Thanks again for all these reviews! Never had so many so quickly x3

~10~ Discussion over Dinner

Halt slowed Abelard from a trot to a walk as they passed beneath the barbican of Castle Redwood, Tug following suit almost in complete sync. Crowley, held before him in the saddle and wrapped in the Ranger's cloak, stirred from his sleep as he sensed the change of pace. It was only the late afternoon, but the boy was travel-weary. His sleep, at least, had given Halt time enough to think in peace.

"Mama?" Crowley muttered, groggy, and Halt sighed. The child thought they were back in Redmont.

"No, son. We're at Castle Redwood."

Crowley rubbed the crumbs from his eyes with little fists and glanced about curiously. His childish fascination was already brewing questions, and Halt was bracing himself for a full bombardment when a familiar and exceedingly welcome face greeted him from a side door.

"Well met, Halt," said Gilan with a small grin. The tall Ranger was flanked by yet another friendly face, and Halt felt himself pleased to see Sir Horace step out into the courtyard. There was a piece of cheese in his hand.

Halt raised an eyebrow at the cheese. "Well, I was expecting something more of a sharp, ceremonious greeting, but I suppose a ragged Ranger and a glutenous knight will have to do."

Gilan scowled playfully and Horace went red, having forgotten about the cheese in his hand, but evidently, it was very tasty cheese, for he hastily shoved it into his mouth and chewed it. By the look on his face, however, it hadn't been quite chewed enough before he swallowed.

"Hello, Halt," he said sheepishly, quickly straightening his rumpled shirt. The old Ranger's eyebrow remained in its favoured arch.

"Sir Horace," he replied with humorous formality and a curt nod of his head.

He could feel Crowley wriggle in the saddle in front of him, and knew that the boy was barely containing his excitement. He dismounted from Abelard's saddle – ignoring the fact that he felt as stiff as cold candle wax – and helped his son down. Crowley wasted no time in rushing over to Gilan and hugging him about the middle. If he'd moved any faster, the Ranger would have been run down.

The boy's words came out in a rush. "UncleGilanwehaftafindan'saveUncleWillan'—"

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa, there, boy! Calm yourself!" Gilan exclaimed, overwhelmed by the onslaught. Not to be pacified, Crowley released him and charged over to Horace, giving him the same treatment.

"Therewasbanditsan'lotsalotsafirean'we—"

Horace looked to Halt in complete bafflement. "He's trying to tell me something, I know it!" He glanced down at the boy. "You're really cute, lad, but I don't understand what you're saying!"

This silenced Crowley. He released the large knight and stood back, hands on hips and brow furrowed in childish anger.

"Imma Ranger. Rangers int cute! Learnna respect, sir knight, or I'll hafta teach yew!" His chest was so inflated with air, one could have put him in water without worries that he'd drown.

Horace's face became on of mock horror. "Oh, my lord! I had no idea. Please forgive my blundering soul!" He got to one knee and bowed his head, and Halt was reminded of a rooster as Crowley puffed out his chest even further and strutted around.

"Tha's bettah!" the boy said, nose up. Then he giggled, no longer being able to retain the image of a self-important noble. "Can I see your sword, Uncle Horace?"

Gilan felt a hand on his arm, and saw that Halt was leading him a few paces away, to talk in private.

"Something has happened," the grizzled Ranger said sombrely, and Gilan felt his stomach become a fathomless pit.

"That's what I was afraid of," he replied softly. "When I saw you riding here with Tug, but not Will..."

Halt hid his confusion well. "What do you know? How could you have suspected anything?"

Quickly, Gilan studied his former mentor's face, noting the darkened, tanned skin. His last mission had been in Arrida, he knew, and he would have only recently returned from it.

"There have been incidences, extremely unusual incidences, that occurred while you were gone," Gilan began. "Three Rangers were attacked and nearly abducted..."

Halt listened with spawning realization as the younger man recounted the attempted kidnappings of three members of their corps, all of which had happened to Rangers stationed at coastal fiefs, and had been the works of Toscans.

"We do not know why," Gilan said quietly, "but we knew that they weren't going to stop until they got what they wanted. The king has questioning parties up and about, but I feel it hasn't been enough."

Halt nodded grimly. "And you're right. It wasn't enough." He was reluctant to say more, and he glanced once meaningfully over at his son. Gilan didn't need to turn around, but he could hear Horace speaking to young Crowley, showing him the importance of each part of a sword.

