A/N: Here the next chapter! I'm sorry for the delay; school has only just started and it's already kicking my backside in regards to workload. Updates are probably going to be a little slower from now on in, unless I get a week where I get less coursework *crosses fingers*. But I'll try my best to get out chapters in as timely a manner as I can. Thanks to everyone who read, followed, reviewed, and favorited, I really appreciate the support!

TrustTheCloak: I'd go with Cropper too—he's a wise horse XD Now that you mention it, it is pretty similar to Zuko X) As for Gilan, I promise that I will eventually answer all those questions. Thanks so much for the review!

jaymzNshed: I'm really glad to hear that you liked them X) Things are definitely starting to look up for Horace. Thanks so much for the feedback and the support, I really appreciate it!

WisperRanger26: No need to be civilized where Gilan is concerned XD Thanks so much for the review and for the support! It totally made my day :)

anonym: awww :3 thanks so much for that. That was super nice of you to say. Thanks for the support. I promise I will answer all those questions. And, yes, *slight spoiler* XD Gilan will eventually run into his father again, so you'll get to see that.

Anon: Thank you :3 that totally made my day to hear, or rather, read. I was really worried about getting the flow right in that section. Thanks so much for the compliment.

Guest: Thanks for the review! I hope I updated fast enough for you. XD

Chapter 5: Malaise Part II

~x~X~x~

A few years before Ruins of Gorlan

~x~X~x~

The man had hired him to help him find his brother. And, although Halt had accepted quite a few employment opportunities like this before, this one was a little different in the regards that the man already knew where his brother would be… Halt already regretted agreeing to help him, regretted coming to this battlefield.

All around him was the ugly print of unchecked violence. The battle had taken place about four days previously, time enough for the first stages of rot to set in. The grizzly scene before him was only matched in its ferocity by the sickly smell of death. Soldiers lay with horses and knights alike. Halt had also made out the forms of several farm animals, along with those of people who were obviously not soldiers: peasant folk, women, children, and men lying near the burned husks of what had once been a village. The sight made him feel sick. Mindless battles for power and land between Gallic lords like this were common. Yet, to Halt, it all seemed so worthless, so empty, an utter waste.

The grizzly scene before him was easy enough to read. It had been a brutal battle. The invading army had come from the east and engaged the army of the former lord of this place. However, the invaders had obviously not stopped when they'd defeated their opponents, they had continued on to the village—to plunder it. Halt's eyes roved coldly over the raven emblem on the surcoat of one of the dead invaders. He clenched his teeth and might have sucked in a sharp breath had the air not been so foul. He was startled from his thoughts however, as the man he had been hired to help, Lafayette, spoke.

"Do you see my brother?" he asked, his tone still caring a hint of hope with it.

Halt closed his eyes for a moment before turning to face the man.

"I told you before not to get your hopes up," he said flatly, his expression blank. "It's been four days, and it's unlikely that your brother has survived this long."

He didn't say what had become plainly obvious to him already: that they hadn't yet come across a single living person on this entire field—and they had made it nearly all the way through the slew of wreckage and death.

"I know this," Lafayette said as he picked his way carefully through to stand by Halt, "but I have to know for certain—I won't rest until I know…" He gestured towards the remains of one of the dilapidated village houses. "We have not tried over there!" And so saying, he made his way in that direction, leaving Halt to scramble after.

Halt had seen the determined look in the man's eye and decided not to argue. Lafayette had been away, helping a family in the next village over when the battle had taken place. It had taken him a day to get the news, and another day to learn that his brother, a soldier in former lord of the land's army, hadn't made it back. Then it had taken him another two days to travel back and to hire Halt to help him—not for tracking, but for protection. Lafayette was a craftsman by trade, not a soldier like his brother had been, and battlefields, even finished ones, were dangerous places to be. All manner of scavengers made their way to them: vultures, crows, packs of wild dogs and wolves. And, this close to the border of Teutlandt—and the mountain range that stretched across the easternmost edge of both Teutlandt and Scandia—there were certain to be bears too. That was not to mention the human scavengers: thieves and desperate men searching the corpses of the fallen for items of value.

With those thoughts in mind, Halt moved a little quicker, trying to catch the man's shoulder before he rounded the corner of one of the dilapidated homes; he thought he had heard something out of place. Lafayette had moved too quickly however and had rounded the bend before Halt had been able to catch him.

"Wait!" he started to call, but it was too late. He heard Lafayette scream.

