A/N: Next Chapter's up! This one was pretty fun to write, and I hope it proves enjoyable to read. So, it's getting near to the end of this school semester for me, and I have an absolute ton of final projects and papers coming up. That said, although I'll try my best to keep posting at least once a month, I'm not sure that I'll be able to until I get all those projects, papers, and tests out of the way. Needless to say, I'll probably be complaining about all this paperwork as much as or more than Crowley. Thanks to all of my readers for your support! (And if any of you want to help with all my mountain of paperwork/assignments, I'd gladly accept XD JK).

OakleafHeron: Thanks so much for the review, support, and encouragement. It really does mean a lot.

Guest: I'm really glad to hear you've enjoyed it so far. Thanks for the review and the compliment! I really appreciate it. :D

Ranger-Corpses: Yup I'm trying to start building things up for the climax XD. And the answer to your question is a little spoiler-y, so I'll just say maybe he is… and maybe he isn't XD Thanks so much for the review!

whentheresawill: Their relationship is one of my absolute favorite things in the book too! So I'm glad to hear that you think I got it (at least mostly) right X). Thanks for the compliment and the review.

jaymzNshed: Thank you! As for Crowley's mission, well, there might be one or two small hitches here and there… :P Thanks again for the review!

Dragonslover98: Hope the flashback doesn't disappoint x) Yup Morgarath's plans are starting to come to fruition. Some answers about Gilan and Crowley are coming this chapter. As for the ending and the extent to which it'll end happily, I'll answer that/get to that eventually XD Thanks for the review!

TrustTheCloak: Yes, insomnia doesn't have to be all bad (I desperately try to convince myself) XD Yeah poor Will hasn't had it the best in this AU world, but things will be looking up for him (hopefully). You're also pretty spot on about Gilan; he has indeed had to do a lot by himself. Thank you so very much for your kind words, compliment, support, and review!

Chapter 11: Dark of the Moon Part I

~x~X~x~

A Few Years Previous

~x~X~x~

17-year-old Gilan had made a mistake—a big one. He'd miscalculated and, worse, he'd been careless. And he knew well that he might end up having to pay for it with his life.

He gasped softly, pressing a hand to the deep wound in his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood as he leaned against the wall of the alley he'd just ducked into the shadow of. He tried desperately to catch his breath as the sound of many hurried footfalls moved past his flimsy hiding spot.

But the respite didn't last long. Several sets of footfalls turned down and into the alley where he hid. His hunters were overzealous, and they'd been that way throughout his flight through the town, his desperate escape from the tavern. But it was over now; he'd effectively cornered himself. It was a blind alley that he had turned into out of desperation. Taking the only exit would put him right into the arms of his pursuers. And there were far too many of them for him to fight his way through. His breath caught as his mind whirled… Well, there was no traditional way out.

Gilan turned his attention upward. This town was fairly well established, meaning that most of the houses had shingle roofs instead of the customary thatch. He tried to shove the pain aside and started to climb.

The solitary Ranger watched the chaotic scene that had exploded through the town unseen. His eyes had followed the mass of men flooding out from the tavern like disturbed bees from a hive. And he watched also the person who was obviously responsible for stirring up the proverbial hornet's nest. He'd followed the man's progress stealthily as he ran, desperately attempting to stay one step ahead of his pursuers.

He watched now as the escapee in question attained the roof of one of the buildings and then continued running, always keeping in motion, leaping from one roof to another, balancing on eves, cutting at an angle away from the men after him. Crowley followed, attempting to stay out of sight of the hunters and a little ahead of the escapee by predicting his path and cutting across some alleys. If he wasn't mistaken, the fleeing man carried a longbow and a sword—not your average gang member, if indeed that was what he was.

The man, by then, had nearly made it to the very edge of the town. Crowley saw him leap from one of the last roofs on the street, intending to catch the eaves of another to drop safely to the ground. He would have made it too, had not the eaves crumbled underneath his weight as he landed on them. Crowley heard the sickening crack and then watched the man plummet, hitting his leg on a rough beam on the way down. He landed hard on the street amidst a jumble of broken mesentery. He lay still where he had fallen until the sounds of his pursuers became more audible. At the sound, he pushed himself shakily up to his hands and knees and then awkwardly dragged himself into the shadow of the ally that ran between the buildings he had just tried to clear.

Crowley, after a moment's hesitation, moved towards the alley himself. The escapee had definitely caught his attention, intrigued him, and piqued his interest—and it wasn't just the weapons he carried or the way he moved and carried himself. It was also because of the simple fact that he was being chased by none other than members of Bartoc's gang—the very crime leader and gang that Crowley had been sent to take into hand. They had grown to be a serious threat to the people of Araluen, enough of a threat to merit the attention of the few Rangers.

It was that fact, along with the first impression he had gained of the escaping man, that had made him track his progress and ultimately enter the alley after him. He peered through the shadows until he saw the form of the man—no, youth, he corrected himself as he got a better look at his young face—lying slumped against the wall.

