A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you all are doing well. I suppose there's nothing for me to do but apologize again for the delay and thank you all for your patience with me as I limp along with this story. I'd tried my best to get it finished on time, but my best wasn't good enough, it seems. DX I hope this chapter proves enjoyable and that the resolution to everything was worth the wait.
*5-17-21 Edit* I went through and changed the order of some of the chapter sections for flow and, as I did so, I realized that some sentences from Horace's section had been deleted when I uploaded the chapter so I replaced them. I hope things read a little better now.
Kiiro Dora: Thanks so much for the review! I really appreciate it. I do apologize for the cruel cliffhanger though. XD
PacificZip16: Thanks so much for the review. Apologies for making you wait on pins and needles for so long. Yeah, I feel really bad for doing that to Erak :/ But it was necessary (or will be necessary later) for plot reasons lol.
Dragonslover98: Thank you so much. Overall, I am actually doing much better. I appreciate the well wish :). Glad you enjoyed the last chapter despite the evil cliff-hanger. It was fun exploring everyone's residual memories a little, actually. The resolution to most of those will happen in this chapter for sure. Thanks again! You made my day.
potato-ranger: I may perhaps be a little too over-fond of the use of cliffhangers, sorry about that. I hope the resolution proves to be worth the wait. Thanks so much for the review and the compliment, it brightened my day to read. As for your question, I suppose there are many reasons why a person who doesn't have much interest in violence might learn to fight: to protect themselves or the people they care about in emergencies or even just to teach others to protect themselves. I mean, just because you know the skills doesn't necessarily mean you'll use them for destructive ends, right? But I can't say for sure though XD People tend to be very annoyingly multifaceted and viewpoints and actions differ even within cultural subgroups lol. It's a good question to ponder. XD
BellatrixTheStar: I do apologize for the unfair ending; I promise the resolution is forthcoming X). Thanks so much for the compliment and the review! It was very encouraging to read.
RangerShay: Thanks so much. I was trying my best to weave things in with the original works. Yes, it was my intention to make a connection to Brotherband there XD. I thought it would be nice to bridge things together. Thanks again for the review: I really appreciate it!
Crow1203: Thank you for the review and encouragement, it means a lot. I'm glad to know that my efforts to be careful about the details haven't gone to waste. XD Sorry for the rude cliffhanger though, and the wait for the resolution to it. Thanks again!
CoffeeAndOakLeaves: Don't worry the resolution to Will's predicament will be coming this chapter. There definitely is a little bit of hope for people in the memory department. Glad you like the history nerd notes XD they're pretty fun to include. Thanks so much for the review! I hope that you have a wonderful day as well :).
TrustTheCloak: Thanks so much for the review and vote of confidence. It means a lot—especially coming from you: I love your work. I would've liked to learn a little more about the Kalkara and Wargals too, they were pretty fascinating concepts. I hated to do that to Erak, but I promise there was an important reason I did. XD. It's been fun trying to weave things together so I'm glad to hear you have enjoyed it so far. Thanks again for the review! It brightened my day.
Chapter 29: Moirai Part II
Will stood frozen by the power of the beast's gaze, rendered utterly helpless as its monstrous claws descended towards his unprotected body. Halt, now weaponless and running as fast as he could, did the only thing left to him. He threw himself at his onetime apprentice, shielding his small body with his own as he attempted to shove both of them to safety. They tumbled to the ground hard. Halt's head and shoulder exploded in a fiery burst of pain where the beast's claws struck deep and tore.
Halt felt his breath leave him in a single rough exhale as he landed but it didn't stop him from converting the movement into a roll, knowing that they had to keep distance between themselves and the monster. When they stopped, Halt made certain he was the one on top: a last-ditch effort to protect Will.