Halt raced around the corner of the building with his bow at the ready, just in time to see the three wild dogs turn their bright eyes upon Lafayette and move forward to spring. Lafayette tried to back away, but slipped on a discarded sword and fell backward. Halt stepped clear of the building, an arrow already notched to his string.

He aimed, shot, nocked, drew back, aimed and shot again. His second arrow was in the air before the first had struck the lead dog. The last dog swerved to the side as Halt shot, causing his third arrow to miss its target. All the while, it had been charging forwards, closing the distance in a few bounds. Halt had been moving forwards also, so that he stood in front of where Lafayette had fallen. Knowing that his bow was of little use in such close quarters, he threw it aside and drew his saxe just as the maddened beast leaped at him.

He could see its sharp fangs set in a powerful jaw that was open in a snarl—fangs that could easily tear open his throat. Halt pivoted ever so slightly at the last second, simultaneously bringing his saxe down upon the creature. It fell to join the other two.

Halt stood tensed and ready, listening and looking to make sure there had been only the three. He relaxed when he saw that there had been. He cleaned his saxe before slipping it back into his sheath and retrieved his bow. He then turned, annoyed, to Lafayette. His mouth was already open to make a scathing comment about Lafayette having an interesting idea as to the meaning of 'stay close to me'—something they had discussed earlier several times already. But he stopped short when he saw the way that Lafayette was staring at the sword that he had slipped on.

"This was my brother's," he said, eyes wide as he carefully picked up the weapon.

"Are you certain?" Halt moved to stand beside where he sat.

When the man nodded, Halt gestured for him to step back so that he could get a good look at the surrounding ground. Though the earth had been trampled by the scuffle with the dogs, Halt's keen eyes soon caught something: a blood trail heading away from the battlefield and towards the woods. Halt didn't know if it belonged to Lafayette's brother, but now that he'd found it, he intended to follow it. He signaled for Lafayette to stay close to him as he began tracking. As they moved further into the woods the trail became clearer and Halt was able to follow more easily, not only by the dried blood, but also by breaks in branches, and disturbed earth and plants. He frowned thoughtfully as he realized that it was not just a single person who had made this trail, but rather two.

Before he could comment on this, he suddenly became aware of a sound—one that seemed grossly out of place considering the circumstances: quiet conversation and laughter. Halt nocked another arrow on his bowstring as he moved forward into the little clearing where the sound had come from.

Two men sat near a dead fire, their backs against a wide tree trunk. Both were soldiers and both were injured. However, it was obvious that the two of them were not part of the same company, not even part of the same army: one wore a blue surcoat with a red lion emblem on the front; the other wore the emblem of a black raven. Both men startled as they caught sight of Halt, but the surprise soon ebbed away as Lafayette broke cover at a run, a huge smile on his face, tears of joy sparkling in his eyes.

"Brother! You're alive!"

He ran past Halt and embraced the man with the lion emblem on his surcoat. All Halt could do was look at the unfolding scene with no small amount of surprise—he had expected to find the man's brother dead. And he certainly hadn't expected to find him with one of the enemy soldiers. Before he could try and puzzle his way through this unexpected development, the two brothers broke apart their joyful embrace and Lafayette asked the questions that had been weighing on Halt's mind.

"How did you survive the battle? And why are you with the enemy?" he asked, staring with no small amount of distrust at the other man.

But his brother made a pacifying gesture. "It's alright! He's not the enemy. He saved my life. I was badly wounded and he got me off the battlefield and away from the combat. I probably would have died without his help."

"And why would you do that?" Halt asked skeptically, replacing his arrow in his quiver and stepping forwards. He was happy that Lafayette's brother was alive, that they had found him… but couldn't say that he was filled with joy to see one of the 'Raven Lord's' men. Not after what he'd seen in the village.

The soldier with the raven insignia closed his eyes for a moment, but then answered carefully, "Because I was there when my lord Deparnieux destroyed that village, ordered us to destroy it and everyone in it—women and children… I couldn't do it. I have been with him from the start, but Lord Deparnieux has been behaving less and less like a knight and more like a warlord the more he conquers for himself. I have overlooked it before…have been overlooking it, to my shame. But I could not overlook this…. I saw no choice but to desert. I wanted to try and help the villagers." He shook his head sadly, "I was too late to save them, but I could save him," he gestured towards Lafayette's brother.

