A/N: Chapter 2 is out! It's a little short but, if I combined it with the next one, it would be too long, so I decided to just leave it like this. I hope it proves to be enjoyable anyways. Thanks so much for reading.

jaymzNshed: Thanks for the review! It totally made my day. I'm excited to write what happens next X).

Dragonslover98: Well, there is a reason for that (aside from the fact that I can't picture Halt as anything but Halt XD). Will is going to be in this chapter and the others will be in the next two. Thanks for the review

WisperRanger26: You're hitting the nail on the head with Halt saving Crowley in The Lost Stories... Also, I promise to reveal where Will, Horace, and Gilan are soon as I can. Thanks so much for the review!

TrustTheCloak: I'm so sorry about that. Thank you so much for catching that. I went over that section what seemed like a million and a half times and still didn't manage to see it. I hope this next chapter proves worth the wait. Thanks so much for the review and the correction, I really appreciate it!

Chapter 2: Awry Part II

~x~X~x~

Present Day: In between the time of Ruins of Gorlan and Burning Bridge.

~x~X~x~

"Keep up the pace, Will! Tomorrow's a big day after all."

The farmer, lean and grey-haired, his face looking as grubby and worn as his garb, gestured toward at the neat rows of furrows that marked the earth—urging the fifteen-year-old boy onward. He was right. Tomorrow would be a big day. That was when the spring planting was due to start. As a consequence, they needed this last stretch of the field plowed before the sun set— and it was already getting to be very late in the afternoon.

Will muffled a groan as he moved to obey the farmer, Dorian's, command; the man was right about the need for speed. Besides that, the last thing Will wanted was a cuff to the head for 'not listening to yer elders and betters'. The last time he had gotten that lecture, he had actually ended up getting cuffed twice. The farmer hadn't much cared for his quick muttered reply of, "well, at least the elder part's right." For a man who was usually fairly hard of hearing, he certainly seemed to pick up the most inopportune things at the most inopportune times.

All that aside, picking up the pace was easier said than done. Will had been working almost nonstop since before the sun had risen, and he was absolutely exhausted. The work was extremely labor intensive and, on top of all that, it had been a hard winter that they had just come through. As a consequence, Will wasn't in the very best of shape.

Nevertheless, he managed to urge the swayback plow horse ahead of him into a little faster pace as he followed behind. Both horse and boy managed to keep it up for a couple of minutes until the old farmer moved on. Then they both slowed down. Will knew the horse was just as tired as he was—and with good reason. The horse was one of only two plow animals that the villagers had. She, much like Will, was loaned out to whatever farm needed her.

"Come on Doris, not much further now," he told the horse, his voice a little strained from exertion.

For the first time since they'd started, he thought he could see the end to this grueling task. He had only about one more furrow to go. A faint thrill of exhausted anticipation and relief washed over him… and then disaster struck. There was an ugly crunching sound as the nose of the plow slammed into some buried object. Both Will and the horse were sent to a jolting halt.

Muttering darkly under his breath, Will guided the horse back several paces and the removed the guide reins from where he had placed them around his neck and shoulders. Letting them drop to the ground, he moved to see what it was that the plow had snagged on. Sure enough, there was a fairly small boulder about the size of Will's chest. Groaning, he knew that there was nothing for it but to dig the rock out and move it aside before he could continue on. Not for the first time he reflected dully on how much he hated this—the life of a farmer. Every day was a monotonous litany of endless work and exhaustion. He longed constantly for something more than this, more than the stagnant, stifling, back-breaking life he lived. But it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go—well, not yet anyway.

He got on his hands and knees, using a flat rock and his fingers to dig around the offending boulder until he had freed it enough to pull it loose. He then hefted it towards the edge of the field and let it drop. He stopped to catch his breath, and then rub at his back. The rock had been painfully heavy. Begrudgingly, he made his way back to the hole he'd just dug in order to make sure there were no more rocks in the way.

As he did so, he caught the glint of something shiny he had missed before. Bending down again, he scooped it up and brushed the dirt off of it: a coin. And it was not just any coin; it was a gold, worth much more than the typical coppers and occasional silvers that were usually in circulation in the village. He clutched it tight before slipping it into his pocket, feeling a sense of disbelieving hope settle over him. He found himself grinning for perhaps the first time that day.