Head spinning and vision splotchy, darkening at the edges on account of the vicious blow to the head, Halt could dimly make out the creature's hind and forelegs as it moved steadily forwards to again close the distance he had so desperately tried to give them. Its purpose was clear; it intended to finish them off. Halt, dazed, tried to rise but found himself unable to do so. Realizing this, he pressed his body more tightly around Will in the vain hope that, when the monster went for him, it would miss or leave Will.
The beast took another forward loping stride and then suddenly, inexplicably, it turned away from him. It was then that a sudden explosion of sound carried distorted to Halt's ears: the sounds of footfalls and familiar shouts. Crowley, Arald, and several knights had emerged from the forest and into the fields. Halt turned his head weakly and caught the flickering light of torches, the figures of the knights. What he could make out of the Kalkara seemed to hesitate. But, before it could act any further, Halt heard the deep thrum of a longbow followed by the whoosh of flames. He heard the inhuman screams of the monster, felt the burst of heat on his skin and brightness in his eyes as the beast caught alight.
Another fire arrow, he realized numbly. At the same time, he realized that from that distance it was probably a Ranger who had made the shot. Likely Crowley had seen what Will had done to the other Kalkara and followed suit, Halt found himself thinking vaguely as the world seemed to spin in and out of focus. He coughed weakly from the acrid scent of burning hair and flesh, his vision darkening further. Then someone was gripping him by the shoulder, rolling him over and off of Will. A familiar face and shock of red hair swam slowly into focus, then faded again as consciousness finally left him.
When Halt woke again, it was to the sight of torches, starlight, and an unsettling motion that did nothing for the pounding spinning in his head. Dimly, he realized that he had been placed on a litter and was being taken somewhere.
He turned his head a little to the side, nausea accompanying even that slight movement. A man was walking beside the litter.
"Crowley?" he muttered confused. "What…" he started to ask when his gaze lowered and he caught sight of the small figure the other Ranger was holding in his arms. Then everything flooded back to him in a rush.
"Will," he said, struggling to sit up and failing to do so as the spinning in his head intensified. He groaned softly.
"Will will be fine," Crowley said then, reassuringly. "Just exhaustion and a few minor injuries. Rest is the best thing for both of you."
Halt blinked feeling the racing beat that had taken hold of his heart calm a little at Crowley's words. He'd searched his onetime friend's eyes and found only honest sincerity in them.
"The army?" he asked then, weakly.
"Carried the day and all three Kalkara are defeated."
"Will…" Halt tried again, but Crowley cut him short.
"I'll watch over him for you."
Halt managed the trace of a nod, believing him. Lacking the strength for anything else, the world again swam slowly out of focus and consciousness again left him.
~x~X~x~
Gilan's archers had been trying their best to keep the Skandians from forming a shield wall against the knights. With the constant volley he had organized, by having one rank reload while the others shot, the majority of the Skandians had been forced to angle their shields towards the ridge and sky as confusion reigned.
He saw the Skandian leader direct the second row of his men to put their shields over the first row. That way, the first row could then form a shield wall while still being protected from above. But before his men could do it, the thundering hoofbeats of the cavalry charge sounded in the distance. Gilan ordered his archers to cease firing as soon as the cavalry charge began, knowing they couldn't risk hitting their own men.
The cavalry force hit hard, spreading chaos and breaking the beginnings of the shield wall the Skandians had been trying to form. Several went down or buckled under the charge, others turned away from the knights surrounding them to face the cavalry. It all served to seed further confusion through the ranks as most of the Skandians were forced to fight individually.
Gilan's eyes skimmed the battlefield and saw that about what amounted to about one Wolfship crew had retreated towards the bay. He looked closer afield and saw that, although in many areas the knights seemed to have the upper hand, thanks to the cavalry charge, there was still a place near the front where the Skandian formation had formed fully and held. The knights in that area were buckling under the concerted attack. Gilan could see his father in the middle of that line, struggling under the press of the Skandians facing him. The knight who has been fighting at his side had been killed by a well-aimed strike from the Skandian warrior facing him and Gilan could see that his father was in serious trouble as he squared off virtually alone against four Skandian warriors.