"What do you intend to do now then?" Halt asked, searching the man's eyes. They both knew that he would never again be welcome in any lands ruled by the lord he had deserted. And Halt had only been able to detect sincerity in the man's words and eyes. The man hesitated, but before he could voice an answer, Lafayette spoke up.

"If what you said was true," he began, looking at the deserter, "then I owe you more than words can say. If it is alright with my brother, you can come with us wherever we end up going, as soon as both of you are well enough to travel. With this Deparnieux ruling, my brother will have no place here either—and neither will I."

The way he said it made an odd sensation spark in Halt's chest. These two brothers cared so much for each other that there was no question as to whether or not one of them would be willing to completely uproot their lives for the other, no question that they'd stay together. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what it would be like to have a bond like that, to have family like that—or even friends, he thought looking back to the deserter. Then he shrugged internally; there was no point in him wishing for something he couldn't have. And, if there was no point in something, the best idea was not to do it. After all, he'd lived this long without it… But he couldn't seem to completely get rid of the feeling that he was missing something, that he'd lost something important. He shook himself again and looked back to Lafayette as the man spoke.

"Thank you for your help in finding my brother… and for saving me from those dogs," he said, rising to his feet to hand him the money he had promised. "What will you do now?"

"Move on," Halt said as he took the coins. "This Deparnieux sounds like just the sort of person I'd want to avoid." In fact, Halt had already decided that he would be more than happy to live out his days without ever coming across this Deparnieux or his men.

~x~X~x~

Present Day

~x~X~x~

He remembered… he remembered everything.

Halt was heading for the coast, his steps purposeful for the first time since he had left his home in Hibernia. He remembered what had happened—even though he still did not quite understand how it had happened. He was a Ranger. He remembered Araluen and the life he had built there. He remembered the Ranger Corps… and he remembered all the people he had left behind, Will, Pauline, Crowley, Gilan, Baron Arlad, and King Duncan. He even remembered Pritchard, his mentor… a man who he had never even met in this time. He knew of, and remembered, a life that had never existed here—had two different timelines traveling side by side in his head…. And he had a vague idea what had caused this—or rather whom, he thought bitterly

He remembered Morgarath and that stone that he had used—that was, in fact, the last thing he remembered from that other time. At first, when his memories had started returning he had wondered if he was going crazy; but the memories had been too clear, too detailed, too personal to be some maddened fantasy. The anger he had felt, from the moment that he had woken up near the woman's trinket stand, had not abated once on his fast-paced journey to the coast. Halt had spent the entirety of his life, since he'd left Hibernia, living out what amounted to a fairly purposeless existence in Gallica. And all the while Morgarath had been free to do whatever he pleased in Araluen.

Everyone he had ever cared about had been left to fend for themselves without him. He had no idea what had happened to them all, what could have happened to them, or to Araluen. All he had heard to that effect in Galica were vague rumors about an ongoing civil war and a divided kingdom.

He would never forgive Morgarath, or himself, if something had happened to any of the people he cared about. He closed his eyes briefly; he could see all their faces in his mind, the memories of the time they had spent together—memories and opportunities that had been taken away from them in this time. Halt gritted his teeth as he thought of Morgarath and everything he had done.

All he knew for certain was that he needed to get back, needed to get passage on a ship… and, most of all, he needed to know that he was not already too late for the kingdom, for the Ranger Corps, for his friends… for his family. And all he could do was hope that they were all somehow still there, still alive, still fighting...

Ahead of him, through some breaks in the trees, he could just see the coast and the tumble of houses that made up the port village that was his destination. His eyes narrowed in determination—and then swiveled suddenly to the side as he caught sight of a motion in the trees half a kilometer away to his left. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not noticed that he'd not been alone in these woods until now.

He saw what looked like a young blond-haired boy running pell-mell in the opposite direction Halt was taking. Even from this distance, Halt could tell by his body language that he was in distress. Every so often he would glance behind him and, every time he did, he tried desperately to coax more speed from his limbs. It didn't take long for Halt to see what the young boy was running from, see why he was so terrified. A mounted knight burst through the trees behind the boy, galloping hard to overtake him. As Halt watched, the knight drew up alongside the boy, reached low and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, slinging him roughly over his saddlebow. The boy shouted in terror, struggling fiercely against the knight who had caught him. But all his kicking and flailing was to no avail.