He could hardly contain his excitement as he moved to finish with the plowing, his new-found anticipation making much of his earlier exhaustion fade substantially. He managed to finish the last furrow just as the sun was starting to set. After the farmer had checked it over and nodded once in grudging approval, Will estimated that he had just enough time to head to his secret spot before he would be expected back at the farmer's home; or, more accurately put, at his barn—which was where Will lived most of the time, unless he was being loaned out to the other farms.

Will made his careful way into the woods that surrounded the little outlying village of Bawtry. As soon as he stepped into the first patch of shade from the trees, he felt his whole body relax a little—the woods were his sanctuary. Though he could never stay quite as long as he might have liked, it was where he wasn't just the village's farmhand, but rather Will. It was one of the few places that he could be himself.

He wove expertly through the trees and undergrowth, following a path that was only visible to him. He often changed directions at random, laying false paths and backtracking, even leaping from stone top to stone top in order to avoid being followed or trailed. He stopped only when he nearly reached his destination, looking around cautiously to make sure he had not been followed before plunging through a particularly thick tangle of trees and brush. Then he was there. He reached out a hand to touch the rough bark of his favorite tree: a huge hollow oak with the most perfect climbing branches.

He had found this tree a couple of years previously and it was one of his more closely guarded secrets. He ducked inside through the large hole at its base. It was here that he kept his most valued possessions: an old kerchief that had belonged to his mother, the crude bow and set of arrows he had made for himself, and the little cedar box. He made his way to the far corner to retrieve that box. Inside was all the coins he had ever found, saved, and earned for as long as he could remember—his one chance of finding a better life for himself, of achieving his biggest dream. It was these coins that he hoped to use in order to get into Aspienne Fief's Battleschool.

It was true that those who entered the kingdom's Battleschool usually came from the ranks of the kingdom's nobles, but he'd heard tell of a couple of stories about the sons of merchants getting in with the right recommendations and funds. Will had nearly reached the amount he'd heard of in those stories. He still wasn't sure how he'd go about getting the recommendations he needed, but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He had always considered getting the coin he needed the harder part. It had taken him ages to earn the money he had because he was never paid for the farm work he did in the village—only for extra jobs he performed when he had the time, or by selling some very small game animals he had hunted with his flimsy handmade bow.

He was still a little worried about getting the recommendations he would need; after all, he did not know any of the kingdom's knights, nor did he know how to wield a sword. He was also a little on the small side—but he was strong. He was certain that he'd have what people called 'a growing spurt' by the time he saved up the last few coppers he would need. Besides, if it really was a problem, he could just tell the knights about his father, how he'd been a mighty knight and had died during the start of the war. That was what his mother had told him when he had asked about his father.

Will's father had been a hero. He could just picture him, a glittering armor-clad knight on a powerful battlehorse. He had sustained himself many a hard hungry night by imagining his father and dreaming of following in his footsteps. His father would want him to be a knight, he was sure of it. His mother would probably want the same thing. She had died when he was about four years old, helping people escape to safety when a raiding party of Morgarath's troops had breached the kingdom's borders. She had saved an entire family and him. That was when he'd been taken in by the people of the village of Bawtry. He didn't remember all that much of his mother, but he was certain that she would want more for him than the life of a farmer.

Will was going to leave this farm someday soon and he was going to become a knight. He had always promised himself that—and today it looked like he was truly close to reaching his dream. Grinning, he put the coin he had found with the others before carefully closing the box. He hurried back to the farm then, arriving at the barn just in time to meet the old farmer as he came from his house.

The man was holding a brimming bowl of soup and two entire rolls—leftovers from dinner for Will. Will's mouth nearly dropped open in surprise. Dorian must really have been in a good mood about the upcoming spring planting. They did not have much by the way of stores left over from winter, so he must have thought the day really worth celebrating to have had his wife cook so much bread. Will took the food gratefully from him and the man left without a word. Will took his supper inside the barn and made himself comfortable on some straw, thinking as he ate.

