A/N: What's up guys? I know, I took forever. Thank you for the awesome reviews! I've gotten some fantastic suggestions/ideas from them and some great constructive criticism. So here's chapter 4! Enjoy!

Bacari slunk closer to the camp. The old man was hovering over the boy as the young archer tossed and turned, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. The other boy, the big one with the sword, was sleeping not far from the coals of the campfire. Bacari smiled a little to himself. The boy didn't have much chance of surviving a fortnight, maybe a little longer if he fought hard. He'd sit and watch them for a while, then report back to the charlatan. Tennyson was beginning to outlive his usefulness. When Bacari was confident of where Tennyson kept his gold, he had decided to relieve Tennyson of some of his extorted load and leave. However, until he did find Tennyson's traveling treasure hoard, he would continue on with the job. If he played this right, he could squeeze a good bit more money out of Tennyson for this job as well. He had watched the old man with the boy. They were obviously close, maybe even father and son. The big boy seemed close to the little archer as well. They would be distraught trying to help their friend; that would make them careless. Bacari was counting on the old man running himself ragged taking care of the boy, then he would take a shot at him. But only if Tennyson agreed to pay well. Bacari knew that these were trained fighters, and he had no intention of risking himself against the two unless it was for a good bit of money. Bacari was confident in his abilities though. The boy was already on his way to death's door. Now it was just time to send the others along after him.

Halt and Horace had switched off an hour or so after midnight. Will had been sleeping peacefully when Horace had forced Halt to get some sleep.

"Call me if there's any change," Halt muttered, still glancing worriedly at Will.

"I will, Halt, get some rest," Horace assured him. But Will slept soundly until just before sunrise. Horace had stood and was stretching when he heard Will's weak voice.

"Horace? What happened?"

"Will!" Horace crouched next to his friend. "It's good to see you awake."

"What happened? Where's Evanlyn?" Will mumbled.

"Evanlyn?" Horace frowned. "Will, what are you…" Horace trailed off. Will wasn't in his right mind.

"We have to burn the bride," Will tossed a little. "We can't let Morgarath get across. We have…"

"Shh, Will, it's okay," Horace placed a hand on Will's shoulder. "The bridge is burned. Morgarath can't get across."

"It...it's gone? We did it?" Will asked.

"You and Evanlyn burned it. It's gone," Horace soothed him. He winced a little when he remembered the night. They had both been apprentices, young and inexperienced. He remembered the fear he felt when the bridge had gone up in flames, but his friends had not come back across. He had ridden like a madman, frantic to help his kidnapped friends. The memory of the night still occasionally haunted his nightmares.

"The Skandians...they captured us," Will frowned. "Slagor...in the cabin...I can't let him hurt Evanlyn."

"Evanlyn's safe, Will," Horace tried to reassure him. "She's in Castle Araluen, safe with her father."

"That's right," Will sighed. "She's really a princess. Cassandra. She doesn't look like a Cassandra. She'll always be Evanlyn to me. Can't let Ragnak know who she is. He'll kill her. Can't let that happen...have to protect her." Horace bit his lip. Will's sense of time was completely confused. It pained Horace to see his best friend so weak and addled. He squeezed Will's shoulder gently.

"She's safe, Will," Horace repeated "You can rest now."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Will agreed, his eyelids sinking lower. Horace sat back with a sigh. The sun was almost fully up, and Halt stirred from where he lay by the fire. The grizzled Ranger sat up with a groan, his neck sore from sleeping in a strange position.

"How is he?" Halt asked immediately, moving to stand by Horace.

"He just woke up," Horace told him softly.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Halt demanded. Horace swallowed hard.

"He wasn't in his right mind," Horace explained. "He was talking about Evanlyn and the bridge. He mentioned Slagor and protecting Evanlyn from Ragnak." Halt's frown deepened. He didn't make any response, but he crouched next to Horace, reaching out to lay a hand on his apprentice's forehead.

"He's a little warm," Halt frowned. "I should probably change that dressing." Horace nodded.

"I'll fix breakfast," he offered.

"Thanks," Halt smiled tightly at him. Horace gave him a small smile in return. Horace stirred up the coals of their fire, and Halt boiled more bandages. He gently cleaned the wound, noticing the smell of corruption was stronger. He applied more of the warmweed salve, then laid another linen pad over it. The arm was slightly cooler to the touch, but Halt laid a cool cloth over Will's upper arm anyway. Horace handed Halt a plate of cold meat and pickles, along with a hot mug of coffee.

"Thanks," Halt said, taking the plate. Horace merely nodded. They ate in silence, both of them staring at the sleeping Will.

"We're running low on fresh food," Horace commented. "Thought I might set a few traps today to replenish our supply." Halt nodded absently.

"What about finding a healer?" Horace asked after another moment's silence. Halt sighed.

"I don't think he should be moved. We can't drag him all over creation in this state."

"But if we don't get him help soon…" Horace trailed off. He bit his lip. He refused to let Will die. Will was his best friend, his brother. Will was the one that always showed up in time. Will came up with the crazy schemes and somehow made them work. Will was the one who burned the bridge. Will was the one who led the archers in Skandia. Will was the one who found an army in the middle of the desert. Will was the one who never gave up, no matter how the odds were stacked against him. Horace refused to accept that Will would be beaten by a scratch from a crossbow bolt. He wouldn't let him be beaten. He wouldn't let him die.

"We have to do something," Horace finally stated. "He could die."

"Don't you think I know that!" Halt snapped. Horace raised his eyebrows. Halt sat his plate down and put his head in his hands. Horace almost gaped at him. He had never seen Halt so...vulnerable. He wasn't sure what to do. Finally, he went over and put his arm around Halt. It felt strange, comforting the great Halt. But somehow it felt right. They sat like that for several minutes before Halt straightened.

"Thanks, Horace. Sorry I snapped," Halt said softly. Horace merely nodded. Halt took a deep breath.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing," Halt stated firmly. "We have to help Will." Horace nodded again.

"We'll find a healer," Halt continued. "There has to a village somewhere near here that has one. We'll have to move him, we have no choice. I don't like it, but we may have to traipse all over the place to find a healer. We might not have time to find one and bring them here." Horace nodded again. He pulled a map from Halt's saddle bag. He handed it to Halt, who unfurled it on the ground in front of them. Halt began searching for the larger villages when Horace sucked in his breath.

"What?" Halt asked, turning towards him. Horace pointed wordlessly to the map. Macindaw.

"Castle Macindaw? What…" Halt stopped short. Will had made a friend on his mission to Macindaw. A healer. A very talented healer.

"Malcolm," Horace breathed. "If anyone can help Will, Malcolm can. We know where he is, he's close enough to bring back here. He'll do anything for Will. I know he'll come." Halt nodded slowly.

"How do I find him?"