"We'll get him fed and put him to bed," he said, "then you can tell Horace and me what has transpired. You look like you could use a cup of coffee, too. Come, the roast duck here is quite good..."

Horace pushed the string beans around on his plate, no longer hungry. It would usually take much to stop his appetite, but with the news of Will's kidnapping, his stomach had clenched into a painful knot.

"But why?" he asked redundantly. "Why would someone abduct Will? I mean, he's famous and all, but he's still a Ranger. I thought Rangers couldn't be held for ransom as effectively as a criminal would hope for."

"And you're right," said Halt sourly, glaring at his goblet of watered wine. "No matter who he is or what he's done for the kingdom, Duncan wouldn't pay any ransom for the release of a Ranger. It is the same with the Couriers. It is a dangerous life for both the corps and court."

Gilan ran a finger along the grain of the table, anxious to say the next words but knowing that they were necessary if they were to unravel the enigma. "You don't think...What if he's already dead?"

Halt looked sharply to him, and Gilan felt like an apprentice again, an apprentice who had just done something completely stupid after being shown the proper way of coming about something.

"He's not dead," the older Ranger stated crisply, and with such conviction Gilan wanted to agree.

"But as you say, only a fool would try to ransom a Ranger. What other reason would a person have to kidnap one? As we know, it wasn't Will specifically that they were after, so it wasn't his renown that got him to where he is."

"Perhaps the Toscans wish to learn Ranger secrets," Horace put out, and immediately warmed up to the idea. "I recall reading that Toscans believe in magic. Maybe they wanted to see what magic Rangers use to become invisible and have such uncanny archery skills."

"It isn't magic!" Halt barked, and Horace blushed furiously in chagrin.

"I know that! You know that's not what I meant," he growled back. He felt like he could bend the fork in his hand, if he wanted to. He was just so angry! "You shouldn't have left him," he suddenly growled. "You should have sent word that he needed aid!"

Halt's brow darkened thunderously. "Is that so, great and noble knight?"

Gilan cleared his throat, but Horace ignored him.

"Yes! If you hadn't left him alone, you could have defended him."

Now Halt's eyebrows lifted in mock astonishment. "Oh, I see! I could have sent smoke signals for help, or used my Ranger magic to call upon a bird to take a message, or whisper words onto the wind!"

Horace snapped his jaw shut. Fury and frustration roiled within him like boiling oil, but through the raging darkness shone a light of logic, and he sat back down into the table bench, not realizing that he had started to rise from it in his anger.

"I'm sorry, Halt," he grunted docilely. He was glad that his voice didn't split. "I forget myself. I would have done the same in your position."

Halt harrumphed, but not out of contempt or triumph. "It was a difficult decision to make, Horace. I did not act on it without great reluctance. Will is as a son to me as he is a brother to you, and I also had Crowley to think about."

Gilan pushed his plate away, clearing a space before him. As though writing on invisible parchment, he pointed at various points on the wood, trying to visualize and account for all his thoughts.

"This is what we know," he began, pausing a moment to make sure the others had given him their rapt attention. "Toscans have been hunting for Rangers. They targeted those on coastal fiefs because that way, they had a seaward escape route, probably to return to their homeland by boat. In this, we know that Will was not sought out specifically, yet this does not rule out the one motive of the abduction being an act of revenge, on a broader scale.

"We know that this is not likely to be a ransom attempt," he continued, "but the option can't be snuffed out completely yet."

"And we know that Will's alive, else they would have killed him at the cabin," said Horace quickly, and Halt nodded in agreement. Gilan waved a concurring finger at him.

"That is true. But something has been troubling me."

Halt made a wild guess, as something had been nagging at him, too. "You're wondering why they would go after Will, when his station was days from the nearest coast."

"And I thought it was just a hunter's hut," said Horace, frowning in consternation. "It isn't even a Ranger's cabin. Who would know he was there?"

Gilan was sketching more invisible lines on the table top. "They had made at least three attempts since six days ago, not including Will's abduction. The Toscans may have grown desperate, for even they would have realized that their actions would not go unnoticed for long. Perhaps they moved inland in the vague hope that they would find a Ranger..." Even as he spoke, however, doubt dragged down his words like sacks of sand in water.

