Author's Note: We got another one! Eventually! I swear!
Alyss offered the book to Lady Pauline. The tall, graceful woman flipped carefully through the pages of the oncoming chapter, getting a sense for any sensitive topics that might come up and formulating plans for how to smooth them over - or avert them altogether.
Halt turned slowly to face his young apprentice, and raised his eyebrows at the outburst. Will, subsiding, muttered, "Sorry, Halt," and the older Ranger nodded.
"I should think so. It's more than obvious that Gilan is asking if I'll release you to accompany him to Celtica."
"It's only obvious if you know about Celtica," Will pointed out, mock-wounded.
"Which you did," Halt reminded him lightly. "Or should have, at any rate."
Gilan nodded confirmation of the fact and Will frowned, puzzled by the sudden turn of events. "Me?" he said incredulously. "Why me? What can I do in Celtica?"
Gilan groaned. "Here we go."
The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. He should have learned by now never to give Halt that sort of opening.
"And yet..."
"Oh, shut up Gilan."
Halt pursed his lips as he considered the question.
"Ask interminable questions, interrupt your betters and forget to do your chores, I suppose. The real question is, Can you be spared from duty here? And the answer to that is 'Definitely'."
"Then why…" Will gave up. They would either explain or they wouldn't. And no amount of asking would make Halt deliver that explanation a second sooner than he chose to. In fact, he was beginning to think that the more questions he asked, the more Halt actually enjoyed keeping him dangling.
"I can't imagine why that might be," Halt said innocently, steepling his fingers in front of him and hiding a smirk.
It was Gilan who took pity on him, perhaps remembering how closemouthed Halt could be when he chose.
"He's impossible," Gilan mourned, shaking his head.
"I need you to make up the numbers, Will," he said. "Traditionally the Celts insist that an official embassy be made up of three people. And to be honest, Halt's right. You're one who can be spared from the main effort here in Araluen." He grinned a little ruefully. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been given the mission because I'm the most junior Ranger in the Corps."
Gilan pouted in Crowley's direction. The Commandant was unrepentant. "Someone had to do it," he said shortly.
"But why three people?" Will asked, seeing that Gilan at least seemed disposed to answer questions.
Someone coughed pointedly in Halt's direction. Halt ignored them completely.
"Can't one deliver the message?"
Gilan sighed. "As we were saying, it's a superstition among the Celts. It goes back to the old days of the Celtic Council, when the Celts, the Scotti and the Hibernians were one alliance. They were ruled by a triumvirate."
"The point is," Halt interrupted, "of course Gilan can take the message to them. But if he's a sole messenger, they'll keep him waiting and fob him off for days, or even weeks, while they dither over form and protocol. And we don't have that sort of time to waste. There's an old Celtic saying that covers it: One man may be deceit. Two can be conspiracy. Three is the number I trust."
"They may have a point," King Duncan pointed out, inclining his head towards Horace, Halt, and Will each.
"So you're sending me because you can do without me?" Will said, somewhat insulted by the thought.
"Yes," Halt said bluntly.
Halt shrugged. "Well, we can, as a matter of fact. But you can't send just anyone on these embassies. The three members have to have some sort of official status or position in the world. They can't be simple men-at-arms, for example."
"However much easier that would make it," Crowley muttered. He had little patience for superstitions of any sort - particularly when they got in the way.
"And you, Will," Gilan added, "are a member of the Ranger Corps. That will carry a certain amount of weight with the Celts."
"I'm only an apprentice," Will said, and was surprised when both men shook their heads in disagreement.
"You wear the oak leaf," Halt told him firmly. "Bronze or silver, it doesn't matter. You're one of us."
Will beamed.
Will brightened visibly at his teacher's statement. "Well," he said, "when you put it like that, I'd be delighted to join you, Gilan."
Halt regarded him dryly. It was obviously time for the ego-stroking to end. Deliberately, he turned to Gilan.
"So," he said, "can you think of anyone else who's totally unnecessary to be the third member?"
"Thanks, Halt," Horace said, grinning.
Halt merely grunted. "Back then, you were unnecessary. And then you went and became important and made my life complicated, like the fool knight you are."
Gilan shrugged, smiling as he saw Will subside. "That's the other reason Crowley sent me here," he said. "Since Redmont is one of the larger fiefs, he thought you might be able to spare someone else from here. Any suggestions?"
Halt rubbed his chin thoughtfully, an idea forming. "I think we might have just the person you need," he said. He turned to Will. "Perhaps you'd better get some sleep. I'll give Gilan a hand with the horses and then we'll go up to the castle."
Will nodded. Now that Halt mentioned sleep, he felt an irresistible urge to yawn.
"Sorcery and witchcraft," Will muttered.
He rose and headed for his small room.
"See you in the morning, Gilan."
"Bright and early." Gilan smiled, and Will rolled his eyes in mock horror.
"I knew you'd say that," he replied.
"And here I thought you Rangers loved to get up at some ungodly hour," Horace mused.
Gilan laughed. "Only when you're around, Horace."
Halt and Gilan bedded the two horses down and strolled through the fields toward Castle Redmont in companionable silence. Gilan, attuned to his old teacher's ways, sensed that Halt had something he wanted to discuss, and before too long the older Ranger broke the silence.
"This embassy to Celtica could be just what Will needs," he said. "I'm a little worried about him."
The man in question winced a little.
Gilan frowned. He liked the irrepressible young apprentice. "What's the problem?" he asked.
