Chapter 10

Two weeks later

It was late afternoon when Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain finally arrived back to his castle hidden deep in the mountains. His horse was nearly dead, and he was exhausted. Shouting angrily for his men to assemble in the throne room, he dismounted and walked slowly towards the main hall. He was nearly ready to drop, but he knew that he could not show weakness in front of his men. They were all criminals, outlaws and murderers, and they would be quick to betray him if they thought that he was at anything less than full strength, especially considering the outcome of the recent battle at the plains.

The throne room within the black castle was a crude imitation of the one in Castle Araluen, and a heavy obsidian throne stood imposingly on a raised dais at the back. As Morgarath positioned himself on the throne, the room seemed to fill with a dark energy and more than one of the men present shifted nervously under the powerful gaze of their Lord.

"General Owen, step forward," Morgarath commanded, and Owen hurried to kneel before the dais. "Report." There was no need for Morgarath to elaborate. Years of service left Owen with no doubt about what he wanted, and where his place was.

"We arrived just over two weeks ago, My Lord. The Ranger boy is in the cells and I have had him kept under guard. It is unlikely that he will try to escape again, and the wound in his shoulder is finally healing." Owen spoke calmly and made sure to keep his gaze trained at Morgarath's feet. The dark lord hated it when his men showed disrespect, and Owen could tell that he was already in a bad mood. He had returned alone and a lot earlier than expected; Owen presumed that the battle had not gone well.

There was a dark flash in Morgarath's eyes and, too late, Owen realized that he had made a potentially deadly mistake. "What do you mean 'escape again', General?" Morgarath said, his voice as sharp and cold as ice.

Quickly, Owen summarized Will's escape attempt being careful not to mention the name of the man that had unlocked his shackles. He knew that Morgarath would be out for blood and if Owen revealed the man's name then none of the other men would trust him anymore.

"I am glad that he did not manage to get away, General. Things would have been much worse for you if he had. However, as it is, I find that I must punish you for the fact that he was able to escape at all, however brief his little bout of freedom was." Owen continued to look at the ground and tried not to let Morgarath see that he was shaking. "Guards! Take this man to the post. He is to be given 50 lashes for his disobedience. Let this be an example to all of you, I will not tolerate failure, and anyone slacking in their duties will be severely punished."

As the Lord of Rain and Night watched Owen being dragged away, he did nothing to hide the smile on his face. He knew that he was being overly harsh on the old general, but Morgarath ruled by fear, and in light of his recent defeat he felt that he needed to remind his people exactly why they should obey him.

"Bring me the Ranger." Morgarath thought that it was about time that he became properly acquainted with the young apprentice. They were going to be spending a lot of time together, after all.

Crowley allowed himself a brief moment of distraction from the reports he was currently reviewing to attempt to clear his troubled thoughts. He knew what was wrong, and it had nothing to do with the papers he was holding, and everything to do with one of his oldest friends.

After Halt had arrived back at the battlefield on the Plains, exhausted and grief stricken, he had asked Crowley for a leave of absence to go to Skandia.

The Ranger Commandant had known how much it would hurt Halt to refuse him, and had seen the resentment written in every line of Halt's body as he had denied his request. He had wanted desperately to allow Halt to go and find Erak and his crew, but he had known that it would be impossible, despite his personal feelings. Duty came first, that was the oath that all Rangers took when they graduated, and Crowley knew that his friend would be needed in Redmount. Two Rangers had been killed in the fighting, and more than a dozen had been wounded; he simply didn't have the men he needed to keep the country in order for long enough to allow Halt to go off to Skandia. Crowley had seen the hurt and betrayal in Halt's eyes as he had refused him but there was nothing he could do.

Crowley just hoped that Halt wouldn't do anything stupid.

Halt swore loudly and slammed the door of his small cabin with a loud bang. He had been spending the last couple weeks hunting down various criminals and outlaws all over Redmount and he was thoroughly sick of it. Dozens of would be bandits had sprung up all over the county to try and take advantage of the chaos left behind by the recent fighting.

As he sat himself down at the small wooden table with a steaming cup of coffee, Halt thought about what to do. Every bandit he chased, every pickpocket or thief he caught, and every day that passed took the Skandians further and further out of his reach. He wanted to go to Skandia and tear the country apart, piece-by-piece, until he avenged Will, but he knew that it wouldn't be possible. He was a Ranger, and they needed him in Araluen. It was his duty.

Unconsciously, Halt fingered the small silver Oakleaf amulet that hung around his neck. It was the sign of the Corps, and every Ranger, active, retired, or apprentice in their second year or above received an amulet, signifying their status. Dimly, Halt remembered giving Will his bronze amulet, the sign of an apprentice. As he pictured the smiling face of his young apprentice, Halt slowly lifted the chain over his head. It's funny, Halt thought, how such a little thing can mean so much.

