A/N: Here's the next chapter! Sorry for the delay, I encountered a few problems (in life and in my writing) that slowed me down. While I was writing the chapter, it kind of exploded and went from a two-parter to a three-parter. Turns out I'd bitten off a little more than I could chew when it came to plot and logistics. XD This chapter will have a more narrow focus than usual, because it deals mostly with Horace and Will—it just kind of worked out/worked best that way. I hope nobody minds. Next chapter will deal with more characters, promise XD. Thank you all for reading :D

Ranger-of-the-shadows: Thanks for the review and the compliment, I really appreciate it! The cliffhanger probably won't be resolved until next week. And everyone will probably stay in trouble for quite some time yet XD. As for your questions: I'll reveal more about Gilan's past chapter after next. But the whole story probably won't come out until about five or so more chapters in. not as fast as I would have liked to. Yes, I live for cheese and my favorite color is black XD

Weirdo: Thank you so much! I try to update as soon as I can.

Gerbilfriend: Yes they are XD Thanks for the review, it made my day.

Dragonslover98: That makes me so happy to hear :3 I always worry about writing all their personalities right and can spend hours nitpicking dialogue X) Your question will be answered next chapter, but yes, things are shaping up to go that way. Thank you so much for the encouragement and review!

jaymzNshed: Thank you! There are a few hints this chapter as to one of Morgarath's schemes, and the full implications of it, as well as some other ploys of his, will be revealed in the next couple chapters too.

Lilly-daughter of Radolso: Goodness XD I should hope that by this time in my life I should be able to know the difference between a slave and a salve. Don't know if it was auto correct , carelessness, or just my dyslexia, but whichever it was I do apologize. Thanks so much for catching that mistake. Also thanks for the compliments and the well wish, it was very encouraging: and a relief to know that I'm getting the personalities right. Awww :3 really? Thank you. Will do! I actually do plan to (and am starting to work on) some original works. Again thanks!

Random Flyer: Good guess! You're on the right track…although it might not play out exactly as you think X) Thanks so much for the review! It means a lot.

TrustTheCloak: Ah the troubles of Gilan's age X) We should compare notes on it sometime, exchange dimes. I've been tempted to write a short fanfic/ collection of drabbles to try and justify and smooth away all those little inconsistencies many times XD I'm super excited to write Halt and Crowley together. I love them too (though I do have a weakness for bromances) Thanks so much for the review!

KingTritium: Awww thanks so much! Looks like now I have to add 'Halt's bow of the changing draw weight ' to the list then XD (it's getting pretty long) I've been working hard to pay pretty strict attention of detail, and have spent quite a while planning, so I'm glad to hear that it's paying off! Yes, those are the books X) Thank you for the review, compliments, and encouragement!

Chapter 13: Memories and Outsiders Part 1

~x~X~x~

A few months previous

~x~X~x~

The commands and jeers of the three boys behind him had Horace inching further and further out into the icy stream that ran a few kilometers away from the Battleschool grounds. It was once a place where Horace had often gone to avoid the attentions of Josh, Gabe and Talo… that was until they had found him there one day. Since then, it had become one of their favorite spots to torment him. They particularly enjoyed sending him waist deep into the icy water. Once there, they usually forced him to hold some large stone aloft, over his head, straining and cold, for whatever long amount of time they chose.

He knew that this was their intention today and he was worried. The thought of that particular exercise any day was horrible. It always left him feeling used, humiliated, and exhausted. But today he could stomach the thought even less than usual.

That was because it had rained.

It was, in fact, still raining. But the faint drizzle now was nothing compared to the downpour of earlier: a downpour that had swollen the river, turning it from a fairly mild trickle into a raging torrent of foaming brown water, choked with debris that had been brought down by rain and wind.

And they wanted him to go into it.

He didn't want to do it. He really didn't want to do it. He couldn't do it. The water was just too fast, too dangerous. He halted in the now knee-deep water, every fiber of his body screaming at him to go no further.