He estimated that there might be some time after dinner when he might sneak off the farm and pay a visit to Helen, the sweet elderly cunning woman who lived on the outskirts of the village. She, like Will, was a little bit of a village outcast. The villagers would go to her whenever they had need of some herbal remedies and a healer, but whispered about her and kept their distance otherwise. It was pretty similar to the way that people mainly ignored Will unless they needed him for something—or he'd gotten in trouble for not doing the work how they liked it, or for some prank or other. He and she had always shared a little bit of a kinship because of it.

Many of the villagers whispered that she was a witch and practice black magic—just like the fabled Rangers did. In all truthfulness, Will had thought that too for a while, but had learned better about eight years ago. She was nothing but an herbalist. He would go to her whenever he needed an understanding ear, was wrestling with some problem or other, when some of the farmer's disciple had left him a little too bruised, or when he was so hungry that he couldn't think of anything but food. She was the only one who treated him more like the boy he was rather than like the village plow horse. She was the only one who ever encouraged his curiosity, encouraged him to think for himself, and try to pursue his dreams.

He swallowed half of one of the rolls in a couple of bites and wrapped the other roll up in a piece of cloth to hide behind one of the barn shelves. The remaining half he would share with Helen when he would sneak out in a couple of hours. He was still so excited by the find of the day, excited by the prospect that he was only a few coppers short of reaching his dreams, that he felt he had to share this bursting sense of happiness with someone. Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up; maybe things could finally start to get better for him.

~x~X~x~

Arald guided his horse forwards, the others in his party following suit. The big animal responded sluggishly, no doubt because he could sense his rider's heavy-hearted mood. Realizing this, the Baron tried to shake his mind free of the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him, but it was a wan little effort.

It had been no less than fifteen years since he had lost all his holdings in war. And he had spent nearly all of those years traveling about the fiefs, wherever Duncan needed him, in order to try and rally support or provide it.

It had been fifteen years of slow skirmish warfare: Morgarath trying to claim more territory and King Duncan attempting to repel those attempts while trying to reclaim his own former holdings. By now, everyone was thoroughly worn out by the seemingly endless fighting and the death and destruction of war—their kingdom torn apart and against each other from within and without. After all, Arald reflected dully, nobody ever truly won a civil war.

But, if Lady Pauline's latest intelligence reports were true, it would all be coming to an end soon enough. Morgarath had obviously gotten as sick of the endless skirmishes as the King and his men were. For fifteen years they had been at a stalemate, but Morgathath was obviously planning to end it soon in one massive, final assault.

That piece of intelligence was the main reason he was on the road now, to Highcliff fief—one of the boarder fiefs. It was ruled by Baron Douglass. But it wasn't Douglass that Arald was intent upon seeing now, but rather his Battlemaster: Sir David—formerly of Caraway fief.

After the disastrous battle of Hackham Heath—the result of which had been the King losing virtually half his Kingdom—King Duncan had posted his best commanders and tacticians to serve as the Battlemasters of the new border fiefs. Sir David was a brilliant tactician and commander. His input and service were highly valued by the King, so he had been a natural choice.

Duncan had learned long ago that it was easier and more efficient to send Arald and his retinue to the boarder fiefs for small tactical meetings than it was to request the Battlemasters to come to a meeting point and leave the fiefs unguarded.

Arald reined in as the castle came into sight, poised on a peninsula that jutted out into the sea, the familiar watch tower and flag system in place.

He was let inside fairly easily and his rank allowed him to gain admittance with Baron Douglass quickly. He still had to wait a good half hour before he was seen though. Arald shook his head at that. In his opinion, there was little enough room for petty mind and power games like that while the war was going on—where a few minutes could be the difference between life or death, defeat or victory.

He stepped inside, his Battlemaster, Rodney, following, and caught sight of the heavyset Baron sitting languidly. The flash of irritation Arald had been harboring seemed only to grow. He tried not to let it show as he began the customary greetings. After a few moments of exchanging formalities with Douglass, Arald was about to bring up the reason for his coming. But Douglass beat him to it, his close-together eyes narrowing.

