Chapter 7
Thank you all for your reviews!
To newdawnfox: Halt's not really a kind of vampire from a series as such, I just took the concept of a well known creature that sucks blood and made it conveniant to the story. That's why the people he bites don't turn into vampires, it'd be inconveniant lol.
He's definitely not a twilight vampire though, sparkling is so not cool and Halt's too manly lol.
Halt was in a meeting with the baron up at Castle Redmont, so Will had the little cabin all to himself. He'd spent the morning shooting arrows, and now, as were Halt's instructions, he was to complete a mapping exercise in which he had to write the names of all fifty fiefs in their positions, along with as many landmarks he could think of.
Redmont fief was easy enough, and Castle Araluen. Will chewed the end of his quill, deep in thought. Dellware fief was harder. He suspected it was somewhere in the north but he couldn't be sure.
Halt would be back soon and he had made it clear that he had high expectations of his apprentice. Will hated to let the one person who accepted werewolves down. A hint of an idea touched his mind. Maybe Halt had maps in his room? Will knew the vampire kept maps in his saddlebags, but maybe he had some in his room as well. Then Will could simply copy it and put it back in the right place.
He wouldn't copy it all. That would be obvious. He'd just pick out say, forty six of the fifty fiefs and maybe the ten most prominent land marks. Just enough to meet Halt's expectations, but not too far above mediocre to be prompt suspicion.
Pleased with this idea, Will tip toed over to Halt's room. Even though no one was home, he still felt guilty about sneaking into the bedroom, as if the ranger would tap him on the back and fix him with that penetrating glare.
He eased the door open, holding his breath as it creaked, although there was no possible way Halt could hear it from the castle.
Or was there? The ranger knew other things that Will was surprised by. Even for a magical creature, Halt was uncanny.
Will held his breath, but no bats fluttered over to him, no vampire leapt out of the shadows. He shook away his fanciful doubts and headed over to the chest of drawers beside the bed.
Halt's room wasn't at all like one might imagine a vampire's den. The double bed was covered in a thick, woollen duvet. The simple wooden furniture- a desk, a wadrobe, the drawers by the bed, a bookshelf and a cupboard- were free of dust and cobwebs. The heavy bound books did not have the words, 'bats in the shadows' or 'a vampires guide to blood' printed down the spine. Rather they were quite normal: Araluen policies, edible and medical plants of the forest, Fast and easy meals for the working man. A vase of wildflowers rested on the wadrobe.
Nothing gave away that Halt was a vampire, except, perhaps, for the heavy drapes that would obscure all light when they were shut. Will had come to learn that even though light did not harm the ranger, Halt preffered not to be exposed to it.
The top drawer didn't have a map in it. Will bit his lip, concentrating on putting everything back exactly the way it was before he started rummaging through it. His fingers brushed against the wood of a framed portrait.
He knew he shouldn't pry but it seemed so unlike Halt to have a portrait that he couldn't help lifting it it out to stare at it. It was skillfully painted, with oily brushstrokes of a young woman. Her skin was pale and glowed against the light background. The artist had taken great care with eyes, detailing tiny flecks of blue in the grey orbs. Long blonde hair fell over the woman's shoulders, wispy strands drifting over her cheeks and lifting slightly from her scalp in a natural way.
Will found himself glancing around. He was suddenly uncomfortable, as if he was looking in on something extremely private. There was something about the woman that reminded him of Alyss- perhaps it was her gentle smile and the graceful way she lifted her head.
There was no name on the portrait and he wondered who the woman was. She must be close to Halt if he kept a drawing of her beside his bed, but Will had never heard of the vampire having a lover.
He was careful to put her back in the same position and shut the drawer. The apprentice slipped from the room, embarrassed for no paticular reason. He decided against searching any further for a map, as he thought now if Halt caught him the consequences would be horrifying beyond his imagination. He didn't think the vampire was the kind to be jolly about a sneaky apprentice finding a personal portrait.
And why did the ranger have a drawing of a woman beside his bed? Will settled back down, doodling on the corner of his rough, currently unlabeled drawing of Araluen. Did Halt love her?
For some reason, he couldn't shake Alyss from his mind. Would Will like to keep a drawing of her by his bed? Well, maybe, if the painter was good enough to capture the shine in her eyes, a flow of hair framing her delicate face, her full lips smiling, the one freckle on her jawbone.
Not that he loved Alyss. She was just a childhood friend. A really good childhood friend. One that he could trust with secrets. A beautiful childhood friend.
He didn't love her like that.
Not at all.
Anyway, he had to label his map before Halt got home, and preferably without the rising blush on his cheeks.
…...
Battleschool was not at all like Horace had expected it to be. It was hard work, not at all glamorous, and every day he fell into bed utterly exhausted.
He did like the practice drills. The sweat rolling down his face, the repetitive thud thud thud, the scuff of boots, the thundering instructions of what poistion to take: he found it quite exhilirating.
Not so much the written work. And there was a lot of written work. War tactics, theory of battle, history, and each subject demanded assignments on time. None of them seemed to talk to each other; they were all quite happy to have after class work handed in on the same day, no matter if it meant the students had to stay up late working by the flickering light of a candle to get it done.
Currently, Horace was in Defense Against Magical Creatures class, learning about the dark. Ogres were stupid and could be tricked. Dark Pixies were fast and it was best to catch them in cages. Wargals didn't like horses.
Horace absorbed everything. He had already committed himself to destroying every single dark creature. He had to, because if it weren't for the dark, his parents would still be alive.
In front of him, he was watching an older boy. This boy was a second year and he'd been sent into the class to catch up on his schoolwork while his peers were doing physical training. Whether he was behind in lessons because he'd been sick or because he was lazy, Horace didn't know.