But Josh, Talo, and Gabe weren't having it.

"Is baby scared of the big, bad river?" Josh taunted.

"Maybe it isn't the river by itself, he could just be scared of water in general," Gabe added wisely.

"Can't be," Talo pointed out, "because then he'd be scared of himself considering how often he cries."

"What kind of knight is afraid of water?" Josh scoffed.

"A pathetic one," Gabe said sagely, "a baby."

They laughed at their clever wit before Josh grew tired and shouted at him to go in further.

This was the reason, Horace thought miserably as he listened to their jeers, the reason behind all their brutish attention. It was part of the toughening part of Battleschool after all, and the instructors, as well as these three, must be privy to some sickening form of weakness in him. Perhaps a true knight wouldn't hesitate at all in a situation like this. The thought made him feel guilty. That was enough to make him take a step forward. And it was the thought of the reprisal that would follow should he defy the three of them that decided him.

He took another step… and that step was all it took.

His foot sunk into an unexpected rut, taking him waist deep. The unexpectedness of it caused him to lose his careful stance against the pull of the murderous current. He was swept instantly off his feet. The current grabbed him and carried him off before he had a chance to blink. Water poured into his surprised and gasping mouth and he choked.

He was pulled and tossed around as if he were nothing more than a floundering piece of driftwood. Beyond disoriented and desperate for air, he couldn't seem to keep his head above water. He was having trouble even knowing which direction was up as he was rolled around and pounded by the current's ceaseless pull. Every time he tried to breathe, he only succeeded in swallowing more water. His lungs burned for lack of air. Terror made him flail helplessly, claw against the water. All he knew in that moment was that he was going to drown.

Then he stopped dead.

He felt a sharp tug at the back of his tunic, holding him in place while the water raced on, over and around him, drowning out all everything else. Desperately, he reached behind him, fumbling, grasping, until he took hold of what had snagged his tunic—a twisted branch from a downed tree that lay halfway in the water. Turning, he just managed to grab the log just as the branch that held him snapped. He clung the log, coughing and gasping—simply trying to breathe again.

It was a long time before he felt strong enough to claw himself along the log to shore, and longer still before he felt able to trudge back to Battleschool. But it took the longest of all to try and rid himself of the cloying panic, the terror, the feeling of suffocating, of being completely and utterly at the mercy and control of the icy river. He shuddered.

~x~X~x~

Present Day

~x~X~x~

It was a warm sunny day out, quiet and sort of peaceful too, Horace thought from where he sat, back against the trunk of a comfortably leaning tree, hands pillowed behind his head and legs spread out before him.

Things had settled into a kind of rhythm lately, a balance of training, a few jobs, and near-constant traveling. It wasn't an easy life by any means, but Horace was finding himself content with it: happy. Also, his birthday was coming up and he found himself excited for it. For the first time since Battleschool he had people who cared about him to share it with.

The sun was warm on his face and the gurgle of the nearby stream was almost pleasant from this distance, he decided amiably as he looked over to where both Will and Gilan were leaning over the stream bank. They both had soap and clothes in hand: since Gilan had decided that today was the perfect day for doing laundry. A certain level of cleanliness and order was, as Horace had already observed, something Gilan had a non-budging stance on.

Though he didn't care for the chore, he was used to it from his time in Battleschool. He had a much easier time of it than Will did… especially when it came to laundry. Will had been genuinely confused by the notion. After all, he was a boy who thought that it was perfectly acceptable to simply turn his shirt inside out when it got sufficiently dirty and continue wearing it.

"You get more use out of it that way," Horace remembered him protesting, and smiled at the memory.

Today, however, Will had obliged more than willingly. After all, for the better part of the week, both he and Horace had come down with, and suffered through, a nasty little illness. Needless to say, the idea of scrubbing the trace of sickness free from their clothes and blankets had been an appealing one.

Horace smiled again as Will nearly lost the slippery soap in the stream for the fifth time.

"Hey, Will, you missed a spot," he couldn't resist calling to his best friend.

