The Man-killer Bear

A/N: I honestly have no idea what this is. I really should be doing my homework... oh well XD Though, to be honest, the idea has been buzzing around in the back of my mind for quite a while. Ever since I read book 7, I thought that it would be a very fun little tale indeed if it were ever to be expanded. Anyhow, I did have a lot of fun writing this—It was a good way to take my mind off things for a while. And it is my dearest wish that this little short will be as fun to read as it was to write.

Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect for John Flanagan's stories… I absolutely don't own anything, not RA, and definitely none of the characters or places therein. And I certainly do not profit from this in any way, aside from my own enjoyment- and hopefully the enjoyment of others.

Summary: There have been a series of disappearances and deaths around Redmont and it's up to Halt and his apprentice to discover the cause and put a stop to it. But with Gilan only months away from finishing his apprenticeship, strain brought on by the promise of upcoming change has a way of getting in the way. (Based off of, and inspired by, a scene mentioned in book 7)

Gilan put a hand on Halt's shoulder. It was a strange sensation, he thought, advising the man he respected more than any other.

'You knew the time would come when you'd have to let him go, Halt. You can't be around to protect him for the rest of his life. That's not why you trained him to be a Ranger. You tried to do that with me, Remember?'

Halt looked up sharply at that. Gilan was still smiling as he answered Halt's unasked question.

'In the last few months of my apprenticeship, you started mother-henning me something terrible,' he said. 'Remember that man-killer bear we had to track down? You tried to leave me back at Redmont under some pretext or other.'

Halt frowned, thinking hard. Had he really done that? He had to admit that he might have.

-Ranger's Apprentice Book 7 Erak's Ransom

The Man-Killer Bear

The rider made his way along the wooded path at a canter, the dark and brooding sky overhead matching the grim expression in his face. Halt was on his way back to his little cabin after a rather lengthy and sobering meeting with the Baron of Redmont. He felt the frown deepen as he thought of it.

He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. He eased Abelard out of his steady canter when they reached the little clearing where his cabin was situated. He frowned again. It was just before noon. That was odd; his apprentice should have been outside in the clearing at this time of day, practicing his weapon skills.

He heard Blaze call a horsey greeting to them from the stable, alerting him to the fact that Gilan hadn't gone off somewhere. He put Abelard in the stable next to Blaze but left him saddled; he'd need him again soon anyway. Still wondering why Gilan was not out in the yard, he mounted the steps to the cabin. He opened the door and raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted his eyes.

He was more than a little surprised to see the apprentice in question sitting at the table, books and charts spread out before him, drafting compass, charcoal and angle stick in hand, north seeker set carefully before him. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he painstakingly tried to copy one of the charts in question. He looked at his north seeker and then back to his own large sheet of paper. He then used his drafting compass, his angle stick and the charcoal to carefully transcribe several lines. He glanced up as Halt entered, offering him a quick smile of greeting before focusing back in on the task at hand.

As Halt made his way to the table, he was even more surprised to see that Gilan had already finished a rather detailed and accurately drawn chart of the clearing, cabin, and foot-trails around it. Chart making, Halt knew, had always been one of Gilan's least favorite subjects. Yet here he was, studying it more than diligently at the expense of subjects he liked better, like weapons skills.

Halt frowned a little then. It was unusual. In fact, as he thought about it, Gilan had been behaving a little unusually for the past couple months. He suspected that there was something bothering the youth; but whenever he came close to broaching the subject, his apprentice had responded with some humorous observation, or good-natured jibe, that diverted the issue. Halt had a suspicion as to what was troubling him though, and supposed he could bring it up. But, at the same time, he was also sure that Gilan would tell him when he was ready to, and not a moment sooner.

Gilan let out his breath in a sound of annoyance as he messed up one of the lines he was transcribing. He set the charcoal down. He turned his attention, and a far more genuine smile, towards his mentor.

"I made some coffee a while ago, but I didn't know you'd be gone as long as you were. You might have to re-warm it."

He saw Halt nod thanks at him as he went into the small kitchen.

"That chart of yours isn't half-bad," Halt said mildly as he passed.

Gilan felt himself flushing slightly at the scant words of praise. Coming from the grim Ranger, it was a rare thing indeed.

"Though I don't recall the south trail being two degrees off east of south," he added.

And Gilan felt the pleasure recede into a knotted feeling in his stomach, not so very different from the feeling he got just before a battle—though it had really nothing to do with Halt's last statement—he'd been expecting that after all. Over the past five years, he had gotten to know Halt well enough to be attuned to his ways…

Five years…He winced at the thought. He'd been Halt's apprentice for five years. In just about a month he'd be given his final assessment which, if he passed, would grant him the rank of a fully fledged Ranger—and all the responsibilities that came with it. It was actually that which had driven him to stay indoors and study instead of going out to practice his weapons skills. He considered chart making to be, undoubtedly, his worst subject. He was, therefore, trying his best to ensure he would not outright fail when he would be tested on it at the Gathering.

