In this chapter: the real reason why Will and Horace became enemies

"Come on, Horace," Will whispered. "You can do it."

"I'm telling you," Horace warned, "it's a bad idea."

The two friends crouched on one side of Will's bed, so low that the moonlight gleaming through the window didn't catch them and they remained instead concealed in the shadows. It was well past midnight now, but they were wide awake, plotting. Six year old boys didn't get much sleep when there was so much to do.

"You're going to be fine. Trust me, I-" From across the room, they heard something stir. At the same time their heads turned to look at their sleeping ward-mate tucked in the corner bed. They knew George tossed and turned more than either of them at night, but every time he did, neither boy could be sure he wasn't waking up and catching them.

Will turned back and faced Horace. In a quieter voice he said, "I've done this before and I've never gotten caught."

"Because you're good at that," Horace whispered. "I'm not. You could climb up a tower in the middle of the day and not be seen."

"Then you should learn. I'd do it, but even if I was a ranger, I couldn't do it with this." Will lifted his bandaged hand, something he earned the night before from choosing the wrong tree branch to support his weight. At least it was his left hand.

"I know," Horace said. "So let's not do it at all."

"They'll notice the sword by tomorrow, and we'll have to tell them how it got up there."

"But if I get caught- which I will- they're going to ground me for a week. Or more." Horace glanced away from his friend's eyes, his friend who, at this point, acted more like a brother to him.

Will nodded. "You're thinking of the thing tomorrow." Starting on Monday was the annual mock tournament hosted by Sir Rodney, the Battlemaster of Redmont and head of the Redmont Battleschool. He was also Horace's idol.

The tournament was only for small kids and the students of the Battleschool. Anybody in the school past their third year could sign up, and everybody did sign up, so that made for a lot of kids. All the fights were one-on-one, usually lasting two to four minutes; in an arena big enough to fool someone into thinking they were watching a real tournament. And it might as well have been a real tournament. There was no prize in winning besides bragging rights, but that was enough for them.

Of course there were concession stands, school pride merchandise, many kinds of souvenirs like fake swords and knives for small kids, less-fake-but-still-pretty-fake daggers for older kids, the informative book on knighthood written by Sir Rodney a decade or two ago- surprisingly still so popular and relevant that it continued to be a bestseller around Araluen and neighboring fiefs, Sir Rodney himself at one point or another so that he may autograph the book, armor, most likely, medical kits and bandages to wipe the blood of the underage competitors; and much more.

The other part of the tournament was something that began after its twentieth birthday. After all the fights on the last two days were short, thirty minute classes for children who wanted to learn how to swordfight. It was only for kids over six and under thirteen (this was the first time any of the Ward kids could attend). They would receive a private lesson with one of the top twenty students in the school, get to meet and talk with Sir Rodney about knighthood, and for no cost. The whole tournament was, in fact, paid for by the school's own funding.

Horace had only recently become fixated on the idea of knighthood someday, but the way he talked about it, one might think he'd had the idea for years. He went so far as to carve his own, homemade wooden sword from some wood he found in the stables. Considering his lack of knowledge of how to carve, it didn't look that bad.

He ran around swinging it, pretending to be a knight, and then hitting his ward-mates with it he pretended were knights from other countries, particularly George. Will surrendered early on and humbly asked Sir Horace if they could join forces. They did, and Horace continued being a knight while Will sat in a tree with his homework and a book, having bought his safety.

Alyss hit him over the head with a stick and walked back inside, so the only one left to attack was George.

Finally Jenny came out and confronted Horace, defending George, and demanded he stop or else she would "make him".

Of course Horace didn't take her seriously. That was a mistake. She kicked him in the shin; he doubled over, and she snatched the sword from his hand and threw it as high and far as she could in the opposite direction.

It landed on the roof, far out of their reach. After seeing where it'd gone she turned her back, and with her head held high, walked proudly away.

Will and Horace promised that they would get the sword back before asking any adults to find it. Jenny was many things, but she was not a tattletale. Nobody knew about the sword but them.