"I assume the reason for your coming is that you wish to speak with my Battlemaster?" Douglass said offhandedly, putting a little more stress than necessary on the word 'my'.

"I do, as a matter of fact." Arald nodded and then asked, "where is Battlemaster David?"

"Considering the day, he's probably out wandering the battlements," Baron Douglass said, sighing as if bored with the matter. "He asks for a day of leave this time every year. And how can I deny him? He serves me well."

"Ah, right," Arald said, understanding. "Thank you, sir." He nodded to Douglass who looked a little aggrieved by the informal title. Arald just shrugged it off. Even though he had no land and therefore no actual power, he was still a baron and their ranks were equal.

Truth be told, he had always found Douglass to be a little pompous. In fact, if it weren't for David, their friendship, and his brilliant tactical mind, Arald probably wouldn't visit this fief as much as he did.

He left the Baron's office, Sir Rodney following, and made his way to the outer wall. Sure enough, he caught sight of David's sturdy form atop the west wall, staring off into the distance. He was about to mount the steps when Rodney cleared his throat.

"What did Douglass mean about David being up here 'considering the day'?"

"Putting it simply, today is the anniversary of the day that Sir David lost his son," Arald said, his words soft.

As he said it, Rodney's eyes widened with understanding.

"I didn't realize that that was today," Arald's Battlemaster said, his tone now as somber as his lord's had been.

He glanced sympathetically at the other Battlemaster, standing alone and stiff-shouldered. Rodney's wife had passed several years ago, so he well knew the hurt of losing someone. The circumstances surrounding David's loss were different. Also, Rodney was wise enough to never presume or claim to know another's pain exactly, but he supposed he did know a bit of, or at the very least understood, the other knight's pain.

"That whole incident was bad business start to finish," Rodney said then with a soft grunt of disapproval as he began to mount the stairs side by side with Arald.

"It was that," Arald agreed.

"I can't even remember the lad's name."

"It was Gilan," Arald supplied, the softest note of bitterness tingeing his words.

Rodney heard it and looked sympathetically at his lord. "It was some years ago now, and you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"It's just that I can't help but think that, if I had gotten there a little sooner, I might have intervened."

"You did what you could." Rodney shrugged. "And that's really all a person can do."

Arald sighed and then nodded. "I suppose your right."

The two old friends had reached the battlement walkway and crossed it—ceasing their fairly insensitive conversation for David's sake. The two made their way to the lone figure. He turned as he heard their approach and offered them a smile of greeting. Though Arald caught a flash of sorrow, or perhaps regret, lingering in the knight's eyes before he shielded it.

"Milord, sir," he said, nodding at each of them respectively. "What brings you here so early? I wasn't expecting you until next month."

Arald tactfully chose not to mention David's odd position or the past and instead answered the knight's question.

"There was nothing to keep me on the road any longer than necessary." He replied, reaching out to clasp arms with the other man, "also, Pauline has gotten word from one of her contacts. Apparently, there are signs that Morgarath is beginning to build the ranks of his standing army—even rumors that he is planning to hire Scandians."

"Her contact must have gotten pretty far into Morgarth's lands to have gotten that kind of information. Is it reliable, do you think?"

"Coming from this particular contact, yes, I would say so. He's done work for her before and she tells me that he's good at what he does. Based on the little I've seen of him, I'm inclined to agree. Besides, I leave that sort of planning to her anyway. She's good at it and knows her business; if she trusts him, then that's good enough for me."

David nodded. "For me also." He knew well how good the elegant courier was at her job. Then he frowned. If the contact was indeed right, David instantly grasped the grave implications of the news. "I can see why you came early."

"Yes," Arald agreed, "the King wants us to start preparing."

A/N: Thanks again for reading! Feedback is very appreciated and constructive criticism too! Next chapter will be about Horace mostly but might include others depending on how long it gets. (And in case anyone was worried, Gilan isn't really dead—which I don't think is too much of a spoiler since I already said that he, Will, Halt, Horace and Evanlyn were going to be my main focus in this book X). I wish you all awesome weeks!