Chapter Ten: Loose Ends

In the nearest manned castle, Will sent a message pigeon to Castle Araluen warning them of the approaching fleet of Gallican ships. He had Halt decipher the Gallican message and had no doubt the Gallicans could be easily fended off. He walked down the stairsfrom the pigeon hold to the stables, where Tug was enjoying a warm and dry stall with plenty of oats and hay to eat.

Tug tossed his head at Will's arrival, happy Will came to see him. Will brushed Tug's shaggy coat until it shined, then looked at some new tack for Tug. His normal saddle had been decimated by the fire. The first saddle was too small, but the bridle was the right size. Will hung the bridle on the hook inside the stall, then looked for another saddle.

The Horsemaster was happy to help Will find new tack, and complimented Tug on his shiny coat, a thing that pleased Tug immensely. Tug was still facing the tragedy of losing his horse friends, so Will was glad Tug seemed to be recovering. Will made a mental note to give Tug and Abelard more of their favorite foods to cheer them up.

The Horsemaster and Will eventually found a nice saddle which both horse and man liked, so Will thanked the Horsemaster and took his leave.

Halt was in the quarters given to him temporarily, poring over the maps he had found in the castle's library about the eastern lands. Will knocked, then entered, going to sit in a chair in front of Halt's desk.

"What are you looking at?" Will asked.

"Nothing of your concern." Halt responded as he shuffled the papers away. "I should mention… I'll be going away for a couple of weeks. It's your job to hold Redmont together until I get back."

"Yes, Halt, but may I ask-"

"No." Halt responded. "I will depart tomorrow and escort some of the Rangers back to their Fiefs. You will do the same with the Rangers with Fiefs near Redmont."

"Yes, Halt." Will said submissively. Halt added one last thing.

"You will also escort Crowley to Old Bob's stables. He will be working there from now on."

Will smiled. It would be great to have another Ranger in the Fief, even if he was retired and working as a barn hand. Will left Halt's quarters a few minutes later, unlocking his own and stepping inside.

He checked to make sure he had all his weapons, including his longbow, and went about replacing the arrow he had split at the Gathering. He looked out the window and took a moment to look very accomplished, savoring every second. He had learned a lot about himself the past few days.

A knock on his door awoke him from his midday slumber. It was Aya, dressed in a dark-colored dress.

"Come in, Aya," Will said. They sat on the carved stone benches inside the window.

"Thank you so much for helping save Martin. If we hadn't done what we did, I would be sentenced to a life of poverty and misery. Fortunately," Aya said, "the Rangers put in a good name for me up at the castle and the Craftmasters had a hearing for my apprenticeship."

"That's wonderful, Aya." Will said, genuinely happy he could help. "What will it be?"

"I'm going to train at Horseschool with the Horsemaster. I'm going to care for and help train Araluen's battlehorses. The Horsemaster saw it fitting because of my previous experiences with horses and livestock." Aya responded.

"I met the Horsemaster," Will said thoughtfully. "He was a nice man. You should enjoy working under him."

They continued their mild conversation until the sun set. Will led Aya to the door. Will inwardly grimaced; he hated goodbyes.

"Well," he said awkwardly. Aya sensed his tenseness and set her palm on his shoulder.

"Will, after the next Gathering, d'you think you could stop by?" Aya asked.

"I'll make it a priority." Will responded. Aya smiled and slid her hand down his arm to squeeze his hand. Then, she turned and she walked down the hallway. Will turned back to his room and slept like a hibernating mouse until well after the rays of dawn.

He and the Rangers headed in the direction of Redmont mounted up at noon, well-rested with saddlebags packed with supplies.

The next week, the Rangers branched off to their separate Fiefs, leaving Will and Tug alone. He rode into Redmont, amazed with the views of the rolling hills and dancing rivers. As he rounded the crest to Castle Redmont, Will was shocked by the beauty of Redmont's defensive ironstone walls that captured his attention every time he passed. Tug galloped down the final hill, tossing his head in cheerfulness.

Arriving at his home, Will dismounted, unlocking the Ranger cabin and spreading fresh hay out for Tug to rest on. He heated a pot of coffee and relaxed on one of the many chairs. He then washed and threw himself onto his bed, glad he could finally relax.

As he drifted to sleep, he thought of his schedule for the next day. He would ride Tug to the castle, then address the Royal Mail that had piled up during his and Halt's absence. A few minutes later, sleep claimed him and led him to the lands of fantastical creations and endless possibilities.

