Author's note:

I had this published for five minutes, then I realised I forgot to add the author's note. *gasp*

I would like to thank LightspeedArcher, AreiaCananaid and ByTheOldOak for their reviews for the last chapter. Especially AreiaCananaid. Hope you enjoy...

Btw I wanted to write this chapter and the next chapter as one, but this ended up to be longer than what I planned.


"Here we are," Halt said softly. Gilan walked until he was standing next to him. "Get your things and say goodbye. I'll be waiting here." He gave him a small push in the back, and Gilan was propelled forwards, out of the treeline. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but he couldn't see Halt. Shrugging slightly, he made his way over the drawbridge. The guards of Castle Caraway didn't stop him-he was a familiar figure with them. He walked to the south tower, went inside, and skipped up the stairs. They wound around the inside of the tower, with the wall being on Gilan's right. It was designed that way so that defenders would only have to expose their right side, while on the other hand, attackers would have to expose their whole body. Not that it would work on him. MacNeil had ensured that he was at least fairly skilled with his left hand. Once he was on the fifth floor, he bounded past all of the heavy oak doors, until he stood in front of one at the very end of the corridor. He smartly rapped on it in a strange sounding rhythm, then opened it and stepped into the room. Sir David was already pushing his chair back, having heard his special knock, and had a broad grin plastered all over his face. The white of Gilan's teeth flashed back in response.

"Gil! The past few days have been so dull without you! I take it that you survived your week with Halt?" They embraced each other warmly, then Sir David stepped back and returned to his desk. Gilan shifted from one foot to the other a little uncertainly. He knew what he wanted to tell his father, but he didn't know how to approach the subject. He finally settled on a direct approach.

"Father, I've enjoyed the last week with Halt and a Ranger's life is very fascinating. I would like to become his apprentice, with your permission, of course." If the Battlemaster was surprised, he certainly didn't show it.

"Halt talked to me about this last week. Of course, you have my permission. But are you sure? It takes five years of training..." Gilan suddenly felt very impatient. Of course, he was sure.

"I've been wanting to do this for the past two years. I'm willing to take on the challenge."

"You may go Gilan. Take Storm with you. It's quite a journey to Redmont."

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll visit you when I have the chance." Gilan stepped forward, and Sir David scooped him up into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. He quickly set him down and turned towards the window, tears of pride trickling down his cheeks.


Gilan drove his knee into the pony's chest and quickly tightened the girth straps. Storm gave a small snort. He glanced at his belongings for the fifth time to make sure that they were strapped securely to the saddle. He led him across the drawbridge and stepped into the forest. Halt was sitting silently on his stocky grey horse. Gilan tried to bury his rising envy and quickly searched his memory for its name. It was...Abelard, that was it.

"Hi Halt. I see you've got Abelard." Halt inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Let's get going. We have a long ride ahead of us." The sun continued to rise as they rode steadily to the south-west. They were travelling using the Ranger's forced march pace, trotting for twenty minutes, and leading their horses for ten. As they entered a period of walking, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Halt, why didn't you take Abelard with you that day when I followed you?"

"I didn't have the time to be taking care of a horse while trying to teach you."

"But you have time now?" Halt gave him a stony glare and relapsed into silence. Gilan silently celebrated his triumph in the verbal battle. A smug look dashed across his face for a second. Halt immediately conjured a barb.

"I'll have plenty of time. Especially if you stop asking meaningless questions without thinking through them." Gilan shook his head ruefully. Winning against Halt was just too much to hope for. As the day wore on, it became more noticeable that Gilan's mount was tiring, whilst Abelard looked like he just had a rest. Halt had to keep on drawing in on the reigns so that Gilan could keep up. Soon, Storm's head was down, and his sides were heaving. Halt looked at him and sighed inwardly. There was only one way to help this horse without being too effusive. He quickly found a suitable campsite, and lead them subtly towards it.


A couple of days later found them at Castle Redmont. Gilan sat down quietly next to Halt.

"And who could this possibly be?" asked Baron Arald. He was a powerful looking man, with kind eyes, and he was a little on the overweight side. That was not surprising, considering the talent of his chef, Master Chubb.

"I'm called Gilan, sir," he replied, grinning at him. Memories flooded back into Arald's mind.

"Of course, you're the Battlemaster's son aren't you? The one who helped lead the cavalry in the battle of Hackham Heath?"

"That's me."

The Baron gave a low chuckle.

"Good luck with Halt. I hope you survive."

Halt gave him a withering glare, but when Arald refused to be withered, he looked away, exasperated.

"We'll be heading back to the cabin, my lord. We'll finish discussing this at a later date."

"Very well. Goodbye, then."

Halt and Gilan stood up, gave him a brief salute, and walked out the door. They walked down the stairs of the tower in silence. There was the barest whisper of footsteps as they crossed the courtyard to the stables. They slipped on Storm and Abelard's tack and rode back towards the village of Wensley. As they neared the edge of the village, Halt pointed Abelard into the trees, and it was only a short ride before they emerged into a small clearing. In the centre, there was a small oak cabin and a small lean-to at the back, supposedly a stable. They rubbed down their horses, and Halt, having finished first, went inside and made a cup of coffee. When Gilan entered, with his belongings in his hand, Halt jerked a thumb towards a small curtained off room.

"Unpack your things, then come out and help cook our noon meal." Gilan sighed, and decided to take as long as possible in unpacking. He took a quick glance around what appeared to be the main room of the cabin, his sharp eyes picking out a vase of wildflowers on the mantel. As he entered the room, the first thing that he noticed was that the window was open, and there was another, smaller vase of wildflowers on the windowsill. Gilan began wondering how they got there. Then he remembered the amount of time he took to rub down an uneasy Storm. He didn't bring much, so even when he tried to unpack slowly, it still took barely five minutes. He reluctantly stepped back outside. Halt had taken his cloak off and was frying some eggs. There was no outward sign that he had noticed Gilan's entrance, but his instincts told him otherwise.

"Get some bread from the pantry, boy." Gilan hurried to comply and Halt nodded to himself. He brought the bread to the table and took two plates. He brought them to Halt, and he placed the eggs on them. They sat at the table in silence and Gilan pondered over all that had happened in the past few days.

"Halt?"

"What is it?" he replied between a mouthful.

"I've been thinking..." Gilan began.

"You're an apprentice. You're not ready to think." Gilan collected his thoughts and felt certain that Halt would consider it important.

"I still have to continue my training with MacNeil, right?" Halt opened his mouth to shoot him down for asking another meaningless question, then fully registered what he had said. His mind raced through all of the reasoning. A sword wasn't a Ranger's standard weapon, but Gilan had trained for three years already, and it would be a shame to waste the experience. On top of that, Farrel had used an axe, after all.

"Of course. It would be a shame to waste your talent. A sword isn't exactly part of a Ranger's weaponry, but it's only because we don't have the time in the five-year apprenticeship to teach swordplay. We'll arrange for you to visit him to train from time to time." Gilan seemed satisfied with the answer. Halt rose from his seat and gestured towards the general direction of the barrel outside.

"The bucket's just there. You can start by filling up the barrel from the river. Tell me when you're done." That was only the beginning of a very tiring afternoon.