Standing abruptly, Halt made his decision. Gently he let the amulet and its chain fall through his calloused fingers and he watched as it coiled neatly onto the table next to the now empty mug of coffee. Then, without a backwards glance, he grabbed his traveling pack, walked out of the cabin, and went to saddle Abelard and Tug.

Will was hungry but, despite this, was in a rather good mood. His injured arm, after nearly two weeks of constant pain, had finally gone numb. The shackle was back around his right ankle and it was tight enough to chaff and pull against his sore skin every time he moved. The chain on the shackle was hooked to the wall, with a rather nasty looking lock.

At first, Will, his mind always on escape, had thought that he would be able to chip away at the stone and pull the hook free, lock and all, but he had quickly realized that it was a hopeless plan. He didn't even have anything to chip at the wall with and it was made of some sort of solid dark stone that Will had never seen before that refused all of his efforts to force the heavy metal hook to move.

Even if, by some miracle, he managed to pull the hook free from the wall, he still wouldn't be able to get out of the cell. From the sound of it, there was always a guard outside the door and he was pretty sure that the door was locked. It would be rather stupid if it wasn't.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in the cells for, but he guessed that it was about two weeks, perhaps longer. There was no source of light to tell day from night, but Will thought that he had gotten good at judging the time by listening to the guards. When they were active and loud, Will guessed that it was sometime during the day. If they started to snore, Will supposed that meant that it was night, but he couldn't be too sure; he had caught some of the Redmont dayshift guards sleeping on occasion while he was wandering around the castle.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound that Will supposed was the guard standing up, and he tensed as he heard approaching footsteps. Something was about to happen. Unless he was mistaken-and he didn't think he was-it was still too early for someone to be bringing him his next meager meal.

As Will was wondering what was going on, there was a rattling of keys and a scrape of wood on stone as the door was opened. He blinked as light flooded the cell, but before his vision could adjust, a dark blur grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pulled him sharply to his feet. As the man bent down to unclip the chain from the wall, Will noticed that there were three more men standing at the door, cutting off his escape. He had no choice but to do what they wanted.

Once the end of the chain was freed from the wall, the man wrapped it around one fist before grabbing him by the back of his shirt with the other and pulling him out the door. "You're coming with me. Lord Morgarath wants to see you."

Will couldn't suppress the shiver of fear those words triggered. He knew that it was inevitable that Morgarath would show up, but Will had been hoping that the man would have been killed during the battle.

As Will walked, the length of chain that was now held tightly in his guard's hand was being jerked roughly, unbalancing him and sending shockwaves of pain into his right foot. Will was lead through the maze of corridors and doorways until they reached what he presumed must be Morgarath's throne room.

The room held nearly 50 men and women, and none of them looked very friendly. Some even had the same smug grin as the man that had lead him here. Will was marched up to the dais until he was standing directly in front of Morgarath, the man watching him disinterestedly.

He looked directly into the self-titled Lord's cold eyes, refusing to either look down or kneel. It was a small defiance, really, but it was all he could do at the moment and Will couldn't keep a small grin from showing on his face when he heard Morgarath's low growl of rage.

Suddenly, something tugged violently on the chain attached to his ankle and he was sent crashing to the unforgiving stone floor. When he tried to rise, a boot pressed into the small of his back, keeping him on his knees.

"Rise, Ranger," Morgarath said, and Will didn't need to see the man to know that he was smirking. After a moment, the weight was removed from his back, and he rose to his feet, sending an angry glance to the man standing there.

"Apprentice." Will said, turning to again look directly into the eyes of his captor. "I'm an apprentice."

"I am aware of that, boy," Morgarath said arrogantly, smirking. "If you had been a real Ranger, you would have been harder to catch."

Now it was Will's turn to smirk. He knew that he shouldn't be trying to aggravate Morgarath, but he couldn't keep himself from responding. Will always had to try and have the last word.

"I might just be an apprentice, but I still managed to foil your plans just as well as any graduate Ranger, don't you think? I mean, that bridge burnt wonderfully, all that tar and wood…" Will's voice was mocking, even as he knew that he was simply making things worse for himself.

"You're a cocky one, aren't you?" Morgarath said almost absentmindedly, as he picked up a pair of chain mail backed gloves and slowly pulled them on.

The gesture was undoubtedly threating, and meant to scare him. He had grown up hearing horror stories about Morgarath, and his hatred for Rangers. Morgarath was going to do what he wanted to Will until he either managed to escape, or Halt showed up and rescued him. Until then, he was at Morgarath's mercy, and from what he'd heard, the man didn't have much.

"I think that I will rather enjoy teaching you manners, don't you?" Morgarath was smiling again, slowly curling his hands in and out of fists, being very obvious as he did so.

The sight sent a strange thrill through his body, and Will continued to watch the man's face. It was the same feeling that he had when he sunk to his knees in the mud, saxe knife at the ready, his only defense against a raging boar. The mix of adrenaline and fear pounded through his veins, and Will felt his mind go strangely clear. If he was going down, he wasn't going to go without a fight. He looked Morgarath directly in the eyes, before spitting in his face.