"Pick your targets if you see a clear opportunity," Gilan ordered the archers even as he drew back on his own bow.
He could see the four Skandians moving in on his father who readied his own sword and kite-shaped shield to meet them despite the odds. But Gilan already had it in mind even those odds a little. The Skandian's large circular shields were effective protection against melee weapons as well as archers. Thus protected, it would be extremely difficult for an attacker to score a hit in any vital areas. But a person didn't need to be hit in a vital spot to be taken out of the fight. Leg and arm wounds could be enough to send an opponent to ground or knock an attacker from the fight. Also, Gilan knew the men couldn't keep their heads behind their shields at all times; they had to reveal their faces occasionally to ascertain and gauge the position and attacks of their opponents. The small targets those presented were large enough to a competent well-trained archer, Gilan thought with a grim smile. Picking his own targets, Gilan moved away from his archers as he drew and shot in rapid succession.
Several of his arrows found their mark and the Skandian warriors near his father reeled back, some dead, others wounded. It halted their momentum before they reached his father and caused the Araluen forces to buckle and break. Gilan fired arrow after arrow until he had emptied his quiver. Out of arrows, Gilan continued moving forwards running down the rise. His hail of arrows had caused the Skandians to hesitate momentarily, covering up with their shields. It allowed Gilan the time he needed to make it down the rise. He drew his sword as he ran forwards, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with his father. Together they continued forward, fighting furiously side by side. And, though it had been years since they had trained and fought together, their rhythm and timing together were as good as it once had been. Men fell before them and the nearly shattered, disheartened, line of knights behind them rallied, running up towards and then past them as they drove the Skandian force back. Demoralized by the archers, and with the effects of the cavalry charge, along with the renewed surge of attack from the Araluen knights, the first steps of the Skandian retreat turned into a full rout.
~x~X~x~
Lady Alyss entered Baron's Douglass's study early in the morning after having been let in by Philip, the Seneschal. She made her way gracefully across the floor to stop in front of his heavy desk.
"The Courier apprentice, is it?" Douglass said in that emphatic way of his. "Philip said you had something important to tell me?"
"Yes, my lord," she curtseyed politely, not allowing her newfound distrust for the man to show on her face. "I wanted to inform you that I got a message from Lady Pauline late last night requesting my presence. She says that it is urgent. I came to inform you that I will need to be leaving as soon as I am prepared for the journey—within the hour if possible. I also wanted to ask for supplies and the use of a horse."
Alyss, of course, had gotten no such message. Rather, she had learned, from listening to the knights and Douglass's pigeon handler, of a message from the army detailing where Sir David's portion of the troop had stopped: a village called Cramelford near the coast. Now that she knew where exactly the rest of the troops were stationed, she intended to get the message out to them as she had promised Will. She could, of course, make it easier on herself by sending out a pigeon with the message, but with the majority of the Courier party having gone with Pauline, she'd have to use Douglass's pigeon handler and she wasn't willing to risk getting word out to him of all they had learned. It would be safer for her to deliver the message herself.
Baron Douglass, however, merely waved an impatient hand at her message. "Well then, you'd better get going, if it's urgent," he said dismissively, clearly not much caring where she was instructed to go or that she had been instructed to go at all. He seemed all together on edge and distracted, and she didn't have to work hard to imagine why that would be. "Have Philip send someone to prepare a horse for you."
Alyss curtseyed again and took her leave. She allowed herself the very smallest of smiles as soon as her back was turned to the Baron, confident her rouse was not even suspected.
~x~X~x~
Things calmed down quickly after the battle. As soon as the surrendered Skandians had been dealt with and the wounded seen to, Sir David finally allowed himself to take a minute to breathe. The battle had been won and the casualties and injury to their side had been surprisingly low considering the number they had been up against. Allowing his shoulders to relax a little from their ridged pose, he turned towards his son who had been dutifully staying behind him since the battles' conclusion. He realized that he finally had the chance to say what he'd wanted to since the conclusion of that last bitter engagement.