With one last longing glance at the coast, Halt sighed and turned to change direction, heading towards the mounted knight and struggling boy. The knight wheeled his horse roughly, making it so that he and Halt were almost front-on to each other. It was then that Halt saw something that made him instantly reach for an arrow and nock it to his bowstring. The knight was wearing a surcoat with the emblem of a familiar raven emblazoned on the front. Memories of the grizzly battlefield and the destroyed village he had seen all those years ago came blazing to the forefront of his mind. He glanced once more at the coast and whispered a silent apology as he moved to intercept the knight. He couldn't very well leave the boy to suffer in their hands—it wasn't the Ranger way.

~x~X~x~

Horace and Gilan sat opposite each other, munching on some of the pilfered dry provisions. Gilan had said it wouldn't be wise to light a fire. He was fairly sure that Morgarath's men wouldn't try to follow them—and wouldn't have much luck if they did. But he'd said it was better to be safe than sorry. Horace was more than willing to trust his judgment in that area.

Horace studied the man now. He had pushed his hood back from his face so it was now visible in what was left of the moonlight. He had a nice face and, Horace was surprised to find out, a young face. He didn't look like he could be all that much older than twenty or so. It was also fair to say that Horace was a little overawed by him, especially when considering his apparent youth. He was startled from his thoughts as Gilan spoke.

"Hungry?" he asked mildly.

Horace nodded over a large mouthful of food. He swallowed and then reached for some more.

"I've hardly eaten anything in a week." He took another bite.

Gilan nodded, his expression thoughtful.

"And just where are you headed?"

Horace's face fell. "I… I'm not sure," he said finally, quietly. "I don't really have anywhere to go, and have no idea where I should head."

"No home or family?"

Horace shook his head. "I suppose I'm just wandering."

"Nothing wrong with that," Gilan said gently. "Home can be more than a set place with four walls."

Horace looked up at that. "You don't have a home either?"

Gilan grinned and then gestured almost grandly at the forest that surrounded them. "You're sitting in it. The King's land is home enough for me. And wherever I make camp is kitchen and bed enough for me also." His smile turned slightly viper-like as he added, "And Morgarath's lands make an excellent pantry."

Horace smiled at that. "I wish I had your attitude. It's all pretty new to me, and I can't say that I've enjoyed myself so far."

He took another bite of food, studying Gilan for a moment, and then, deciding that he was a person who might know such things, gathered his courage and asked.

"I was thinking of maybe finding work as a garrison soldier in another fief… do you think that they'd take me?"

Gilan studied him thoughtfully, seeming to assess him before replying.

"The fiefs are always looking for good soldiers with the war on…. You have the combat training of a first-year Battleschool apprentice, and truthfully, that's sometimes more, or about equal to, the lowest garrison troop member. You're young, but big for your age, so I'd doubt they'd refuse you."

Horace's mouth, however, had dropped open a little in surprise.

"How did you know that I am, or was, a first-year Battleschool apprentice?"

Gilan shrugged and pointed to his belt. "It's obvious that you've had some combat training, and that's a standard issue drill sword that you've sharpened yourself. If you were a second-year apprentice; you already would have been given your own cavalry sword."

Horace looked with new respect at Gilan and a sudden uncomfortable thought popped into his head.

"Do you think they'd take me even though…" he flushed, shame all too evident in his voice, "even though I…" he trailed.

"Even though you were dropped from Battleschool?" Gilan finished for him, not unkindly.

Horace's shoulders slumped and he nodded.

"At times like these, I seriously doubt it. As I said, we're in the middle of a war; the kingdom needs fighting men. Also, if you enlist in another fief, they'd hardly know."

"Wouldn't it be dishonorable not to tell them?"

Gilan shrugged again, leaning back casually against the log they sat near, "If they didn't ask, I see no reason to tell them. I certainly wouldn't."

Horace frowned a little at that. He wasn't quite sure that he approved of Gilan's lenient stance when it came to honesty. But he put that aside, his curiosity outweighing his sense of morals for the moment.

"How could you tell that I was dropped, instead of choosing to leave on my own?"

Gilan pointed to the near-empty simple drawstring linen pouch at Horace's side.

"That is the standard pouch of coins that they give when an apprentice is dishonorably discharged and told not to return to the castle or surrounding villages. Though it isn't an often occurrence, it does happen. They usually give such a cadet two weeks of supplies and some money. Logically, I could assume that that was what happened to you. But, in your case, it's been about three weeks since the traditional last day for cadets to be dropped before they start their next year. You said that you've been out of food for a week. You also said that you have no family, so they probably gave you the supplies and money since you had no home to go to and nothing to your name," Gilan said, nonchalant, as if that explained everything.