The youth seemed to startle as he saw the pair of soft-soled boots appear in his line of vision, and then he looked up dazedly until his gaze met with the shadow of Crowley's cowl. Then, to the Ranger's surprise, he managed a grin.

"Hello, Ranger."

Crowley crouched down so that they were at eye level and then pushed his cowl back. He saw the boy's eyes rove over his face; they were calm, intelligent, and Crowley appreciated the fact that they seemed far more intent on Crowley's eyes and expression than on his scar.

"Looks like you've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, boy," Crowley said.

He appraised the youth before him, watching as he considered the statement for a second or two.

"True," the youth said finally, nodding in agreement.

"Exactly what happened?" Crowley asked then.

"I made a small tactical mistake," the youth told him, still smiling. "Wandered somewhere I shouldn't have and then didn't look before I leaped."

Crowley glanced in the direction of the broken eaves, smiling faintly too now. "I think I can see that."

The youth let out a short chuckle, though that died some as he grimaced and leaned his head back against the wall behind him. He groaned softly, pressing his hand into his other arm. Crowley saw that his sleeve was pretty badly bloodstained. He reached towards the boy on instinct.

"Let me see it?" Crowley asked carefully when the youth eyed him warily and edged back.

He blinked and Crowley took that as permission, carefully moving the youth's hand away from the wound. He shook his head at the sight and then ripped off a piece of his own undershirt to roughly bandage it before he lost any more blood.

That done, Crowley became aware of the sound of many footsteps drawing nearer to them. The youth must have noticed it too; he startled and tried to rise. Crowley moved so they were side by side and placed the boy's uninjured arm over his shoulder, lifting him to his feet.

"Why don't you come with me," Crowley said then, half carrying him away from the sound of the approaching footfalls.

"How could I possibly refuse?"

~x~X~x~

Gilan lay back against the pillows as the Ranger finished stitching and then bandaging his arm. Crowley had taken him to the room in the inn that he was staying at and had been patching him up. Gilan watched the man's face as he worked, waiting for him to ask the inevitable questions. He was fairly positive that the Ranger hadn't helped him just out of kindness—though, to be fair, he had shown more of that than Gilan had expected.

In fact, Gilan had found himself quite liking the Ranger. He had taken in the man's stance and bearing and was impressed, to say the least. He was also clever and had a good sense of humor. To add to that, the man had quite probably saved his life and Gilan felt he owed him something, no matter what the Ranger's true motives had been. Crowley cleared his throat.

"So, boy, exactly why was all of Bartoc's gang after you?"

And there it was. Gilan smiled to himself.

"I was never a part of their gang—if that's what you're wondering," he told the Ranger mildly.

Crowley seemed to consider him for a moment thoughtfully. "No," he said finally, "I didn't really think that you were." Then he smiled faintly and added, "You don't really look the type."

"Oh? And what type is that?" Gilan asked curiously

"Well, most of them tend not to fall off roofs," Crowley said, teasing sparkling in his eyes.

Gilan grinned at the barb, raising an eyebrow. "Most of them couldn't even figure out how to get on a roof in the first place."

Crowley chuckled. "I won't argue on that count." His smile faded a little. "That still doesn't explain what you were doing in their territory—on their doorstep even."

"I was… looking for someone."

Crowley caught the insinuation the beginnings of a frown crossing his face.

"You're a bounty hunter?" he asked, just the barest trace of disapproval in his voice.

It seemed Rangers didn't have a much better opinion of mercenaries than knights did, Gilan thought.

"Bounty hunting isn't illegal," Gilan shrugged, "I didn't break any laws…I usually don't," he added mildly. "As I said, I have nothing to do with Bartoc's gang or Bartoc. I was after one of his lackeys—I just didn't know he was a lackey at the time. Would you…" He pointed to his leather satchel that Crowley had set aside on the table when they came in.

Crowley handed it to him. Gilan nodded his thanks as he rummaged through it, retracting a paper. He handed it to the Ranger. It was a bounty notice, Crowley saw.

"I had no idea that he was working for Bartoc. I tracked him form Falk Village about eighteen or so kilometers to the north. I caught up to him when he entered the town and accidentally wandered straight into the gang's meeting place tailing him. I only realized my mistake when it was too late." He frowned then, angry at himself and his carelessness. "If I'd just been a little less hasty and more aware of my surroundings…" he trailed. Then he looked up at Crowley who seemed lost in thought. "You're after Bartoc and his gang, aren't you?"

Crowley nodded after a pause. "Yes. They've grown to be a big enough problem to attract the attention of the King."

Gilan nodded. It made sense; Bartoc's gang was gaining quite a reputation, and it wasn't a good one.