"Thank you for lending a hand at the end there," David said, gratefully before adding, "and an arrow or two."
"Seemed like you could've used them at the time," Gilan said back in kind, smiling.
David found himself smiling too, overcome with relief and gratitude that they both had made it through, that they had managed to win against all odds. The feeling was not unlike that of how things had once been, had once felt between them, and without thinking, David made a move to embrace his son as he'd done countless times in the past when Gilan had been a boy.
Gilan, however, didn't respond as he had in the past. Instead, he had stiffened, moving just out of reach in a single fluid surreptitious motion—almost as if he expected David to offer a blow more readily than a reassuring hand. His hand rose in a small warding, negative gesture.
David put his arms down a little awkwardly, trying to ignore how much that simple refusal had hurt. For one small blissful moment, he had forgotten all the tension and pain that existed between them… and the sudden reminder hurt all the more because of it. He cleared his throat and turned away, pretending to be busy with something so that no one could see the expression he was unable to fully hide anymore. He had hoped…
Feeling suddenly stifled by the overlong Outsider robe covering his uniform, he began tearing irritably at white cloth to remove it, probably with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
"Alright, father?"
David startled and looked up to see that Gilan had circled around to his left and was looking at him, concern in his gaze.
"You've not been injured, have you?"
Not physically granted, David thought bitterly. It was true that had suffered several minor gashes and several bruises during the battle, but nothing overly serious. This was an altogether different kind of hurt. He shook his head, pulling in his composure hastily.
He offered his son a wan smile. "I'm fine. I'd just sooner be rid of this disguise, is all."
"I can't think why," Gilan grinned. "You wear it so well that it makes me think you might have missed your calling; you would have made an excellent false priest—you very nearly convinced me to give up everything I own just by listening to you." Gilan jibed.
David allowed his smile to widen a little at the friendly ribbing. He shook his head, that tinge of loss, sadness, still pulling at his chest. "Funny, I was going to say the same of you. You fought well today: you would have made an excellent knight," he said, the words turning more wistful, sincere, than he'd initially intended.
Gilan however didn't seem to pick up on that, finding only amusement at the comment. His eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth tilting upwards in mirth at the suggestion. He chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
"And about as likely of one as you as a priest taking advantage of and extorting villagers. It wasn't exactly an option for me if you recall." Gilan said back, breezily.
And, although David wasn't looking for another fight, the flippant and seemingly uncaring words grated on him. Because the ugly truth was that their situation needn't have ended the way it had all those years ago. But Gilan had then, just like now, refused to take responsibility, refused to treat situations with the seriousness they deserved—which was like a slap in the face of the hurt and severity of everything.
"It could have been though," David said stubbornly. "You chose to run away. You had the option to turn it all around, to try again and regain the title of knight, to make things right, but you did not."
"That should never have been on me."
The smile had stopped reaching Gilan's eyes. And for all the calm in his words, his posture was less so. David noticed the subtle shift of his weight and stance: a fighter's readiness for confrontation, defensiveness. A warning, but David's point remained, demanded acknowledgment greater than that.
"With the proper amount of integrity and the responsibility, it should have. You have always had what it takes: you could have earned back everyone's trust if you tried!"
"Tell me, then," the words came out cold, seething, despite their softness, "why exactly I should have dedicated my life to making right something that was never my fault to begin with?" Gilan demanded abruptly, voice darkening in an honest anger he had lost the mastery of. "I owed them nothing."
David leaned back, the sudden demeanor change taking him by surprise. Silence fell between them for a moment before Gilan spoke again, more controlled but no less angry, no less bitter. "And, even if it were my fault, I think the Baron and your men took more than enough recompense from me to cover it all."
"I know it was an accident—that you didn't mean it. All I'm saying is that you should have tried to make it right anyway, which has nothing to do with the Baron. What the Baron ordered was the law's recompense." David said, then hurried on when he saw his son's eyes narrow dangerously. "I already told you that I never wanted that to happen, that I had nothing to do with that."