Then he added, "Also, you don't have the character of one who's been dishonorably discharged. You're too disciplined. There are far easier targets to rob than Morgarath's men, you know."

Horace nodded at that, satisfied. It all sounded so simple when Gilan explained it.

"How do you know so much about Battleschool?" Horace asked then.

There was a slight pause before Gilan answered, "My father was a knight; I suppose I picked it up from him."

That surprised Horace. He'd expected Gilan's father to be a yeoman or a forester based on his dress and choice of weapons. Horace frowned as another thought came to him. If Gilan's father was a knight, then why wasn't he? He was obviously a decent fighter—how else could he have gotten away from Morgarath's men earlier? But before he could broach the topic further, Gilan spoke again.

"Well, I'm for sleep. Why don't you take first watch and I'll take second? We're on war footing after all."

And, so saying, he made himself comfortable in the hollow between two roots and closed his eyes. He was soon breathing deeply and evenly.

Horace shrugged mentally and resigned himself to the first watch. At the moment, he had too much to think about, and too much to decide, to want to sleep. He estimated that, since the night was already about half over, each watch would be about three hours until morning.

He spent those hours in thought—always keeping one ear out for trouble. When he deemed his time was up, he walked over towards Gilan, thinking to wake him. But he didn't get closer than two meters before Gilan's eyes snapped open and he rose to his feet. He nodded once at Horace as they switched places. Horace returned the gesture tiredly and lay down. He grunted softly as he made himself as comfortable as he could, grateful that the spot had already been warmed for him.

Even as he lay there, he promised that he wouldn't sleep. He was still a little wary of this Gilan. Though logic told him that the man probably wasn't dangerous—at least, not to him—and didn't bear him any ill will, his year of bullying had made him overcautious and suspicious. Still, he thought, there would be no harm in him just resting his tired eyes for a while… He fell asleep. It was a deep sleep. All the hunger fatigue of the past two weeks had worn him down severely; more than he had realized.

He woke to find the sun already up and filtering through the forest canopy at the low angle of morning. He sat up in shock, feeling a rather guilty start.

"Morning," a voice said amiably.

Horace turned to see Gilan crouched near the sack of provisions they'd… liberated the night before. He had the contents laid out over the dark earth in fairly orderly piles.

"I've been sorting the provisions. It should spit easily enough between the two of us."

Horace felt a second guilty start as Gilan said it. He been so suspicious of this man, and yet he could have run off with all the supplies whilst Horace had foolishly fallen asleep. But he had not. And, as Horace thought about it, Gilan had been one of the only people in a long while to treat him with any sort of regard or kindness, not to mention the fact that he had probably saved his life.

"So, have you figured out yet where you'll go?" Gilan asked, glancing up from his sorting.

Horace stretched and then nodded.

"I thought a lot about it last night, and I've decided to try and join a garrison… maybe in Aspienne fief?"

"Aspienne fief?" Gilan asked. "That's in the direction that I'm heading."

Horace perked up a little at that.

"Umm, do you think that… well," he said, feeling a little awkward, "that I might travel with you until we reach Aspienne Castle? It's just that… I'm not too sure of the way."

"Slaking in your geography lessons, were you?" Gilan asked, smiling to let the boy know he was teasing. Horace said nothing, just looked down while he waited for an answer.

"I was actually hoping that you'd ask," Gilan said, his smile growing wider. "It'll save me time dividing all this evenly." He gestured to the neatly spilled contents of their provisions. More seriously, he held out his hand to the young warrior. "It would be my pleasure to travel with you. It's been a long time since I've had any company other than wargals."

Horace smiled in return and clasped Gilan's offered hand firmly. He then made a move to gather his kit. He turned around again when he heard Gilan utter a low sound of pleasure. He was drawing something forth from the now nearly empty sack.

"What is it?" Horace asked.

"We've just had a stroke of luck," Gilan said, pulling a small bundle out of the sack and passing it to Horace.

"What is it?" Horace asked again.

"Coffee," Gilan said, almost reverently.

A couple of hours later found them on the road keeping up a fairly brisk pace. Gilan was obviously not the type to ever let grass grow underfoot, Horace thought wryly as he tried to keep pace.