Will shot him a playful glare once he had the soap under control again. "You'll get your chance soon enough," he said by way of friendly threat. It was true. They only had two bars of soap and so resorted to turn-taking when it came to laundry day; Horace was up next.

"Will," Gilan said suddenly, grinning. Horace thought he saw a slight glint in the woodsman's eyes. "I think you might have an easier time of it if you moved a little further to your left."

Will seemed slightly puzzled by that but nevertheless did as Gilan suggested. Gilan tilted his head slightly, a small frown of concentration on his face as he looked calculatingly from the stream-bank to Will before frowning. "A little further," he urged with a wave of his hand.

Will scooted a little further still, puzzled. Horace was too, one stretch of bank seemed the same as any other after all. That was until the bank suddenly gave way beneath Will as he put his weight on it and he was sent tumbling into the water.

Will broke the surface to the sound of Gilan and Horace's laughter. Though Gilan's was cut satisfying short when Will pulled him in after him in retaliation. Which led to an inevitable full-scale water fight. Horace even moved closer to the bank, calling encouragement, sharing laughter, and expertly dodging any attempts to pull him the stream with them.

Though the playful fight ended rather abruptly when Will realized his tunic was being swept away by the swift running water. He was forced to chase after it at about the same time Gilan gave in to a sudden sneezing fit. The two of them eventually dragged themselves to shore to sit near Horace.

Will turned to him and seemed about to ask a question, but Horace preempted him.

"My birthday's in five days, you know," he announced to them both, partially because he was excited and had been thinking about it not moments ago and partially because he was trying to distract both them and himself from thoughts over his avoidance of fast-running water and swimming. He didn't notice how Will's bright smile faded almost entirely at the mention.

"Then, happy early birthday, Horace," Gilan said, smiling easily at him. Will mumbled his agreement.

This time Horace did notice his friend's expression, as well as the fact that Will had become suddenly quiet. He frowned, wondering what was wrong.

As soon as they made it back to their campsite, they set about hanging their clothes to try, organizing their kits and taking inventory of their supplies—as there was a village not too many kilometers away, according to Gilan's map.

"We're almost all out of flour!" Will called from where he was digging into the bag of their food stores.

"Anything else low?" Gilan asked, taking out the pouch that contained most their money stores and rooting through it with a finger, pausing only to sneeze again and clear his throat.

"No," Will called back. He hesitated then ventured, "But do you think we could get a few more cooking spices?"

Ever since Gilan had first started teaching him the basics of cooking, Will had taken to the craft. He actually enjoyed cooking and was getting very good at it.

"I had an idea that I could make a mix of dried spices that could be added to soups to flavor them, and speed up the cooking process?" he left the end hanging like a question.

Gilan, who had taken out the amount of coins needed to by grain and use the services of the village miller, shrugged at the suggestion. The extra coin it would take would be worth the time saved and travelabilty of the food if he could get his idea to work. He added a few more coins to the pile and passed them to Will. "Think you can handle getting the supplies?"

Will nodded once, taking the money. "What about you?"

"I think I'll check around town for work."

His search through the purse had told him plainly that they still had a far ways to go before they'd have enough to sit comfortably through winter. Gilan frowned at the thought, sniffing slightly, and then muffling a small cough. It was already turning into fall. Every day that passed, time was getting shorter. Finding some decent jobs was now a top priority, one that couldn't wait. He sighed in resignation, rubbing at his nose, and then his temples. He was feeling tired—but he couldn't afford to rest even if he wanted to.

By the time they finally reached the village, he was feeling precious little better. When he tried to stifle a small coughing fit for the third time, he noticed that Horace and Will were looking at him. He could read the concern on their faces.

"Maybe you should visit the town healer instead," Horace suggested. "That's how Will and I started," he pointed out, remembering the illness he and Will had just weathered under Gilan's watchful care. "I could check for jobs, while Will gets supplies."