"I know you didn't order it but, truth is, you did nothing to stop it either."
David wanted to open his mouth to say that he couldn't have stopped it even though he had wanted to. How would that have looked? What message would that have sent if he had? It would have proven him nothing more than a corrupt knight who would put his personal feelings and problems above the law. It would have as good as shouted that he cared more for family connections than justice and honor. But Gilan hadn't paused to allow him the time or chance to say it.
"Nothing to stop the whole farce, nothing to stop the men under your command, or Sir Richard," he spat the name like a curse, "from having their fun with me."
David took an involuntary step back in shock as the meaning of the words Gilan had said sank home, along with all the implications behind them. His anger and frustration died away as he searched Gilan's face for sincerity and thought he just might have found it.
"Gilan, if that's true, why didn't you report it? That kind of behavior against prisoners isn't tolerated, no matter the charge against them. I would have stopped it had I known."
"Would you have?" Gilan scoffed lightly, eyebrow raised in obvious skepticism. "And what if you were told by your trusted, honorable, knights and officers that all those injuries came from accidents, fights with other prisoners, and failed escape attempts that ended badly. Why would you or anyone believe me then—take the word of a proven criminal and liar over that of your own men? Especially when you couldn't even be bothered to take my word, or listen, before. You couldn't even believe me over a merchant and some villagers you barely knew—and I was your son."
A sharp silence fell between them as if punctuating the accusation. David's brows furrowed in confused frustration. "Gilan…"
"I didn't start that fire."
"Sir!" their conversation was abruptly interrupted before it could get any more heated by one of David's officers. The man was a little winded, having run all the way to meet them. "A Courier has just arrived. She said she bears urgent news from Highcliff!"
Gilan turned away from his father to face the messenger, conversation and grievances put momentarily on hold by the news.
"Show me," David commanded and the man offered a half-bow before beckoning his commander to follow.
The man led them quickly to the rise where a young girl dressed in the uniform of a Courier sat perched on a white horse.
"Lady Alyss, isn't it," David greeted when they came within speaking distance, "Lady Pauline's apprentice?"
The girl nodded as she dismounted gracefully from her horse. "Yes, Sir, I had an urgent message for you." she offered him a quick curtsey before her sharp eyes fell on Gilan who stood beside and a little behind his father. "And for you too," she addressed him, "You are Will and Horace's mentor, right?"
Gilan nodded, offering her an encouraging smile despite the uneasy feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach. "Has something happened?"
"Yes, a plot regarding Baron Douglass and Morgarath was uncovered," Alyss began and then launched into a succinct and detailed description of events and of what she, Horace, and Will had uncovered.
"Baron Douglass has thrown in with Morgarath?" Sir David sputtered, aghast at the news. Though he wasn't dismissing the young Courier's claim, there was still an edge of skepticism, disbelief, to his words.
Gilan only frowned grimly as he found all of it easily probable. Unlike his father, experience had taught Gilan that Baron Douglass had a vicious petty streak and was more than willing to do whatever it took to keep order or get what he wanted.
Gilan looked back to his father as he spoke again.
"Have you proof of these accusations?"
"Will went to warn Arald's party of the Kalkara and, if the creatures do show up, that will prove our claim. Also, if all goes according to plan, Horace and Evanlyn will have captured Foldar as a witness and further proof of Douglass's treachery. Horace should be bringing him back to Highcliff as we speak to accuse Douglass."
Gilan felt his face drain of color at that news. "Will and Horace have done what?" he asked aghast, despite having heard perfectly well what the young Courier had said.
Hearing that Will had gone off to a place where there was the potential for no less than three Kalkara set to attack, was bad enough. But to hear that Horace and the crown princess had decided to go up against a criminal as skilled and hardened as Foldar, to then accuse Baron Douglass of treason all on their own, was just as bad if not worse.