Which was what they planned to get back that night.

"I got in trouble last week, too," Horace said. "If I get caught, they won't let me go to the tournament and I'll never be a knight."

Will snorted. "You'll be fine. Even if you get caught, you're still gonna be a knight someday. Like me. We'll both be knights."

A smile appeared on Horace's face at the idea. Will had wanted to go to Battleschool for years since he learned his father had been one. Horace would never admit it, but Will was the only reason why he got the idea, too.

Horace sighed.

"You think you're up for it?"

"I think you're crazy."

"Well duh."

"There's too much at stake here," Horace said. "I really, really can't miss this tournament. I can't." The boy's lips pursed together in between sentences, hoping it would help convey some of his feelings across to his brother. Even if it didn't cost him knighthood, it would still rob him of a chance, his first and only chance in a year to see his heroes in action. "If I get caught-"

"You won't."

"I-"

"Trust me." Will caught his eyes then, and held them this time. "I wouldn't let you do this if I knew you were gonna get in trouble."

That was enough for Horace. It took a second, but then a grin spread over his face, and Will mirrored it with a smile of his own.

"Brothers?" Will asked.

Horace nodded. "Brothers." And he meant it.

They stood up from their hiding place, knees and back still bent to avoid the light from catching them red-handed. They pushed open the already cracked door and snuck through to the main room of the ward.

Will retold him the plan as they walked. He said, "So outside the front door is that big clearing. As long as you stay close to the walls you should be okay, but there's a guy who circles around every once in a while so we have to be quick."

"Okay. What about the front door? Isn't it locked?"

Will smiled and with his good hand, he pulled a ring of several keys out of his pocket.

Horace stared. He could have a very expressive face when he was surprised, or in disbelief, like he was now. He didn't know how Will got that, and frankly, he didn't want to.

"So," Will continued uninterrupted, "you go out there, stay close to the wall- and there's no ladder around, but go to the left because there's a window. Start climbing there." They reached the front door, and Will and Horace squatted down facing each other as Will gestured his directions. He waved his hand to the left. "There're lots of holes in the wall you can grab onto, then the window sill when you get higher. With that, you should be able to climb high enough to reach the sword."

"Okay," Horace nodded.

It wasn't the smoothest plan, but Will was quite proud of it. He'd done things like this before, so why shouldn't Horace be able to? He was confident he could.

Both their heads snapped up when they heard footsteps coming closer and closer to the front door. Horace began to panic and looked at Will. Will shook his head and put a finger to his lips. The look in his eyes said "trust me", the same look he had before when he was convincing Horace in their room. It was the look that threw an arm around Horace and locked him in his place. Made him get scared to look anywhere else.

Will was just so sure of himself. Like there was nothing standing in his way that he couldn't knock down. It was amazing. It wasn't often when Will truly, unabashedly let his confidence shine through, but Horace saw it in him every day; buried deep, too shy to come out in anyone's presence but Horace's.

The footsteps got farther and farther away. Horace remembered that that was the one-man-patrol Will was talking about and not someone about to come in the door. He calmed himself down; tried to slow his beating heart. Horace had gotten in trouble for sneaking out past curfew before, so it wasn't like it was all unfamiliar to him.

And even though he knew if he got caught it wouldn't be the end of the world, it kind of felt like it.

After it was quiet, Will waited about twenty seconds before he started fitting keys to unlock the door. "Okay, are you ready?"

"Yeah." A smile spread on young Horace's face. Finally, his adrenaline was kicking in.

Will saw this and gave him the same look back. "I'll be watching the other wall from a window over there." He quickly gestured to his left. "If the guard starts coming, I'll let you know and just… try to make yourself invisible."

That was a terrible plan, but Horace didn't have another idea, either, so he just nodded, trusted him, and let Will open the front door. Cool air seeped in.

Horace gave his friend one last, noble look. He placed a fist over his heart and puffed up his chest. "And off I go," he said, all mature and knightly.