The reason he was watching the boy was because the second year evidently was not doing his work. Insetad, he stared at the teacher, jaw tense with anger as Sir Ronald told them of the horrible crimes dark creatures had committeed.
Horace could see his own resentment reflected in that tense face. So when the lesson ended, he approached the second year boy.
"Hey," he muttered, unsure what came after that. As an orphin, he'd always felt apart from the other kids and hadn't made any close friends in a while.
"Hey," the second year boy muttered. He was not quite as tall as Horace, with olive skin and neat, dark hair. "You're the new ward boy. What happened to your parents? They run away 'cause you were so ugly?"
Horace was thrown. He bunched his fists at his sides and tried to speak evenly. "My parents are dead," it came out with more resentment then he had intended.
"Drown in the flour mill?" the boy chuckled. Horace flushed, trying in vain to hold back his anger behind a thin veil of restraint.
"They were killed honourably in the battle of Hackham Heath," he told the second year, who he now saw to be rude beyond measure.
"Touche," the second year smiled, sensing the anger behind the words. "Well, that's hard luck, that is. I hate them magical monsters."
"I'm going to kill every single dark creature," Horace told him. The second year smiled.
"Not just the dark ones," he said. "You gotta kill 'em all."
Sir Ronald snapped at them for standing talking and the two hurried off. They were heading in seperate directions but just as Horace turned to leave, the second year grabbed his arm.
"Meet me behind this building tonight," he said, a smile on his lips. "If you wanna get rid o' them nasty dark creatures."
Puzzled, but undeniably curious, Horace nodded. The smile on the boys face, which seemed a little sinister now, widened.
"Great. The name's Bryn by the way."
"Horace."
And with that, they parted to their next lesson.
…...
When night fell, Horace slipped from his room and padded down the deserted corridors. He was a little uneasy about meeting Bryn so late at night, though he couldn't say why. Perhaps it had something to do with that sinister smile.
He took a deep breath and stepped out of the dorm building. Icy air swirled around him and he shut the door, and with it, his last connection to the warmth of the dorms. Horace treaded across the battleschool, past the training posts, past the weapon shack, and around building one.
Three shadowy figures were huddled around a lantern, stamping their feet and rubbing their gloved hands to keep warm. As he approached, one of them raised the lantern and smiled at him and he recognised it as Bryn.
"Hello," Horace said politely. He tried not to let it be too obvious that he was studying the other boys. One of them was a handsome blond, the other a redhead with a freckled face, and both of them had nasty grins.
"Hey," Bryn had his hand on his hip, studying the younger boy. "Alda, Jerome, this is Horace that I told you about. Horace, my friends Alda and Jerome."
"Hello," Horace said again. He was wary of the fact that there were three of them and they had him surrounded, but as of yet there was nothing malicious about them save the grins.
"Heard you wanted to join our little club," Jerome said.
Horace frowned, and Bryn gave him a reassuring smile.
"It's a club to kill magical creatures," he whispered. Horace nodded slowly.
"Yes, I want to join," he said, although he didn't much like the three second years.
"You have to go through initiation first," Alda said. He had a burlap sack in his hand and he opened it to reveal a sword inlaid with jewels. Horace couldn't hold back a gasp as the sword was passed to him. He took it tentatively, as if it would break.
"It's my fathers," Alda told him. "He gave it to me. But I ain't allowed it at school so don't tell."
"Or else," Jerome threatened, his eyebrows dropping low over his eyes.
"I won't tell," Horace promised. He swung the sword to try it out, admiring the shine of silver in the lantern light.
"And don't you tell about anything else neither," Jerome added.
"He won't tell," Bryn said, confident. "He's a first year, and little first years get kicked out of battle school if they rat on their seniors." He grinned at Horace. "And you wouldn't want that, would you ward brat?"
Horace gritted his teeth. He had to fight his rising anger down. This club was much too intriguing- he wasn't going to go and lose his temper. "Tell me about the club," he said.
"It's quite simple," Alda said. "We sneak out at night and hunt down magical creatures."
Horace nodded. It sounded perfect. The perfect way to do Araluen a service. "So what do I have to do for initiation?"
"You've got to kill a dark creature and show us the body," Alda explained.
"And no trickery," Jerome added.
"You can keep the sword for now," Alda said. "Since first years are only allowed practice weapons." So were second years, but Horace couldn't be bothered pointing that out. "You have one week to kill a magical creature."
"Alright, I'll do it," Horace said. Even if it meant he was to become very busy, he had to prove that he could do Araluen a great service by killing the dark creatures.
The three second years grinned at him, nodding to each other.
"Be glad to expand the club," Bryn murmured.
"Is it just the three of you?" Horace asked. The second years exchanged a glance again.
"In this battleschool, yes," Alda said. "But we're a part of a bigger group. It's called the True Guard."
Lol, I've been so stupid lately:
At home- Dad talking about The Voice Australia: How many songs did they have this episode?
Me: There were four judges and each one had two battles from their group. So, 2 times 4 is twelve, twelve songs.
Dad and my brother crack up laughing because I'm in the maths extension class and I'm taking exams above my year level.
Now, when writing fanfiction:
This is what I nearly wrote when Will is in Halt's room.
His fingers brushed against the wood of a framed photograph. A photograph. Really. I honestly was so close to writing that.
I'm still concerned that they wouldn't have books because paper was so expensive in those days, but I'm choosing to ignore it.
Also, I can't remember the personalities of Alda, Bryn and Jerome so I kind of made them up. Sorry if it bothers anyone. I'm trying to keep them close to the books, but I fear they're drifting away as their roles develop.