Time seemed to still for a moment, as the spit struck Morgarath dead on, the dark lord sitting there in shock, the watchers and guards dead silent, hardly daring to breath.

Suddenly, Morgarath moved. An expression of shock on his face, he slowly wiped the spittle off with the back of his chain main glove, before looking from the glove to Will and back. Suddenly, with an animalistic cry of rage, Morgarath jerked to his feet, lunging towards Will.

Will ducked down, dodging Morgarath's wild fists and ramming his uninjured shoulder into Morgarath. Will's shout of triumph was short lived however, as he felt one gloved hand close around the neck of his shirt, holding him still, and the other collided solidly with his jaw, the sound of metal striking flesh resounding through the large stone room.

The force of the blow snapped his head backwards, and the world shifted violently, the chain mail splitting his lip and spraying blood. Will barely had time to brace himself before he was struck again, this time in the stomach, and he couldn't keep from gasping out in pain. Morgarath shoved him backwards and barked out something unintelligible to someone, and Will felt himself being caught and held by someone.

He caught a brief glimpse of Morgarath's cruel eyes before two sharp blows collided one after the other with his face, before the dark lord switched targets to Will's chest and stomach. Each time the gloves struck, pain rippled through his body, and the young apprentice could feel the cold chain mail opening up cuts and leaving bruises wherever they struck.

Morgarath struck Will again and again, stopping only when he was panting for breath and Will was slumped unconscious in the grasp of his guard, and blood was dripping down his face, his shirt nearly soaked with red.

Slowly, Morgarath turned and surveyed the watching men and women, noticing that Owen was standing and watching, his gaze fixed on the bloody apprentice. He didn't like the look of concern that he saw flicker slightly behind those dark eyes, and he resolved to keep a keen eye on Owen from now on.

He turned back and addressed the man still holding Will up. "Take this piece of filth back to his cell."

Footsteps echoed eerily off the black stone walls as Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, strode confidently from the room, stripping off his gloves as he went, shaking flecks of blood onto the dark stone floor.

"Ranger Halt!"

Halt stepped backwards into the shadows of the stable, his right hand dropping instinctively towards his saxe knife, his left pulling his cowl over his face. There shouldn't be anyone at his cabin, as he had made it clear to Baron Arald that he needed a few days to himself, to 'rest'. There most certainly shouldn't be a young man guiding a gigantic battle horse into the clearing.

Slowly, Halt relaxed as he saw who it was and, stepping out of the shadows, he addressed the young battleschool apprentice. "What do you want?" Halt said gruffly, not bothering to conceal his impatience.

Horace, having just dismounted Kicker, jumped and quickly spun around, his hand going to the hilt of the broadsword that was strapped at the ready around his waist. He had thought that Halt was in the cabin; he definitely hadn't been expecting the Ranger to appear, as if by magic, from the shadows behind him. Although, now that he thought about it, he probably should have.

"I'm coming with you," Horace said. His voice gave no hint of any unease and the young battleschool apprentice glared at Halt, as if daring him to argue.

"Coming with me where, Horace? I'm not going anywhere," Halt stated, calmly.

Horace felt a brief twinge of anger as he looked at the bearded Ranger and saw, clear as day, the two Ranger horses saddled and loaded with travelling gear behind him. "You're going to Skandia after those pirates that killed Will, and I'm coming with you. He was my best friend." The last part was spoken so softly that Halt almost didn't hear it.

Halt studied the young man standing in front of him and silently pondered what to do. The boy was determined, he had proven that just by turning up, and he was brave as well. He was also a natural with a sword and Halt figured that it would come in handy having Horace around in a fight. Nodding to himself, Halt made his decision. "I take it that you are all packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," Horace nodded, barely believing what he was hearing. He had never thought that Halt would actually take him!

"Then mount up, and let's go." Not waiting to see if Horace was following, Halt swung up into Abelard's saddle and left the clearing at a trot. He smiled grimly to himself as he heard the young apprentice scramble to mount his massive battlehorse, Kicker, and follow him.

A/N

Here you go, another chapter! Sorry it's a bit late, I was busy and discovered a MAJOR plot hole in my planning of this story. Trust me, you'll be glad I fixed it. My previous planning had Tug in two places at once, characters being in places they had absolutely no business being, made up and totally not suitable motives, and I basically wrote Will into a place I couldn't get him out of. To fix it, I had to basically make up an entirely new enemy, pull motives out of possible twists from the book, kidnap a few characters, and force Will to make a few hard choices that he really didn't want to make (he's a stubborn one, that Will!). lol.

Wasn't that a huge amount I told you about the story that actually said nothing at all! XD hehehehehe. I feel so mean. Every word I wrote above is true, and huge parts of the story to come, but you'll never be able to figure out what I mean by it until I post the necessary chapters. Feel free to try though. I'd love to hear what you come up with!

Thanks heaps to my beta Alyss Mainwaring!

Ali