Sorry it's taken me so long to post this. There's really no excuse. This is the last chapter before Halt actually starts learning to be a Ranger, though, and I promise the next chapter will be up much faster than this one was.

"How much do you know about Araluen history?" Aron asks after dinner.

"Barely any. I was only taught the modern history of Araluen as it relates to Hibernia." I sound like I'm quoting a history book.

"Have you ever heard of King Herbert?"

I have to shake my head.

"He united the fifty fiefs nearly one hundred fifty years ago. To maintain the slightly unstable kingdom, he formed the Ranger Corps as an effective intelligence force. A Ranger was stationed in each of the fifty fiefs and reported directly back to the king. This way, he knew if the barons were planning a revolt or anything else that could affect Araluen.

"How were the Rangers so successful at this task? They stayed out of the way, or at least appeared to. When the barons began to believe the Rangers posed no real threat, they talked more openly about rebellion. If it ever became more than just talk, the Rangers were authorized to step in immediately. Some situations were uglier or more sensitive than others, but the kingdom of Araluen was kept intact.

"Over time, the barons were replaced by men who respected the king. At first, Rangers appeared unnecessary, and the Corps was almost ended seventeen times. The intelligence they provided was not appreciated by Herbert's son Kenneth, who believed he had nothing to fear from the barons.

"The Commandant at that time, a little over one hundred years ago, decided to insure the safety of the Corps. As one story goes, he followed Kenneth for weeks, pretending to be the ghost of his father and demanding to know why his Rangers were being threatened. In a panic, the king signed a decree protecting the Rangers and the supposed haunting stopped. Every king since has welcomed the help and dedication of the Ranger Corps."

I'm curious. "How do the Rangers help the king?"

"We help enforce laws. King Raymond doesn't have time to deal with every crime committed, and neither do the barons. Rangers know almost everything going on in a fief, and can deal with any situation that arises—often before the baron even knows about it."

"How?"

"Often, just the knowledge that a Ranger is present tends to make people stop and think about what they're doing. Thanks to people's tendency to exaggerate tales, we are generally seen as invincible black magicians, not worth fighting.

"When we do have to fight, we have several advantages. Our bows mean that few can get close enough to do us any real harm. Our knives can be thrown, or we can fight with them in close quarters. We train until we know the result of every action before we even complete it. And if all else fails, we can simply disappear."

That doesn't make sense. People don't just disappear. Suddenly, though, I remember Aron's demonstration in the forest yesterday. He was within ten feet of me and I had absolutely no clue where he was. If these Rangers are as good at everything else as Aron claims they are—and I have to believe that he would have no reason exaggerate things like this—then I can see why rumors of sorcery have spread as far as Hibernia. Which gives me another thought.

"Why don't the Rangers ever bother to correct the rumors about being sorcerers and black magicians?"

"It's not worth the time. We have more important things to be doing. If criminals realized we were wasting too much time trying to dispel that rumor, they would take advantage of our distraction. And some may even realize that we're not as scary as they think, and our jobs would be ten times harder than they are now. Look over there." He points to a knot in one of the logs that make the cabin's walls.

"I don't see anything."

"Concentrate."

I'm concentrating as hard as I can, when out of nowhere a heavy knife appears in the center of the target. Aron appears not to have moved, but there's no other way that knife could have shown up in the wall.

"Imagine I'm not here—or at least that you don't know I am—and that knife is sticking out of a tree a few inches from your head. You don't know where it came from. Suddenly a Ranger steps out of the trees. You're likely to fall over yourself trying to make sure I'm not going to kill you. That would be scarier—and more likely to get the response we want—than knowing Rangers throw knives accurately because of practice, not black magic."

"And it takes a lot of practice, right?" I know what Aron's going to say.

"Years to perfect the throw, and constant practice to make sure you never lose the perfection. Since you can't draw a bow yet with that arm, you'll start learning to use your knives tomorrow at dawn."