Will awoke, a full day later, to blinding light.

The beams of sun stabbed through his eyelids, and he groaned, sitting up. His head felt like someone was pounding on it with a hammer, and he blinked, trying to get rid of the spots that danced in the corners of his vision.

He stumbled, trying to stand up, and managed to heave himself upright using the cliff face for support. His head spun, and he nearly keeled over, but his bloodied fingers scrabbled at the powdery chalk, and he managed to stay standing up. He shook his head, trying to get his throbbing head to focus, and managed to take in his surroundings.

The marsh was wide, and flat. Small hillocks of grass rose from the stagnant water, and there was a distinct whiff of salt in the air, carried by a rushing wind from the sea.

Everything was grey, the water, the lifeless grass, the sinking, sucking mud that pulled at his boots and threatened to immobilise him. He rubbed his eyes, breaking away the light crust of salt and dirt that had formed overnight. His eyes began to water, and he coughed, doubling over.

He realised that he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. It could've been a few days since his flight from the wargals, or it could've been only one. He hoped that Evanlyn was safe. He didn't think he could bear it if she wasn't.

Slowly, using the sheer cliff face as a support, he hauled himself upright, taking a tentative step. The ground held under him and he transferred his weight, swaying slightly under a wave of nausea. He steadied himself and took another step, feeling a jolt of fear as his foot began to sink.

He pulled it out with a shlop and took a moment to regain his nerves, before slowly and haphazardly beginning to make his way across the treacherous marsh, towards the flicker of light from a settlement, far in the distance.


In reality, it had been three days since Will had passed out at the foot of the cliff. In that time, most of the kingdom had settled back into a state of somewhat edgy normality, and the army of the king had dispersed.

The king himself, was lodging in Redmont castle.

"Cassie, I've told you a million times! It is imperative that you come with me to appear to the troops!"

King Duncan paced the room angrily, his well-shined boots clacking on the hard flagstone floor of his suite. His daughter, Cassandra, sat neatly in an armchair, watching.

She had been fussed over by servants and her father for the last week, and frankly, she just wanted to be alone. She wanted some time to sit and cry. She wanted to find a tree and sit there for an hour or two, and just tothink.

Less than a week ago, she had been kidnapped by Skandians, destroyed Morgaraths Bridge, and watched her friend- to whom she owed her life- run to certain death, facing a horde of bloodthirsty wargals. And now, her father demanded that she come with him to the town of Carafell, near Thorntree, to address a group of soldiers who had been instrumental in organising the war effort.

"Come on Cassie, seeing you there will be a huge morale boost for a lot of them. They've just returned home from camping out in the mud and rain and cold for nothing- they need a point to rally around and continue with their normal lives, assured that their princess is safe!"

The King pleaded with his daughter, and he could tell she was close to swaying. She opened her mouth to speak but he seized his advantage.

"Most of the kingdom don't know that you're safe yet, the news hasn't spread. Please, it's what Will would want."

The second the words left his mouth, the King knew he had scored the winning point. His daughter bowed her head, biting her lip.

"Yes Dad." She croaked, and he settled an arm around her shoulder.

And that was the end of that.


As Halt saddled Abelard, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

It was an almost constant emotion for him now. He could imagine Will, bursting with excitement and curiosity, rambling out questions a dozen a minute. Of course, he would be dying to go, saddled and seated on Tug already, and the shaggy horse would look at him balefully, as if agreeing with his young masters sentiment. Now, however, Tug was only saddled as an accompanying pony, riderless. Halt hadn't the heart to leave him behind.

Halt felt what seemed like a hole in his chest every time he thought about his apprentice, but on the outside, he remained as steeled and unemotional as ever, keeping his emotions in check.

It was again King Duncan who had decided it would do him good to accompany the royal party to Carafell, and he had reluctantly agreed. He didn't have the heart to argue with the king, so he withdrew into himself, shutting off the outside world. Abelard gave him a sympathetic look.

Lets get moving, take your mind off things.

There was no doubt in the Rangers mind that the little horse understood what he was saying, so he ruffled his mane thankfully.

"You're right Abelard. Lets get moving."