"So why are you heading to Aspienne fief?" Horace asked, interrupting the silence that had grown between them.

They had been traveling fairly steadily since midmorning; the only time they had paused had been for the noon meal—and for a short time while Gilan retrieved his shaggy little horse from a spot in the woods where he had secured her the day before.

They were walking at a fairly steady pace, side by side, Gilan's horse following obediently behind them. Horace had been a little surprised at first to see that Gilan's horse didn't need to be guided by lead reins in order to do so. He looked up at the man now as he answered Horace's question.

"I've got a job in one of the smaller villages. Apparently, there is a gang of thieves bullying the villagers into giving them money and goods in exchange for 'protecting' their village. The Baron of Aspienne is too busy to deal with such a small matter. It's nothing more than a minor nuisance to him and, considering the fact that he's constantly needed to maintain the border, you can easily see why. It's been going on for a while. The villagers have gotten fed up with it all and sent word out for help."

"And you do that sort of thing?" Horace asked, looking towards his traveling companion with new respect. "That's very chivalrous of you." Horace nodded approvingly. Though Gilan's next words spoiled that notion and dampened a lot of that respect.

"It pays well too," Gilan said, grinning. "Just look at that."

He took out a small scroll of paper from the front of his brigandine and tossed it to Horace who caught it. He unrolled it and read. It was indeed a plea for help. Horace looked at the sum the villagers were offering for such services and his eyes widened.

"As you can see, it is very important that I take this job," Gilan said, nodding.

"If the village is as small as you say, they're offering almost half of their combined livelihood… probably."

"They're desperate people. They probably see the cost worth it to keep their families safe from being preyed upon and continually robbed. They probably see it as a worthwhile investment. I can't say I disagree." He chuckled softly.

Horace looked disapprovingly up at him; needless to say, knights didn't hold sell-swords in very high esteem. Gilan caught the look and grinned widely.

"I take it you don't approve?"

"Well," Horace shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting to offend the warrior, "I can't really say that I do."

Gilan smiled knowingly. "The code of chivalry is all very well, but there's one thing that you learn very quickly when you're out here alone." He stopped short and his gaze became suddenly serious. "An empty purse is an empty stomach."

Horace thought about that for a moment and then realized that Gilan did have a point—a fairly valid point—though he still didn't quite agree with the woodsman's methods. A moment of silence passed between them before Gilan broke it.

"It occurs to me that we've a couple choices to make: Aspienne Castle is a little ways after my stop. You and I could part ways once we reach the village—I'm sure you could find your own way to the castle from there. Or you could wait for me to finish my business and we'll continue on together to the castle."

Horace thought about it for a moment before deciding. "I wouldn't mind waiting."

In all honesty, he found that he had so far fairly enjoyed traveling with the tall woodsman and he was also intrigued and curious. When he thought of it, he realized he didn't much care for the idea of wandering on his own again.

~x~X~x~

Will bent down to pick another sprig of yarrow. Helen, the village healer, had asked if he might fetch her some earlier. He had readily agreed, knowing that he'd have a fair bit of time before full dark. She had even offered to pay him a few coins for his efforts. He had refused at first, knowing that she had precious little by way of coin. But she had insisted, saying that, if not else, he could take them as a gift to help his Battleschool funds. With the few coins she'd offered, he'd have almost the amount he needed. He grinned to himself, excited at the prospect of finally reaching his dream.

His search for yarrow had taken him fairly deep into the woods surrounding the village, kilometers away from the closest farm and into the space where the trees and brush grew thick and tangled. As he straightened from his stooped position, he caught a faint whiff of something out of place. Pausing, he sniffed again, deeper this time. Then he placed it: wood smoke. His brow furrowed in confusion; he knew that there were no settlements nearby. Curious as to its source, he quietly glided through the woods, following his nose.

His mind was already bursting with possibilities as to what it could be: forest fire, a party of knights, or travelers—maybe even one of the fabled Rangers. He felt a shudder race down his spine as he thought of one of those black magicians being nearby. Then the shudder grew as he thought of other, more sinister possibilities: what if it was bandits? Or maybe some of Morgarath's army had broken through the border and were camped in the woods, just waiting for the opportunity to attack! Though those thoughts scared him they did nothing to make him turn around. If anything, they only made him twice as curious and determined to find out what it really was. Besides that, if it really was Morgarath's army, somebody needed to warn everybody—and maybe if he told the knights, they'd take him into their ranks.