But Gilan shook his head, brushing off their concern. "I'm fine, really. It's nothing I can't take care of myself." He meant it too. He'd been taking care of illness and injury himself for a long while. It was simpler, safer… he trusted no one so much as himself when it came to that.

Will and Horace seemed to accept that, and they split up. Gilan headed to the notice board while Will headed towards the miller's shop. Horace, after a brief hesitation, decided to go with Will. They'd meet back at the campsite when they were finished.

As Gilan headed toward the noticeboard, his eye was caught by a pedestal in the center of the village with small statuette placed atop it. Directly below it, there was a familiar circular emblem: a rune inscribed ring with a circular orb at its center connected to another sphere by a stone-like line. Gilan narrowed his eyes, unable to stop the quiet scoff from escaping his lips. It appeared that the Outsiders had made it this far south.

Other than that offhanded regard, however, he paid it no mind, focusing instead on the town notice board. Once he was close enough to read, he frowned slightly. There was nothing there save for a few hymns, prayers, a listing of gathering times for sermons, and that same emblem.

This time he managed to turn his scoff into a small exhale of pent up breath instead as he realized he wasn't alone any longer. There was a pair of men heading directly perpendicular to his position. He tracked their movement with a slight tilt of his head, whilst keeping up his scrutiny of the noticeboard.

"Mercenary eh?" One of the men said as he drew nearly level with him. On the surface, his tone seemed to be light and friendly, almost grandfatherly, but to Gilan's ears, the tone had an edge to it—a level of happy friendless that rang warningly false.

He elected to pretend not to notice as he turned a little to the left to face the man and his companion fully. Both were dressed in the long white robes of the Outsider priests and the one who had spoken carried a wooden staff.

Gilan leveled a smile at him in answer. "What gave it away?" he asked.

"Could have been your weapons or your manner of dress, that and the fact you're a newcomer to the village and the first place you go is the noticeboard," the man replied, chuckling, before he grew a little more serious, concerned. "I'm afraid you'll not find much by way of work here."

"So I'd noticed," Gilan replied cheerfully.

"Had you arrived a few months ago there would have been no end of work," the second priest added conversationally. "This village was beset by bandits, followers of the dark god Balsennis. It was lucky we were here. You see, we interceded for the people to Alseiass, the Golden God of friendship, for help. And now this village is under his protection. We haven't had any bandit problems since that would require your services—and we likely won't again. Alseiass's protection is as eternal as he is."

"I see," Gilan said airily, eyebrows raised. He had made an effort to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He saw no reason to antagonize the men before him, so opted to simply play passively along.

The priest nodded solemnly before he brightened again. "However, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish. Alseiass, in his benevolent mercy, would never turn away a traveler, or deny hospitality. Perhaps you can even attend the meeting tomorrow. You would be most welcome. Who knows, you might find a new path and purpose with Alseiass."

"Think I'll pass, thanks." Gilan's smile had taken on a slight edge. "Never was really much for religion."

That wasn't exactly true. Gilan really had nothing at all against religion—he was widely traveled and knowledgeable after all. But, in his opinion, the Outsiders weren't a religion. Calling them a cult was a kindness. Gilan suspected that they were really nothing more than a con—an elaborate rouse to steal money and power. Gilan had no proof of this, of course, but he suspected that the Outsiders were in league with the bandits that plagued the villages. The timing of these events were often just too coincidental. And he had noticed how the Outsiders prayed to their god to save the people only when the people had given many tithes and offerings of precious metals, stones, money, and jewelry. Apparently, Alseiass, being The Golden God, drew his power from valuables. Yet another convenience.

"I think I'll get out of your way then," he said amiably finally, moving to do just that.

"You don't have to leave on our account," the second priest interceded, "Alseiass respects your right to choose for yourself. He'll still save you and welcome you even if you don't believe, or if you follow other gods. He'd never force himself on anyone." The man assured him, all still spoken in that fractionally overly friendly tone.