Halt scowled at his half-eaten slice of bread. It was good bread, but the gnawing worms of trepidation and sorrow left no room for food in his stomach. Unwittingly, his thoughts turned to his saddlery, where he had stored Will's broken longbow and his ruined mandolin, found in the ruins of the burned cabin. Both treasures were useless now, so why did he salvage them?

Horace looked drawn. "I still don't see why they would need a Ranger. As you say, ransom is unlikely, and Will wasn't a target because of what he has done, per say. What reason is there, for Toscans of all people, to take him?"

"There is something...I haven't told you," said Halt wearily. It would seem that fatigue chose that time to step into place, but he fought the urge to yawn as the others looked expectantly to him. "As I searched the area around the cabin, the morning after Will was abducted, I found a dagger." He described the hilt of said blade, emphasizing the bronze plaque that sat where the cross guard and the hilt intersected. The spread-winged eagle, holding two crossed swords and ringed by a laurel wreath. The mark of the Munerian Games of Toscana.

Evidently, Horace had never seen the insignia before, and had a blank look to Gilan's thoughtful one.

"The eagle...laurel wreath...It sounds familiar, but I can't place it," said the young Ranger, asking Halt his unsaid question with his eyes.

"Neither of you were born when the Munerian Games were disbanded," Halt said softly, and continued before they could ask anything. "The Games—though games they were not—were events displayed for the amusement of the more rich folk, but a few coins were often enough to get you into bad seats. Anyone could compete. Many had no choice – slaves of war, criminals, the like."

"And they did what, exactly?" Horace asked, cautious. Halt looked under hooded eyes at him.

"They fought. They fought for life, for gold, for glory. Even for freedom. Quite the gamble, of course, for if you lost, you were dead."

Horace looked disgusted. "And this was allowed to happen? Where was the compassion? Where was the morality, the nobility?"

"Fifty years ago, there was precious little order in Toscana," Halt explained patiently. "And I was yet a boy when the Games were disbanded, when a Senate was finally established. They recognized the immorality of it all and banned the Games for good. The founding family, Opus, was dishonoured and exiled." The Ranger shook his head. "But it would seem that they have returned. The head of the family, the Aetius, must be a twisted man indeed."

Gilan looked thoughtful. "But if the Games were eliminated and banned, what makes you think the Toscans took Will to fight as a Champion? Wouldn't the Senate have the attempts smothered, and those responsible arrested?"

"Gold is a remarkably effective blindfold," said Halt bitterly. "But I think we can be secure in the knowledge that this is all just a suspicion, not a fact. It could be a coincidence that a Toscan with the insignia of the Munerian Games on his dagger had come to help kidnap Will. It is also the seal of House Opus, so our worrying may be for nought."

"For nought?" Horace exclaimed, incredulous. "Be that as it may, Will is still gone! We have to go after him."

"Will was kidnapped once, and you were not allowed to go after him," Gilan said to Halt. "But with our new Special Task Force arrangement, I think it will work."

Horace looked to him. "That means you'll have to stay here. Redmont cannot be without a Ranger."

Gilan looked sour. "I'm well aware of that. As much as I dearly wish to go with you, Halt, I know that it would be impractical."

"One riot, one Ranger," Horace stated with a grin. The others didn't share his slight whiff of gaiety.

"But I want to come with you," Gilan continued, "just until you reach the coast. Redmont can go a few days without a Ranger, I'm sure, and then I'll take young Crowley back there."

Halt made to argue. "Gilan—"

"Please, Halt. It isn't for a pleasure ride! I want to make sure you can get on a ship without being attacked on the way. There will probably still be Toscans lurking about."

"I'll be with him," said Horace with finality, knowing that if there was a rescue mission to recover Will, he was going to be included. Gilan was still not appeased.

"I'm aware of that. But what harm does an extra bow cause, eh?" He looked imploringly at his old mentor. "Just until the coast, Halt. Getting a few more hours of sleep at night will do you a world of good." He threw on a stubborn, grumpy old face to mimic Halt's almost perfectly. "No matter what you say, Greybeard Halt, I'm going with you."

Horace managed to stifle a snigger at Gilan's mocking expression. Halt seemed to recognize the futility of further argument, and relented with reluctance.

"Fine. But no one says anything about our suspicions to my son, understood?"

The others nodded solemnly, and Halt stood, his dinner barely touched. "Good. Now I'm going to sleep. We leave at dawn."