At least Gilan knew that, in Will's case, he would have Halt, Arald, and Sir Rodney there to support him. Halt, due to his knowledge of the other time, knew how best to combat the Kalkara and Sir Rodney and Baron Arald were accomplished fighters. Also, Gilan knew that there was probably nothing Halt wouldn't do to protect Will. So although he feared for both their safety, he was able to trust in their abilities and their chances.
Horace, on the other hand, had no one other than the princess to provide support. And, although the boy was admittedly a natural talent with the blade, if anything were to go wrong, he could wind up killed by Foldar or, equally as bad, wind up in Douglass, or any of his loyal knights', hands. Gilan grimaced, trying to tamp down on the inadvertent shudder that accompanied the thought. He couldn't, wouldn't, allow either outcome to happen.
"I will mobilize my men, those not too wounded to travel, and we will set out to Highcliff at once to settle this," David said, interrupting Gilan's thoughts.
But Gilan shook his head. "We'll never get there in time. A party as large as ours will slow us down. I'll ride on ahead," he decided abruptly, already making for his horse.
David stopped him by catching suddenly at his arm. Gilan stilled at the unexpected action, reflexively flinching off the grip and stepping back a pace. Nevertheless, he did stop, trying to calm the sudden restless desire for hasty action. Don't rush into things, the words that Halt had told him in that other time echoed in his thoughts.
"And then what? What could you do alone against Douglass if it's true?" David challenged, some unidentifiable mix of emotions contorting his expression briefly as he dropped his hand back to his side. He straightened, cleared his throat, and continued before Gilan could reply. "I'll ride with you. I can organize a small party of my best knights to accompany us and leave my lieutenant in command here with orders to make for Highcliff with the rest of the army with all speed."
Gilan nodded mute acceptance of his father's suggestion, knowing he was right. He only hoped they wouldn't be too late.
~x~X~x~
The next time Halt woke fully it was day, warm sunlight streaming through the open door of one of the army's medical tents. His head, though it still hurt, was not throbbing quite as badly as before and his mind seemed clearer. Still a little groggy, he reached a hand up to feel the thick swath of bandages there. He could feet others wrapped around his upper arm and shoulder as well.
"Halt! You're awake, and alright!" A familiar young voice sounded next to his ear and Halt turned, relieved that the spinning sensation didn't grip him as tightly with the motion as before. His relief only grew when he saw Will sitting on a stool by his bedside, seemingly well and, for the most part, unharmed. He could see a few bandages on the boy's forearm arm as well as dark bruises from exhaustion under his eyes. Before he even had the chance to consider it further, look him over more carefully, or brace himself, Will moved towards him, arms wide, to grip him in an embrace. Halt moved his uninjured right arm to embrace him back just as warmly.
"I was so worried that... that—" Will cut himself short before he could finish and Halt pretended not to notice the trace of moisture that dampened his shirt where Will had pressed his face. In the same manner, Halt stolidly ignored the warm prickling in his own eyes.
"You're alright now," Halt said quietly and felt Will nod against him, arms gripping him just a little tighter. "Although it might be for the best if you avoided singlehandedly taking on Kalkara for the foreseeable future," Halt added and heard Will chuckle wetly through his tears.
"I'll bear that in mind."
At that, the sinking feeling of wrongness and loss that had plagued Halt for so long finally started to ease away into a feeling of warmth. Perhaps things really could be mended into something that, although not quite what had been before, could still be whole and alright in its own new way. A comfortable moment of silence passed between them before it was broken by approaching footfalls and a familiar voice.
"Halt, Will: just the two people I was looking for," Baron Arald said as he entered the healer's tent and spotted the pair. "I was told you'd woken up and that I'd find Will in here."
"Baron Arald," Halt said, turning to face him at the same time Will got to his feet and offered a polite bow. "Is something wrong?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. I was hoping to borrow young Will here and set out with a small party to Highcliff Fief immediately." At the puzzled look on Halt's face, the Baron elaborated. "Has Will gotten the chance to fill you in about Baron Douglass?"