Epilogue: Horse Rustling

Halt stood in the long grass, letting the shadows of the waving stalks conceal him. It was nighttime and the moon was good; nearly full, with hardly a cloud in sight. The Temujai camp was lit well enough for him to navigate by sight.

He'd snuck past the perimeter guard with greater ease than he expected. There had been a feast that evening and they were badly drunk on fermented mare's milk, so they paid no mind to a slight rustling in the grasses.

Now, he was outside the rope paddock that held this clan's breeding stock. Twenty short, shaggy horses, bred for endurance and trained for war. Some slept on the ground, but most dozed standing up, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice. And a few stayed awake, keeping watch. They would notice his approach and could sound the alarm.

Squatting in the grass, Halt pondered his escape. Sneaking away from a Temujai camp with twenty-odd horses would be difficult, to say the least.

The four stallions each wore a halter, but the mares and yearlings didn't. Halt considered roping them all in a line; unfortunately, if he did that, even one slow horse could ruin the escape. He would have to convince them all to move along quickly.

Abelard was browsing nearby, looking entirely unremarkable among the Temujai's diminutive steeds. Halt could see him grazing between two yurts, his breath frosting in the cold air. This was where Abelard's parents were from. This gave Halt an idea.

The horses were packed in tightly, and any attempt to steal one would arouse them all. They wouldn't want to run away quietly with a stranger, but maybe they would follow one of their own.

"Abelard, viens ici." Halt called softly. The horse lifted his head and moved over to the Ranger, alert despite the late hour. Halt pulled some cord from his saddlebags and began tying rough halters along it. After the seventh halter, he ran out of rope; swearing softly, he tightened his knots. He would have to make do with that. There wasn't anything he could do now but try his plan.

He crept up to the paddock, Abelard in tow. The horses snorted at his approach, but the Ranger moved in softly, and none of them whinnied to raise the alarm.

Halt waited for a moment, letting Abelard greet the nervous horses. His calm demeanor would comfort the Temujai steeds, keeping them quiet and calm. It would make Halt's job far easier.

Halt slipped beneath the rope paddock and approached the matriarch of the herd. (He guessed that she was the matriarch; he hadn't had much time to study the herd dynamic.) With a soft word and a pat on the nose, he slipped the front halter over her head. She nickered, but didn't shy away.

A filly stood by her; Halt was counting on the youngsters to follow their parents. He roped on six more mares that he liked the look of, and put the stallions with halters on the tail of the rope, with the biggest one in the back. Hopefully, they would nip the heels of any horses that slowed down and thus would keep the herd moving at a good clip.

He was about to leave when an idea struck him. He crept inside the nearest yurt, which was clearly designated for feed and tack. Being so, it was deserted. There was a quill, an inkwell and several sheets of parchment on a small collapsible table; most were marked with numbers in the Temujai script.

Halt placed a bag full of gold coins onto the table; it was more than he had paid for the breeding stock last time. He dipped the quill in the inkwell, flipped over a piece of paper, and wrote a note to the Temujai he had stolen from: Sorry.

Hurrying from the yurt, he took the front of the rope and swung onto Abelard, then set off at a cautious walk. The Temujai matriarch dug in her heels, but a whicker from Abelard convinced her that it was safe to continue. When she moved, the rest of the herd followed. Even the mares and yearlings that Halt hadn't roped in followed the herd; that was an unexpected bonus. They went slowly, so as to not wake the Temujai.

The moon was sinking and the camp would be awake soon. Halt wouldn't feel comfortable until he was ten kilometers away from the camp. So once he was out of earshot, he brought the herd up to a steady canter. Soon they had a sizable lead on the Temujai, who would be waking up hungover and disorganized.

The coast wasn't far away, as the Temujai were raiding and had left their home country. Halt knew he had enough money to charter passage home with his newly acquired livestock. He got there after two days of driving the horses, arriving at the port sweaty and exhausted.

Halt rode up to the biggest ship he saw, which flew the flag of Araluen. Twenty shaggy Temujai ponies clopped up the packed-dirt street behind him. They had built a bond in the past few days, and now they wouldn't run away from Halt and Abelard.

Halt arrived at the docking planks, where men were loading barrels. A bewildered ship's captain climbed abovedecks and stared at him incredulously.

"King's Ranger," Halt said wearily, flashing his silver oakleaf. "Passage for one man and twenty-one horses."

The captain gaped.

AN: Thanks for staying with us to the end of our first group fanfiction! Please review, we'd love to hear from you. And, if you're a fan of Redwall, by Brian Jacques, feel free to check out our story, "The King of the Urthworms."