If Gilan didn't already have an idea about what the Outsiders were, was only a fraction less mistrustful and skeptical, and had less practice in picking up subtle nuances in a person's tone, he could easily have liked this man, or at least found him a pleasant conversational partner. But Gilan did know better.

"All the same," he said casually with an idle flick of his hand, not pausing.

"Hold a moment would you," the first priest spoke up suddenly and Gilan paused to look back. "I think my friend might have been a little hasty. We don't have a problem with the bandits anymore, but there actually might be a job here that could require your skill. It just depends on one thing."

"Oh?" Gilan asked, sniffing involuntarily, and raising an eyebrow. "What might that be?"

"Do you have any skill at tracking?"

"I get by."

"Probably more than that," the first priest said. "You've the look of a woodsman about you."

Gilan didn't argue and merely inclined his head.

"Thought so," the man said. "You see, there has been a little… incident." He glanced around as if to ensure that they were alone before continuing."As my fellow had said, Alseiass has been protecting this village through his benevolence, and through the power of the tithes, the people have given. Unfortunately, one of our acolytes seems to have fallen under the thrall of the evil god Balsennis and has made off with many of the tithes—putting this village in danger.

Gilan smiled inwardly. So the great god Alseiass could protect an entire village from bandits, but couldn't manage to protect his own tithes from one of his own acolytes.

"We have tried to retrieve them, but have been unable to find him," the priest continued, ashamed or reluctant. "Alas, we are but mere holy men and do not have much experience with tracking. I can't help but believe that Alseiass in his mercy and wisdom has guided you to us."

Gilan raised both eyebrows, and the man must have picked up on some unimpressed aspect of his expression as he added winningly, "If you aid us in tracking this traitorous acolyte, and help us retrieve our stolen tithes, you will be well compensated for your efforts, I assure you. I'm a little desperate for the sake of my people."

Then the man voiced an amount. Gilan hesitated, sniffing and then muffling a slight cough. Taking a job for the Outsider cult was distasteful, to say the least, but the amount he was offering for a simple tracking job was more than appealing. And it was money they needed. He resisted the urge to rub at the steadily growing ache in his head as he thought. Eventually, he nodded, reaching out to shake the lead priest's hand.

"You have a deal then…" he paused, seeking for the man's name.

The priest smiled in that disarming grandfatherly way. "Tennyson," he supplied, reaching out to clasp Gilan's hand in turn, "humble priest, patron, and shepherd of this village."

~x~X~x~

Will had split off from Horace and Gilan as soon as they had reached the village. The task of buying the flour and the other supplies had thankfully given him the excuse to be alone and the chance to think. Ever since Horace had mentioned the fact that his birthday was coming up, the same troubled thoughts had kept replaying themselves Will's head: thoughts that had successfully replaced the happy mood from earlier with something darker.

The truth was that Will didn't even know what his last name was, let alone when his birthday was. Growing up in Bawtry he'd seen may other village children his age celebrating with their families on their birthdays, but he'd never known that himself… It was true that he had a vague memory of celebrating birthdays with his mother, but she had died when he was too young to remember the date for himself.

So when Horace had mentioned his birthday, Will hadn't been able to stop the dark mood that had come over him. And it wasn't as if he could just tell them why: after all, who didn't know when their own birthday was? He sighed.

He hoped that the chance to be alone might give him the opportunity to clear his mind and shove the slightly resentful pained feelings aside. This wasn't meant to be about him after all, it was supposed to be about his friend. And as far as birthdays went, he genuinely wanted Horace to have a happy one. He'd even taken several of his own coins along with him. It would be fun he realized, fun to surprise Horace with a gift when the day came. He intended to scour this village for the perfect gift along with his task of supply shopping.

However, his plans were thrown off when Horace chased after him, catching up with a tentative, but happy, smile on his face.

"I decided to go with you," he said, slinging a friendly arm around Will's shoulder, "thought you might want some company."

