try to get the next chapter out a little faster if I can. I hope you all have blessed day!