The smell grew stronger even as the sky grew darker, and Will continued on even more carefully, moving instinctively with the patterns of the clouds as they scudded across the sky and over the full moon. He could see the faint orange glow of fire up ahead. It flickered as eddied in the breeze and figures passed in front of it. Will's footfalls were silent and measured. Long practice of moving quietly in the woods and on the farm made it so that he hardly made any sound at all as he crept towards the light.

It was a fairly large camp, he saw when he got close, made up of rough looking men. Even at that distance, Will found he didn't much like the look of them. Paradoxically, though, that fact only served to make him want to get even closer. He felt a thrill of nerves as he thought it. He tried to reason with himself that it wasn't just an overexcited sense of curiosity that made him want to look, but rather it was because it was the sort of thing a knight would do. A knight would always seek out and try to stop trouble before it came, to stop people who were definitely up to no good. And Will was certain that these men weren't.

Will peeked around a few shrubs to study them. The camp was situated in a low dell, probably so that the light from their fire wouldn't travel. He nodded to himself; it had almost worked. If it hadn't been for the scent of wood smoke Will probably wouldn't have ever become aware of their presence. There were six men sitting around the fire eating something. They were talking quietly, but Will couldn't make out the words from his position. Frustrated, he scanned the land around him and saw a sycamore tree that grew on the ridge of one side of the dell. It had a thick large canopy that overhung the camp below. It gave him an idea.

He crept towards the tree and studied it from behind. Will had always been a good climber and his quick eyes soon scouted out a path into the upper branches without ever crossing to the front or side of the tree—so that the men wouldn't ever catch sight of him.

Soon he had swarmed up its trunk and was edging out along one of the wide sturdy limbs that overhung the camp. There was a good strong breeze out and he carefully timed his movements to match the gusts of wind so that the tree boughs wouldn't rustle or shake in a telling manner. With a few more careful movements, he had reached the middle of the bough and was nearly over the heads of the men below. He gripped the branch, easing carefully down and then freezing in place.

So far the raggedy men remained oblivious to his presence. He knew that, as long as he stayed still and silent, they would probably stay that way. He recalled several times that he'd not known a forest animal was where it was until it moved. Besides that, he'd also noticed that people hardly ever looked up.

As he leaned down, the sounds of their conversation came clearly to his ears. He found himself mildly disappointed. They weren't really discussing anything interesting at all—just how far they marched and a few comments on the quality of their food. Just when he was about to lose interest in them, he became aware of another sound: the clumsy, crunching passage of something large making its way through the brush leading up to the rise, cresting it, and then making its way down into the camp. Will leaned out, placing the weight of his upper body on a smaller branch in order to better see what it was.

In the firelight, he saw that it was another man. And, judging by how the others greeted him, he guessed that he was probably their leader.

"Any news?" one of the others asked as the leader made his way to the fire and settled down in its warmth.

"Yes," the leader answered with a nod. "Everything will work out well enough. Our man on the inside is going to make it easy by finding some pretense to gather all the villagers together in one spot. Then we can move in and take them all. It's a small village, but there's enough people in it to fetch a good price at the markets."

The others laughed at that—a wholly unpleasant sound that became even more so as Will pieced together the meaning of the man's words. These rough-looking men were slavers and the only village nearby was Bawtry, his home. Will's eyes widened in horror and he gripped the bough tighter. He needed to find a way to warn everyone. Just as he began to move back, the unthinkable happened, the small branch he was leaning on snapped beneath him.

Without the tree limb to support the weight of his upper body, Will was thrown off balance. He teetered for a few milliseconds. He was dimly aware of men's faces in the firelight as they tilted their heads upwards at the sound of the breaking branch before he lost the fight for balance and felt himself starting to fall.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really do appreciate feedback: it motivates me and shows me how to improve. So, I don't know if anyone guessed this but, I introduced Evanlyn/ Cassandra in this chapter, (only briefly though). I'll really introduce her better in either the next chapter or the one after, depending on how all the parts fit. Also, next chapter's flashback/memory bit will probably be about Gilan (and maybe even answer a few of the questions that you guys have been asking). Let me know if you have any questions concerns or even suggestions and I'll see what I can do :) I hope you all have amazing and blessed weeks! There's been a lot of horrible/dangerous weather all over the place, especially South Asia, the Caribbean, Mexico, and the U.S, so I really hope/pray you all are/stay safe.

Until next time!