Halt glanced at his young onetime apprentice.
"I hadn't gotten to that just yet, Sir—um, Milord" Will admitted before turning to Halt apologetically. "You only just woke up and well..." he gestured ineffectually, letting the sentence hang unfinished.
Arald nodded. "Perhaps it would be for the best then, Will, if you told Halt everything you told me now," he said gently.
Will nodded, launching quickly into the tale of what had led to him coming here. Halt listened, both eyebrows raised by the time Will had finished. Not much impressed him, but Will and Horace's actions and quick thinking definitely had come close. Though that was not to say he entirely approved of the danger they had placed themselves in to do it. Nevertheless, he offered his onetime apprentice an approving look. Needless to say, he could see why Arald was so insistent upon getting to Highcliff as quickly as possible.
"You did well," Halt told Will quietly and the boy beamed under the rare words of praise from Halt.
"I thought it best if I were to take a small party to head off and arrest Douglass before he either escapes or causes any further damage," Arald said then. "I was hoping to take Will with me as a witness. It would give more credence to any move I make against him."
Will looked to Halt for permission and the grizzled Ranger nodded once at him. He knew Arald was right about needing Will to act as a witness. This could be vitally important and Arald could use all the help he could get. That was not to mention the fact that young Horace and Evanlyn had put themselves in a great deal of danger and were likely in need of assistance as well. He tried to sit up then, but only made it partway before he had to lower himself back down again, grimacing.
"Take some time to rest, Halt," Arald said, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder. "I sent Crowley on a scouting mission and he should be back tomorrow morning. If you're feeling well enough, you both can join us at Highcliff Castle then. If you need anything, I left Sir Rodney in charge of the army here. I'll watch out for Will," Arald said simply, earnestly. And Halt trusted his word.
"If half of what you said about Douglass is true, Will," Halt began, "make certain you take care; and don't underestimate him."
"Yes, Halt," Will said before moving to follow Arald out of the tent.
Halt's head was still aching and a little fuzzy from the blow he had taken and so Will and Arald had almost made it to the door of the tent before a thought struck him: a thought that had grown from the small lingering sense that there had been a certain detail in Will's tale that had bigger implications than the quick mention Will had given it.
"Will," he called and the boy turned around.
"Yes, Halt?"
"When you were listening in on Douglass and Foldar's conversation, did Douglass call Gilan by name when he referred to him? Or did you just infer that it was Gilan he meant?" he asked.
Will's brows furrowed as he thought back. "I'm pretty sure he said Gilan's name and he called him Sir David's son."
Halt frowned at this piece of news and Will regarded him curiously.
"Is that important?" Will asked then.
"Can't say for certain," Halt said then. "But it could well be."
~x~X~x~
Horace and Evanlyn crouched among the brush near the place where the road branched and diverged. The pale glow of the early predawn sky lit the world just enough to make the figure of the lone rider visible as he crested the rise into the woods. However, even without the light, they would have known his presence; the hoofs of his mount thundered against the ground as he rode with all speed.
Horace, peering through the foliage, recognized the man as soon as he drew near enough for his face to been seen. Horace nudged Evanlyn. It was a pre-arranged single they had come up with so that Evanlyn would know exactly whether or not a potential rider was Foldar.
Evanlyn nodded, drawing and lifting her sling in which she had already preloaded with a stone. She began to whirl the weapon around her head, gathering speed and momentum. Then, in a fluid motion, she rose fully from concealment and cast the stone.
It flew true. Foldar's mount screamed, plunging and rearing as the rock struck its flank. But the attack had the desired effect. Foldar was knocked off of his horse, unable to keep his seat in light of the animal's unexpected and explosive action. Horace drew his sword and headed forward quickly, intending to subdue the man before he could recover from his fall, but Foldar was just as fast.