"He had a bad time of it when we ran into those Wargals last week," Halt said. "He thinks he's lost his nerve."
"And has he?"
Halt shook his head decisively. "Of course not."
Alyss smacked her husband lightly on the arm. "You see? I told you that you were being ridiculous!"
"He's got more courage than most grown men. But when the Wargals charged us, he rushed his shot and missed."
Gilan shrugged. "No shame in that, is there? After all, he's not yet sixteen. He didn't run, I take it?"
"No. Not at all. He stood his ground. Even got another shot away. Then Tug took a hand and backed the Wargal off so I could finish it. He's a good horse, that one."
"The best," Will said proudly - then, when Halt coughed pointedly, he added, "Tied with Abelard, of course."
Crowley let the comment slide. Gilan, however, began making plans to challenge his friend to a little competition that would settle the matter once and for all.
(He would lose, of course, but that's a different tale).
"He has a good master," Gilan said, and Halt nodded.
"That's true. Still, I think a few weeks away from all of these war preparations will be good for the boy. It might get his mind off his troubles if he spends some time with you and Horace."
"Horace?" Gilan asked.
"He's the third member I'm suggesting. One of the Battleschool apprentices and a friend of Will's." Halt thought for a few moments, then nodded to himself.
"Yes. A few weeks with people closer to his own age will do him good. After all, folk do say I can be a little grim from time to time."
"A little," Crowley repeated, perfectly deadpan.
"From time to time?" Baron Arald echoed incredulously.
"You, Halt? Grim? Who could say such a thing?" Gilan asked. Halt glanced at him suspiciously. Gilan was, all too obviously, just managing to keep a straight face.
"You know, Gilan," he said, "sarcasm isn't the lowest form of wit. It's not even wit at all."
"And yet you are so fond of it," Sir Rodney jabbed, grinning broadly under his mustache. Halt glared.
Even though it was after midnight, the lights were still burning in Baron Arald's office when Halt and Gilan reached the castle. The Baron and Sir Rodney had a lot of planning to do, preparing for the march to the Plains of Uthal, where they would join the Kingdom's army. When Halt explained Gilan's need, Sir Rodney was quick to see where the Ranger's thinking was headed.
"I always said you were quick," Halt mused.
Sir Rodney snorted. "No you didn't. The first time we met, you called me - what was it, a 'mud-brained clotpole with fish-eggs stuffed in my ears'?"
Horace nearly choked trying to hold back his laughter. Cassandra was less restrained and cackled loudly at the mental image of the short old Ranger telling off Redmont's Battlemaster like a first-year cadet.
"'Clotpole'?" Jenny repeated, puzzled.
"It's a Hibernian thing," Crowley told her, grinning as well. "Best not to ask, really."
"I wish I hadn't," Sir Rodney muttered, then glared at the smirking Baron Arald. "And thank you for your support, sir,"
"You're most welcome," the Baron said cheerfully.
"Horace?" he said to Halt.
The small, bearded Ranger nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Yes, it's not a bad idea at all," the Battlemaster continued, pacing the room as he thought it over. "He has the sort of status you need for the task - he's a Battleschool member, even if he is only a trainee. We can spare him from the force leaving here at the end of the week and…"
At this he paused and looked meaningfully at Gilan. "You might even find he's a useful person to have along."
"If only on rare occasion," Gilan put in.
Horace laughed. "That's true enough."
"No, it isn't," Cassandra and Will corrected him simultaneously. Alyss just sighed.
The younger Ranger looked at him curiously and Sir Rodney elaborated: "He's one of my best trainees - a real natural with a sword. He's already better than most members of the Battleschool. But he does tend to be a bit formal and inflexible in his approach to life. Perhaps an assignment with two undisciplined Rangers might teach him to loosen up a little."
"If only I had known," Sir Rodney mourned, shaking his head. "Such a loss."
Horace made a wounded noise in his throat, but was betrayed by the grin hiding at the corners of his mouth.
He smiled briefly, then glanced at the sword Gilan wore at his hip. It was an unusual weapon for a Ranger. "You're the one who studied with MacNeil, is that right?"
"You don't remember me, Battlemaster? I'm hurt," Gilan gasped, clutching a hand to his heart. Jenny laughed.
Gilan nodded. "The Sword master. Yes, that was me."
"Hmmm," muttered Sir Rodney, regarding the tall young Ranger with new interest. Gilan snorted as if he was offended again and Rodney chuckled, seeing the amusement in Gilan's eyes. "Well, you might see your way clear to giving Horace a few pointers while you're on the road. I'd take it as a favor and you'll find he's a quick learner."
"I'd be glad to," Gilan replied. He thought that he'd like to see this apprentice warrior. He knew from his time at Redmont as Halt's apprentice that Sir Rodney wasn't given to overstating praise for any of the students in the Battleschool.
"Well, that's settled then," Baron Arald said, anxious to get back to planning the thousand and one details of the march to Uthal. "What time will you be leaving, Gilan?"
"As soon after sunup as I can, sir," Gilan replied.
"I'll have Horace report to you before first light," Rodney told him and Gilan nodded, sensing that the meeting was over. The Baron's next words confirmed it for him.
"Now, if you two will excuse us, we'll get back to the relatively simple business of planning a war," he said.
"Simple business," Duncan repeated incredulously.
Baron Arald grinned unrepentantly. "You know us, your majesty. Masters of understatement."
"To put it mildly."
...Halt, please.