Though Gilan was not to know it, his chart-making skills were actually on par with, if not, in some cases, surpassing most the current Rangers in the Corps. He had a pretty decent head for numbers and calculations as well as fair skill as an artist. Both these skills translated well to the task.

Gilan did know that he wasn't completely hopeless at it. However, when compared to Halt…compared to Halt…Gilan winced again and stared at his transcribed chart, trying to figure out a way to fix the line that he had messed up. He was aware of his mentor returning to the table and taking the seat across from him.

"So, chart making?" Halt asked, taking a sip of the fragrant coffee.

"I thought I could use the practice," Gilan replied cheerfully.

Halt nodded. "That's certainly true."

Gilan laughed. "You're not supposed to agree."

"The south trail still isn't two degrees off east of south."

"I'm fairly sure nobody but you would notice, let alone care," Gilan said waving his hand to the side. "Stop nitpicking me."

"Your fault for gathering the nits to begin with," Halt replied, before adding in a more serious tone, "What about your weapons practice?"

"I already did it," the apprentice responded, "though not for as long as usual." He gestured to the charts. "I didn't think you'd mind, so long as I was studying."

"And what about the chores?"

"I did them all this morning," Gilan said, wondering just where Halt was going with this line of questions.

"And you're sure of that, are you?"

Gilan's smile faded a little and his brow furrowed as he thought back, then followed Halt's pointed gaze to the stove where the cook pot rested in all its un-scoured glory. His grin returned wider than ever as he saw it.

"Oh, that," he replied dismissively.

"Yes, that," Halt said, a warning hint of danger coming into his voice which Gilan ignored.

"I thought I'd spare you the shock of having to look at your reflection in it. It's never a good thing."

It was an old joke between them that had originated during Gilan's first days as an apprentice.

"That may be true," Halt said, shooting him a withering glare, "but if that pot doesn't get clean, I might have to spare you the sight of supper."

"But, Halt, that would deprive you too," Gilan pointed out, already rising from his seat to tend to it.

All the while he wondered how could he ever tell Halt that he hadn't intentionally forgotten, or rather overlooked it, because he had been over-studying, and over-thinking on other matters—over-thinking because he was afraid he wasn't ready.

The Gathering, and the test, was only a short time away. For all the years of his training, he'd seen the final assessment as his finish line. But he realized now that it wasn't an end. It would merely mark his passage into another, more challenging, phase of life.

What would he do when he got his own fief? What would he do without Halt to advise him, to help clear up the mistakes he made? He had been trained by one of the most legendary Rangers in the Corps. And he realized now that, when he got his own fief, people would be expecting a lot of him. In short, they'd be expecting him to be Halt. And Gilan knew that, no matter how hard he studied or tried, that was something he could never do. In fact, he seriously doubted that there was anyone who could.

Gilan trusted and respected Halt more than anyone, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to admit these thoughts and feelings to him. How could he ever tell the grizzled Ranger that he felt unready, or even tell him why? There were just some things that an apprentice just couldn't share with their master. All these thoughts flashed across his mind as he headed towards the cook pot. He was shaken from them, however, when Halt spoke.

"Leave it for now, Gilan," Halt said suddenly. "Something has just come up."

He sat back down and faced his teacher, waiting for him to continue.

"I just got word from the Baron. It appears he's in need of someone with the skills of a Ranger, and it's a fairly urgent matter."

"When do we leave?" Gilan asked, eager at the prospect of a mission, and already rising from his seat again to get his traveling kit.

"We aren't leaving anywhere," his mentor said, stopping him short.

"What? But you said—"

"Since I obviously wasn't clear the first time: We aren't going. I will be going on this one alone, and you will be staying here."

Gilan frowned, confused. He hadn't been left behind while Halt went on a mission since he had been a second-year apprentice. And Halt's short tone was one that brooked no argument.

"May I ask why?" he said finally, giving Halt an odd look.

"You're not needed on this one, and I have something I need you to do here."

Gilan nodded. That made sense.

"What's come up here?" he asked then.

"The annual Battleschool report is due and I haven't got around to finishing it yet. It'll be late if I wait to do it until I get back. I don't believe I have to tell you how uptight Battlemaster Norris gets when reports are late."

And so saying, Halt rifled through some papers until he found the Battleschool report in question and handed it to the youth, ignoring the slight trace of confusion and hurt lurking in his eyes. He then moved to gather the supplies he needed.