Will covered his mouth with his hand to muffle his laugh, and let Horace slip past him into the night.

The ward had two stories. The window Will talked about, about ten yards from the door, was built into the second floor, one of three windows that looked into the small library. So it was too high for Horace to just jump and reach. Kind of disappointing.

Horace glanced both ways, then began to sneak down the house, keeping within an inch or less to the red and brown bricks that made up the wall. His heart pounded in his chest loud enough to make him conscious of every little sound he made. He still knew very well no one was out there besides him. If someone were, he would feel it. But instead the emptiness was its own presence. It swallowed him, held him, a hollow shell of which he crept along the edges of. Thinking about it made him excited and terrified at the same time.

He glanced back when he was halfway to the window. Will wasn't there, and Horace remembered he would be watching the other window in case the guard was close. No reassuring looks for him right now. Whatever. Horace didn't need him.

Horace picked up the pace. He moved away from the wall a little bit and gave himself more room to move. As Will said, there were plenty of holes to grab onto and lift himself up. When he was directly below the window sill, he felt around for a deep enough hand grip, and pulled himself higher.

He began slowly. After a minute he was getting into the feel of it.

The height wasn't terrible because he couldn't see how high he was. With the effort he was putting into climbing, and the awkward angle his head had to turn in to look down, he wouldn't have been able to if he wanted. The wind blew at his back, and he froze. Then he scolded himself for it, and kept climbing. Faster. Faster. His adrenaline rushed, and to his own shock, he started to grin.

He pushed away the thoughts of how far away the guard was; the knowledge that if he got caught, he would look really, really bad in front of the one person he wanted to be like someday.

Will only reached his lookout post by climbing on top a counter; seeing by putting his face so close to the window that his nose left a print on the glass.

It'd been five minutes since Horace walked out.

Will didn't have to worry too much about himself getting caught. If he was outside his room past curfew, it'd be a slap on the wrist. If he were outside the house at night, climbing the walls to retrieve something that would get him in lots of trouble in the first place… that was something entirely different.

Still, when he heard something shuffling behind him, it scared him. He let a gasp slip out his mouth and jumped off the counter behind a chair. Several moments passed and nothing else moved… It might have been the floor settling, Will decided. Or something.

He tried to awkwardly climb back up on the counter again. He couldn't remember quite how he did it before; the top was made out of tile, very slick tile, good for cleaning up messes but not so fun to sit on.

However, he didn't need to.

The door burst open with the sound of a crack of lightning, and Will slipped right back off the counter, taking cover behind the chair like before. Somebody stomped in, and somebody else followed him, yelling, kicking, and fighting. When Will listened to the words:

"No! No! Please don't!"

"You're not allowed to be out there past curfew. Hasn't Baron Arald told you this before? This isn't the first time you've been caught breaking rules."

Will turned pale. If not for the darkness he enshrouded himself in, and the thin wall that separated him from the main room, he would've glowed. He realized Horace wasn't following him in, rather being carried over the guard's shoulder. Otherwise he would run off- and he was trying. Will was as scared for him as if he were in Horace's place instead.

But Will had been watching! He was on lookout every second Horace was out there… he only stopped for a few seconds to make sure no one was awake, and the guard must've slipped past in that window of time. His heart sank.

The silence was stunning. The guard disappeared down the hallway, but Will didn't leave.

Will's lips mouthed the name of his brother; every other part of him was too stunned to work. Guilt swallowed his heart like a tidal wave. He kept waiting to move and run out of his spot, beg the guard to let Horace go and tell him it was his fault, that he's the one who set Horace up to do it, and he was only doing him a favor…

But he never did.

Will knew it wouldn't have worked anyway, he would've just gotten both of them in trouble. But Horace didn't realize that.

He waited for Will to come out and save him, but he never did. He would find him asleep in his own bed, or feigning sleep, and doing it quite well, because even if Horace had the heart to sell him out, the guard would've never believed him.

But he never did.