Despite being taken off guard and winded, he was too experienced and canny a fighter to stay down in such a situation. As soon as he had hit the ground, he rolled to lessen the impact and used the momentum of the roll to bring him back to his feet. He faced Horace as he approached, drawing his sword in the space of a few panted breaths. Horace stopped moving forward and the two stood about two meters apart, weapons at the ready.
Foldar bared his teeth in an enraged snarl.
"You're a little young for a roadside bandit," he snarled viciously. And, having thus ascertained the young age of his would-be attacker, he felt the rage turn into a deep scorn. He was certain that, although the boy had unhorsed him and delayed his return journey to Morgarath, he would be easy enough to defeat. And then he would pay dearly for his stupidity. The young would-be bandit had bitten off far more than he could chew. "Tell you what, boy. If you surrender now, I won't torture you for your impudence as much as I will if you resist. You picked the wrong target to rob, boy."
Horace, however, said nothing to that, not allowing the man to anger or unnerve him. Horace guessed that, being one of Morgarath's men, Foldar would likely be very experienced and skilled and knew he had to remain on guard.
"Well, what do you say, boy?" the man sneered. "Do you surren—" he struck forward before he finished talking, an old trick to catch an opponent off guard.
But Horace was ready for it and he caught the man's sword blade with his own, deflecting it with a small controlled circular motion. Foldar was sent off-balance, surprised when his blade didn't meet with the solid contact he'd expected, surprised that what he had taken to be an untrained boy had evaded his attack.
He quickly regained his balance however and tried again undeterred. This time, he struck forward with a thrust which Horace again deflected. Furious as well as surprised, Foldar launched into a series of fast-paced and vicious strokes. Again Horace defended, avoiding, blocking, and parrying all of Foldar's attacks. He was able to meet him blow for blow. The year he spent in Battleschool and the many months he had spent under Gilan's tutelage, combined with the hours of drill and practice, made it so that his sword was an extension of himself. Now that he had gotten the measure of his opponent he found that they were nearly evenly matched: perhaps with Foldar having the edge on him just slightly. This put him in a very dangerous spot. The longer the fight dragged on the greater the chance was that he would make a mistake, slip up. And that could be fatal. He knew his best chance was to stay focused and try to end it as soon as possible.
Their sword blades met in a grind and Horace, with a controlled twist of his wrist disengaged his edge from the bind. A distant humming noise sounded dimly in his ears as continued the motion of his arm and wrist in a well-practiced disarming move that Foldar tried desperately to counter. Then, suddenly, there was a harsh smacking sound and Foldar let out an agonized cry, sword falling from bloody and broken fingers. Before he had the chance to recover, Horace completed his sword's motion, turning it into a backhand side strike, slamming the flat of his blade into the man's head. Foldar crumpled senseless to the ground. Horace glanced to his left to see Evanlyn standing a few yards away, sling dangling empty from her most recent cast.
"Nice shot!" Horace commented gratefully. To cast a stone accurately at someone's hand like that would have taken a great deal of skill, he knew.
But Evanlyn shook her head, a little annoyed. "It wasn't that good. I was actually aiming for his chest, but tripped over a loose stone when I cast."
"Ah, that was lucky then," Horace said, surprised but couldn't keep a smile from his face. "So long as it worked, I suppose."
Evanlyn's face broke into a smile as well.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading everyone! Feedback is very appreciated if you have the time or inclination to leave any. Constructive criticism is valued too: don't hesitate to let me know if you see room for improvement. Again, I do apologize for the delay in this chapter; I had gotten this chapter mostly written a couple of weeks after the other but then life got a bit ... demanding to say the least lol. Then, after that, I, unfortunately, found myself with little to no motivation to write: and, to make matters worse, nothing I put on paper looked right and I didn't want to give you guys sub-standard work DX. But I did eventually manage to get enough inspiration to finish, so I hope it's decent anyway lol. We're finally in the home stretch, just a couple more chapters after this one, in fact, to tie up the loose strings.
I hope you all stay well and safe until next time!