There was a short moment of irritation when he could not find the map he wanted; until he realized that it was the map Gilan had already brought out to copy. He carefully refolded it and made his way out of the cabin and towards the stables. Abelard stood as he had left him, fully saddled and ready to go. He guided the little horse out of the stables and out into the clearing before mounting.

Abelard swung his head around slightly to look at him.

Are Gilan and Blaze not coming?

"Not this time," Halt said gruffly.

Why not?

Because he's just a boy, Halt wanted to say but didn't.

The truth was that, when he had first left the castle, he had had full intentions to bring Gilan with him on this mission. And yet, when the time had come, he'd changed his mind. He had found that he truly wasn't in favor of the idea at all. The task he faced now was an unpleasant one; one that had the potential to be very dangerous. There had been a series of unexplained deaths. Several foresters and small game hunters had gone missing without a trace. The incidents had ranged all over the fief.

Hunting and forestry was a potentially hazardous job. So, at first, the people had not taken serious notice of it. Which led to the heart of the problem: by the time the missing men's companions and family had come to the Baron or to Halt to report the loss, the trail had already gone cold. All Halt and Gilan had found in each of these sites had been the remnants of clothing, weapons, and skeletons—the bones of which had already been scattered far and wide by forest scavengers. What they hadn't found was any sign of what had killed the men.

Halt remembered thinking that the first two incidents could very well have been chance. As he had pointed out, forestry was a potentially perilous job. But, as soon as he received news of the third, it had all bordered far too close on coincidence—and Halt didn't really believe in coincidence.

Consequently, he had kept his eyes and ears open, something that was almost second nature for a Ranger after all. As soon as he had heard another mention of a forester gone missing, he'd taken his apprentice immediately to the spot where the hunter had reportedly vanished in an attempt to track him. However, on the way over, it had started to rain very heavily, totally obliterating any tracks they might have found.

It had been the sight of ravens circling that had ultimately led the two of them to the fourth body. It had been slightly fresher than the other three; but the wildlife had already scattered and scavenged most of it into oblivion. He and his apprentice had scoured around the area looking for any clues. All they had found was slight evidence that something large might have passed trough: breaks in low hanging branches and damaged leaves.

They had added that small amount of information to the other small traces they had managed to glean from other sites: a scratched tree and clump of black fur. But there hadn't been any way to tell for sure if those clues were actually related to the men's deaths. Despite that, on their way back from investigating the fourth victim, Halt had been fairly sure that those deaths didn't have anything to do with random chance, nor any human perpetrator. He'd had harbored a vague idea that they were dealing with a bear. That suspicion had been confirmed early this very morning when a messenger had come from Redmont castle to report a fifth victim. Fifth and six, he found when he reached the castle.

A small game hunter had been out with his friend when he was attacked by an absolutely massive back bear. One man had been killed and the other had barely escaped with his life by taking to a boat filled with a few more of his friends who had been waiting for them in a nearby river. They had only just managed out-row the massive beast when it had tried to swim after them. The young man who had escaped was currently in the castle's infirmary. And the healers were fairly certain that, if he lived, he'd be crippled for life. Halt felt a twisting feeling growing in the pit of his stomach as he thought of it, and the other victims and their families.

Now that they were certain that there was a bear on the loose—a bear that seemed to have developed a taste for men—the Baron, his senior staff, and Halt had deemed it a serious threat to the people of Redmont and decided that something needed to be done about it.

As a Ranger, Halt knew it was his duty to track the beast, find its layer—if it had one—and then lead the castle's knights against it. He had done something similar a few times in the past when a dangerous wild boar had been spotted. But this was altogether worse than a wild boar, bad as those were. From what he'd seen of the injured young man, and based on what that man and his fishermen friends had described, this bear seemed to be only a few steps away from being nearly as large and dangerous as a Kalkara.

His mind flew back towards the sight of that young man lying in the castle infirmary, barely clinging to life. That young hunter wasn't all that much older than Gilan...

Why not? Abelard asked again, when Halt said nothing.

"I think it's better if we handle this one ourselves, Abelard."

His horse seemed to accept that answer. Together they traveled towards the spot where the young game hunter and his friends had encountered the monster. He glanced up once at the brooding sky as a light drizzle began to fall.

~x~X~x~

Gilan sat at the table, staring blankly at the report in front of him, and chewing absently on his thumbnail. He let out his breath in a low huff before he slapped both hands down on the table, causing the ink bottle and quill pen to jump slightly. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He cast one more resentful glance at the half-filled out piece of paper before he made his way into the cabin's kitchen and set water to boil of coffee. As he waited, he found himself pacing slightly.

Gilan was no fool; excuse about Battlemaster Norris's low tolerance of tardiness and negligence or no, he knew what busywork equated to and this was it.