Will's frown returned as all his plans went out the window within the span of a second. He opened his mouth to tell Horace 'no' when he caught sight of the sincere and slightly concerned expression on his face and in his guileless eyes. He found he couldn't muster enough anger to even stay annoyed. Horace had probably noticed his less than happy mood and was trying to help in his own way. It was a nice thought, even if it was ruining Will's plan.

He managed a smile, prodding Horace in the ribs. "Sure, you can carry everything."

Horace grinned back. "But you're the one who could use the muscles."

"Why would I need muscles when I have the money?" he jibed back, the smile already feeling more genuine.

The spices Will had wanted were easy enough to find and pay for, so the two of them soon turned their attention to finding the miller's shop. It was in the middle of the square. They pushed open the door and entered. Once inside, he found the miller in a heated discussion with two of the white-robed priests he'd seen around the town.

"-all of it! He never delivered it like he was meant to! Tennyson thinks Kenton went and took it for himself before running off. And it was the insurance, if you will, of our new agreement! It needed to go to the head of our order. And Tennyson will be in big trouble if he loses it. Mark my words, that'll be the end of his gaining favor with the high priest and rising in the ranks—could count badly on us too, I'll warrant!"

Will cleared his throat and the men startled a little, obviously not having realized that he and Horace were there. And their expressions were far from welcoming.

"Excuse me," Will said politely, "I need to buy some flour."

The miller gestured impatiently towards where there were several bags of flour piled up against one wall.

"Eight slivers," he said shortly.

Will fumbled in his purse for the amount while Horace went to the pile, stooped and retrieved the nearest one, slinging it over his shoulder to carry it better. The miller pocketed the coins Will handed over and then promptly shooed them off with a dismissive hand wave.

Neither Will nor Horace were about to argue with that. As they were nearing the door to leave, they were nearly bowled over by a young man who had burst in. Horace nearly lost his grip on the bag and Will stumbled. The man did not offer so much as offer a glance or word of apology.

"These people certainly seem… friendly," Horace muttered, readjusting his sack and then nodding thanks at Will who had opened the door for him. They stepped out together, turning down the main street to head back to their camp.

The voices from inside the miller's shop had risen again and they carried clearly through the still swinging door.

"I found a note that Kenton left! Turns out he didn't steal it at all. If the note is true, It says he's running an errand for Tennyson and so he put the…" the voice became unintelligible for a moment before carrying again. "…with the others and that you can tell them apart because he tied the top shut with brown thread instead of white."

They continued on their way, walking past several armed men who were likely members of the village watch. Will looked behind him to see that they too were heading to the miller's shop. He couldn't help but wonder what all the hullabaloo was about and what was going on. When the men opened the door to enter, Will could hear a shout from inside.

"It's not here!"

Still curious, Will turned back around. He and Horace shrugged at each other. They had made it past the town and were skirting the farmlands. They were only about half a kilometer from the woods when Will suddenly stopped short. Something suddenly didn't feel right.

"What's wrong?" Horace asked stopping also.

That was when they heard it, running footfalls and the jangle of chainmail shirts. Will and Horace whirled to look behind them. Both froze for half a second at the sight that met their eyes. There was a party of men about ten to fifteen strong. Will picked out the faces of the men who had been in the miller's shop as well as the armed men he'd seen entering the shop later.

As Will and Horace watched, they realized that the men were running towards them, chasing them. If it hadn't been clear enough by the look, the message was driven home when one of the white-robed priests started shouting.

"There they are! Stop them! Kill them!"

Kill them?

That was all it took. Will and Horace, as if of one mind, bolted, running full tilt towards the woods as the men pursued them. They raced through the trees, Will picking a direction away from their camp and leading them around tree trunks and through the brush. Will was faster than Horace so he guided them both, trying to remember any tips Gilan had given them on escaping pursuit: move randomly and swerve if possible, never give their pursuers a straight shot to them so they could close the gap, try to get enough distance to find cover. But the brush there wasn't thick enough for cover, and the men were too close to lose completely. They needed more distance, cover, or a defendable area to stand a chance.