The next day, Horace ignored Will all through breakfast. He didn't even look at him. Will got his attention once, but the only acknowledgement of his existence he received was a quick glare and nothing else. And although the glare was quick, it felt worse than a punch to the gut. The silence was even worse. That was torture.

The tournament didn't cheer Will up. He just felt like crying. At least Horace wasn't there to make it worse; he was grounded, like they knew he would be.

Still, Will persisted on. When he came back from the tournament that night, he and the ward kids ate dinner, during which Horace spent blithely ignoring him and pretending instead like there was an empty space where his body was.

Will's heart sank with every little word they didn't say. He just wanted to apologize. He apologized more often than he didn't that day, but every one of them was just like stabbing a needle in the hide of a dragon. It seemed like every apology made Horace angrier.

And yet, Will didn't know why his brother was so angry.

After dinner he caught his brother talking to George outside, right before curfew came and they had to go inside.

Will nervously approached them.

"Horace…" he said. This time, Horace's head swung in his direction, and his spirits lifted. "Hey, Horace," said Will, "can I please-"

"Go away."

The words were like a slap across the face. It slapped Will's smile right off his lips. Then he exploded.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?!" Will exclaimed, suddenly. George flinched. "It was my fault, and I was acting scared, and I shouldn't have let you get caught! But it was a mistake! I didn't mean to!"

"Sure," Horace spat. George was more than nervous, and he backed away a few steps to let them hash out whatever they needed to hash out. "Sure, you did."

"What do you think?"

"I think you were jealous," Horace said. "I think you knew I wanted to be a knight, and if I'm a knight, that means you'll have to live on a farm instead."

Will was taken aback. "That's ridiculous! I never thought that. I want us to be knights together. The Battlemaster can take two ward kids-"

"So you made me look bad instead so you could have your chance."

"No!" he said. "That's not it! I was just… I was scared. I was scared of getting caught, yes, but I never did it because I wanted to hurt you. I know I messed up. I'm sorry."

"Bullshit." Horace wasn't allowed to use that word, and he knew it, but sometimes he did anyway. He wanted to do more, though. He wanted to punch Will for making him trust him. For being his friend and then screwing him over. He wanted to hurt him like he'd been hurt. "You're a liar."

"No, I'm not! You're being an idiot, just stop and think!"

That hit a nerve in Horace, hard. It made him much, much angrier than Will assumed it did. Horace didn't like being called an idiot. Especially not by someone as smart as Will was.

"I'm not an idiot!" Horace yelled. "Shut up! You're an idiot!"

"Well you're being one now!" Will took a deep breath. "Horace, I don't want to do this." He walked closer still. "We're brothers, remember?" He paused, to sniff and then pretend like he wasn't close to tears. For some reason this made Horace a little bit happier. Will was weaker than he was, now. For such a smart, clever person, way smarter and cleverer than Horace was… he was weak.

Horace stopped for a few seconds to get himself together. Then he said, his gravest words yet, "You're just angry because you know you'll never be like your father."

That was it. That was the moment where Will knew he should've hit him. Had he done it, the next eight years of his life might have been different.

That was his second mistake.

But instead, he did the opposite. He froze in place, like Horace had drained him of all his thoughts, all his anger, and all his power, in just that one sentence. Then he fell onto his knees, and collapsed on the ground in hysterical tears.

"No…" he sobbed, "no, I…"

Horace couldn't stop. "You're small, you're weak, and you're a traitor," he spat.

Any confidence Will had was falling from him in the form of tears, taken by Horace and never again returned to him.

"And we're not brothers."

Will couldn't speak anymore, and Horace didn't have to. He walked past where Will was lying, back to the ward, and he realized that on some level he believed what he said. Or he wanted to believe.

Because he was going to be a knight, and not Will. No matter what.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Will had embarrassed him once, so it was time for Horace to return the favor.

When Horace turned his back that night, left Will on the ground, and left George to either comfort Will, or follow Horace in…

He turned his back forever.