He'd just been sidelined. And worse still, he couldn't find the reason why it had happened. He supposed it wouldn't bother him as much if he knew that it had happened because of some irresponsible mistake he'd made. But he could not recall doing any such thing. The worst offense he could think of was his forgetting to scour the cook pot this morning. And that couldn't be it.

Why, after the five years he had been his apprentice, had Halt had simply left him behind with the busywork? Why had he left him behind without so much as an explanation? Did he just not trust him enough to let him know what was really going on? Unless…a sudden doubt filled his mind—unless Halt had left him behind because he thought that he wasn't ready or capable enough to face whatever it was he was facing.

He frowned then. For months now he had been worrying that he wasn't ready to be a full-fledged Ranger, to have a fief of his own. Realizing the possibility that Halt had left him behind because he thought so too, made Gilan sink back down into the pine chair, feeling lower than he had in ages, while the self-doubt ate away at him like some infectious disease.

He shook his head abruptly and rose to his feet with the report in hand. He really knew better than to let self-doubt get the better of him like this. He needed something to do. There were a few questions on the report that he had purposely left blank because he didn't have the knowledge off the top of his head. He decided then to travel the short way to Redmont's Battle School. No matter his reasons, Halt had given him the task of filling out this report and the least he could do would be to do it accurately. He chuckled wryly at the thought. Besides, both he and Blaze could use the exercise.

He was let through into the castle a short while later without comment aside from a few friendly greetings. Once inside, he left Blaze in the stables and headed off towards the training grounds, cadet's barracks, officer's quarters, and instruction halls with the report in hand.

He arrived in time to see the afternoon sword drill. He was walking past the all too familiar scene, looking for Sir Rodney's quarters, when he very nearly ran into the Battlemaster in question.

"Ah, Gilan, is it?" Sir Rodney asked with a smile. "I nearly didn't see you there. What brings you here? I thought you'd be out with Halt."

"Well, Sir, Halt wanted me to fill out a report for him while he's gone. Speaking of which, I was actually looking for you."

"Something I can help you with?" Rodney asked then.

"Yes, Sir. If you've the time, I have a few questions I'd like to ask."

The knight nodded. "I'll have time enough in an hour or so. What exactly is this report of yours?"

"The annual Battleschool report for Sir Norris."

Rodney's expression turned puzzled.

"Halt has already come to ask me a question for that report about a week ago. I thought he finished it already."

"Halt told me he hadn't even started it," Gilan replied, just a puzzled, his mind working at this new information.

Not only had he been sidelined and given the busywork, it seemed to be totally pointless busywork at that. As he thought it, his mind began rapidly putting together vague pieces of the past couple of weeks together to form a cohesive picture.

"He's going after a bear, isn't he," he asked the knight.

Sir Rodney looked puzzled again. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

And when Gilan shook his head Rodney explained about the most recent attack and the man currently in the castle infirmary.

"Halt said he was going to track it and find its layer or general location for we knights to hunt and kill."

Like a boar hunt but more dangerous, Gilan thought.

"Well, thanks anyway," Gilan said, folding the useless report and stuffing it into the breast of his leather jerkin.

As he left the castle on Blaze he found himself thinking, his expression uncharacteristically grim. He was angry. It annoyed him that, after all they had been through, all the battles they had fought side by side, Halt had pigeonholed him, decided to leave him behind so he could go it alone.

It didn't even matter what the reasoning behind Halt's choice had been because, apart from irritating him, it also worried him. He'd seen the remains of those foresters. He had also just heard the gruesome details of the young hunter barely clinging to life in the infirmary from Rodney. He couldn't let Halt face this battle alone. He wouldn't let him face it alone. Halt was his mentor—almost a second father to him. But, more than that, he was a friend. Gilan's place would always be at his side. He was going after him.

All he had to do was find out where his mentor was headed. And he remembered seeing something that morning that told him exactly where to look. When Gilan reached the cabin, he dismounted and ran inside to grab his kit, his north seeker, and his half-finished chart, before dashing back outside and remounting Blaze.

"Come on girl," he said, urging her into the Ranger horses' infamous ground-eating lope. Even at that pace, he was worried that he might not make it in time.

I hope you've thought this through.

"So do I," he told his horse, a smile spreading across his face. "We'll find out soon enough if I haven't," he added.

That's very comforting.

"That's what I thought."

And that's why I'm worried.

He chuckled grimly, knowing he would never get the last word with his horse.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really hope everything seemed believable and in character (I'm always super worried about that...)As an aspiring author, I really appreciate feedback and constructive criticism. Please let me know if you think I can improve anywhere- so I can fix it :) I hope you all have really amazing weeks. Thanks again!