What was worse was that Will had not spent enough time in these woods to know them well enough to accomplish this. He only had a general sort of idea from the chart Gilan had of the area. But the chart hadn't been very detailed and Will's study of it had been less so. His heart hammered wildly as he swore that, if he and Horace were to somehow get out of this situation alive, he would start paying more attention to mapping and charting lessons. He'd never slack off again.

Then his heart leaped with hope; there looked to be a slight clearing ahead framed by a run of boulders and thick brush. Perhaps they could find somewhere to hide there. Will pelted towards it, pushing aside a hanging branch and stepping out into full sunlight.

The edge of terror that had been coursing through his veins suddenly turned into a full-blown panic. He swore softly to himself, feeling his skin turn cold even as his stomach twisted.

He had made a mistake.

It wasn't a clearing at all, but a place where the fast running steam cut deeply through the land. He perched on the ledge of a large grey granite outcropping—part of the cliff that overhung the river five meters below him. And the gap to the other side was too far to jump. He had as good as cornered them both.

Thinking of Horace, he whirled to see him nowhere in sight. Numbly, he realized he must have gotten ahead of his friend and inadvertently left him behind. Heart in his throat, he resolved to run back for him when Horace finally burst through the underbrush. He skidded to an abrupt halt on the ledge beside Will, eyes wide as he realized their situation.

"What took you so long?" Will blurted, voice cracking, still reeling from that awful feeling that had assailed him when he realized that his friend hadn't been behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that that didn't really matter—that it was probably the very least of their problems at the moment. But he was too numbed with confusion and terror to think clearly.

"This bag is really heavy!" Horace protested back, gesturing to the grain bag he'd brought. His tone was nearly as shrill as Will's had been.

"Why didn't you just drop it!?" Will demanded.

Horace opened his mouth to reply before he obviously realized he had no good answer to that question. His face had become flushed with exertion and frustration.

"Well it's not like it would have helped anyway," he finally said, angrily gesturing to the cliff. "Fast or not, I'd still be trapped. We're trapped!" The crashing sounds of their pursuers were steadily growing louder. "What do we do?!"

"I don't know!" Will shouted, trying to think, nearly frantic with desperation.

Horace's eyes were wide but he nodded. He set the bag down and moved to stand with feet planted, facing the approaching enemy. He drew his sword with deliberate resignation. Will understood. If there was not going to be a chance for them to escape, he was not going to go down without a fight.

Will watched him, starting to draw his own bow as the sound of their pursuers drew ever nearer. His mind whirled for some plan, some strategy to get them out of this. Then he had it.

"Horace, we have to jump!"

"Jump?"

"The water looks deep enough."

"But Will-" Horace started to protest.

"We have to risk it! It's our only chance!"

Horace tore his eyes from where the enemy would soon appear and towards the fast running river five meters down.

"I can't…" he stammered, floundering for the words to explain.

But Will hadn't heard him. He had slung his bow over his shoulder and leaped into the water without so much as a second thought—trusting implicitly that Horace would follow. But Horace couldn't follow. He couldn't. And it wasn't the idea of the height or jumping; it was the idea of the swift running water at the bottom.

He watched it now, eyes darting between the fast-moving water and the approaching enemy. They sounded so much closer now, nearly upon them. He expected to see Will surface soon, but there was nothing, no sign of him. He gave another darting look back towards where the enemy was then back to the water. Where his terror had previously mostly been for himself and the men after him, now it was only for Will, he should have surfaced by now.

Unless…

Unless something had happened: he'd landed wrong, gotten stuck somehow, hit his head, something. He could be drowning right now, or in desperate need of help. He could die because Horace was too scared of fast running water to jump. Horace gritted his teeth, feeling his heart rate increasing.

Maybe he couldn't jump in for himself, but he could for Will. Horace gave one last look towards the pursuing men, their forms just starting to take more definite shape through the screen of brush. He sheathed his sword and jumped.

As he jumped, his foot hit the side of the grain bag and it tipped over the edge, landing with a splash beside him.

The water was fairly deep, but not deep enough to keep his feet from touching bottom fairly hard. The icy water folded around him, and he could feel the current already reaching out, grabbing at him, starting to pull him along. But this time Horace refused to be helpless. He had to find Will. He opened his eyes trying to see through the murk.

And he saw a hand reaching towards him, grasping him by the arm and hauling him closer to the side of the cliff he'd jumped from. Belatedly, Horace realized that it was Will and he allowed himself to be pulled after him, blindly grabbing at the bag of grain that had landed within arm's reach.

In the back of his mind, he realized this was pointless, the flour would be ruined by the water now; but he'd carried it all this way and the sight, feel, and weight of it, anchored him in the same way Will's grasp did.

Will pulled Horace towards him, into a darker shadowed patch of water where the current wasn't as strong. Lungs aching for air, Horace surfaced to find that they were underneath an overhang of the cliff. It was a cave-like niche that hadn't been visible from the riverbank as the overhang actually touched the water from the front and was shielded either side by thickly growing water plants. It wasn't as deep there either and his feet touched bottom easily.

It was the perfect hiding spot.

Will put his finger to his lips to simulate silence. But that was unnecessary. Horace had no intentional at all of giving away their position to the pack of murderous men after them. He thought he could just hear them shouting and stomping about from above, the sound just caring over that of running water.

He clutched the bag tighter as they waited in silence. The current wasn't strong in this little alcove, but it was still there. Also, their hiding spot was a small and cramped dark space: two of the things he hated most. And he hated himself for that. He scooted as far back against the wall as he could, reflecting dully that the thought of the death waiting for them outside wasn't helping much either. He gritted his teeth as he tried to steady his breathing.

In the dimness, he saw Will move back towards him before placing a nervous hand on his shoulder. Horace squeezed Will's back in return as they waited in tense silence. It took a long time for the sounds of their searching pursuers to move by and fade out of earshot. They both relaxed fractionally but stayed completely silent for still longer just to be certain before deeming it safe to whisper.

"Are you alright?" Will asked. "Are you hurt?"

Horace shook his head, still trying to breathe steadily. "It's just I don't like this." He gestured around himself.

"The water?" Will asked, obviously remembering how Horace had avoided entering it earlier that morning… had it really just been that morning? It seemed ages ago now.

Horace's first instinct was to deny it; he opened his mouth to do just that before he stopped. This was Will; he didn't distrust or fear him like he had so many others at Battleschool. There was no use pretending with him; in fact, it was a relief not to have to.

He eventually nodded. "That and the small space."

He could practically see the flood of curiosity and questions growing in Will, but thankfully his friend decided not to press. Horace was grateful for that. He was silent for a moment before he voiced the thought had been bothering him from the start of this whole insane situation.

"Why were they after us?

"I don't know," Will replied, frustrated, trying to piece everything together. But it just didn't make any sense at all no matter how he looked at it… that was until Horace spoke.

"This grain feels weird," he muttered idly as if just coming to the revelation, "hard and lumpy. Wet flour shouldn't do that should it?" he mused.

Will peered curiously at it. He could see what Horace meant, and saw also how the top of the bag was sewn shut with a dark thread that didn't match the white on the bottom. In the gloom, he couldn't tell what color it was: perhaps brown. Brown… like the snip of conversation, he had overheard.

Suspicious, he drew his saxe from his belt and proceeded to cut the top off the bag, pulling it and Horace a little closer to a shaft of light that made its way into their hiding spot through a break in the tall water plants near the side.

His eyes widened. There, amidst the gloopy mess that had once been flour, was gold, other precious metals, jewelry, jewels, and uncut stones. Both boys looked at the bag and its contents and then at each other, open-mouthed.

"I think I know why they were chasing us," Will whispered.

A/N: Thanks again for reading! I hope this chapter proved to be an enjoyable diversion! As usual, feedback is very appreciated. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'll get the next two parts out as soon as I can X)

I wish you all the very best until next time! You guys are awesome!