"I was actually hoping, when I first saw you, that you might have been a deserter or someone Bartoc wanted out of his band. I've been hoping to get some accurate intelligence on their numbers, or the interior of that tavern they use as their base… I suppose this means I'll just have to get it myself, the hard way." He sighed.

"I can give you that," Gilan offered instantly, sitting up. "I can give you a description of the layout of the tavern, the numbers of his men—at least the ones I came across—as well as some information I heard when I was in there."

"And I suppose you want something in return then?" Crowley said, a little acerbically.

Gilan nodded.

"Thought as much," Crowley said then. A mercenary was a mercenary after all—even if that mercenary happened to be very young, Crowley thought as he waited for Gilan to state his terms. When they came, the Ranger found himself mildly surprised.

"I want Bartoc's gang off the streets too."

"What? No interest in money?" he asked, a genuine smile touching his face.

"Money?" Gilan said, shaking his head and moving his hand in a negative gesture, as if brushing that notion aside. "After you got me off the streets and patched me up? If anything, I owed you—until just now that is. I'll call us even."

"In that case," Crowley said, holding out his hand, "you have a deal."

Gilan took the offered hand.

"I'm working with a knight and some of his men at arms," Crowley added. "It would be more efficient if I bring him here and we discuss the details together—it'll save time repeating things."

Gilan shrugged. "Fine by me."

"You stay here and rest while I fetch him then?" Crowley asked, smiling.

"I can do that," Gilan said agreeably.

Crowley nodded. "I'll ask for the innkeeper to have some food brought up for you. I don't know how long I'll be."

"That suits me," Gilan grinned, and then added more seriously, "Thank you."

Crowley brushed off the thanks. "No, thank you. Any intelligence you can give us could prove to be invaluable. Just ask the innkeeper or one of the maids if you need anything."

Gilan nodded and Crowley left. As soon as the Ranger was gone, Gilan scooted off the bed to retrieve the quill pen, ink, and sheets of paper he saw on the writing desk that stood on the other side of the room. He sat back on the bed and began making notes, drawing a chart of the tavern's layout while the details were still fresh in his mind. The notes and chart would be more than helpful when they were discussing intelligence.

Gilan found himself smiling; he was looking forward to working with Crowley. It was an appealing and exciting prospect. Rangers fascinated him—they always had. Perhaps he could even learn something from their partnership. To add to that, it had been a while since he'd had any worthwhile company and a really worthwhile goal. Things were looking up.

As twilight darkened further into night, the innkeeper's wife came up with supper for him: a savory lamb stew and some freshly baked bread. It had been a long time since Gilan had had a substantial meal and he set to it with a will after thanking the woman. It was delicious.

He was more than halfway through both the bread and the soup, and in the middle of jotting down another note, when he heard footsteps heading up the stairs. He just made out Crowley's faint voice as he spoke to someone: the knight presumably.

Then Gilan stiffened as he heard the knight answer back. Although the voice was too far away for him to pick out the words, he recognized it. The food seemed to turn to ash in his mouth and lodge in his throat when he swallowed. His stomach seemed to knot itself and sink as he lost his appetite entirely.

He knew that voice.

It belonged to Sir David, formerly of Caraway, now Battlemaster of Highcliff Fief. Of all the knights in all the country, Crowley had to be working with that one.

For a moment, so many different emotions twisted inside him that he couldn't move, could hardly even think. Then, with an effort, he shoved the tumultuous feelings down and tried to shake himself.

One thing was certain: he couldn't stay here. He had to find a way to get away. His heart beat more quickly in his chest as the footsteps and voices drew nearer. If he tried to make it out the door, he'd be spotted immediately; that way was out of the question. Then his eyes lit upon the only other possible escape route: the window. It only had shutters to close against the outside. He flung them open. It was a two-story drop, but it was his only option.

He moved quickly to gather his belongings, accidentally spilling the ink bottle on the floor in his haste. He stuffed the rest of the uneaten bread into his satchel. Then he hesitated for a moment over the papers. The last thing he wanted was to leave some trace of himself… but Crowley needed them, and Gilan wanted him to have them. He was grateful, at that moment, that the stab wound in his arm had forced him to write with his less dominant left hand: his handwriting wasn't as recognizable that way. With a little luck, it might not leave much of a trace. He left the papers.

He moved back towards the window, tossed his bow and quiver to the ground and then stepped out onto the sill, crouching there. He turned on the precariously small space and closed the window shutters just as the footsteps reached the door. He heard a knock and nearly jumped at the sound. As he heard it, he moved so that he hung from the sill by his good arm and then dropped. He landed upon the eaves of the first story window. The moment feet touched, he leaped off it in a half spin. He landed, facing away from the window and rolled to lessen the impact. Nevertheless, it still jarred his bruised leg. He leaped up from the roll in one continuous movement, bent to pick up his bow and quiver from where he'd tossed them and continued his slightly limping run forwards until he was folded into the reaching shadows of the night and trees around the village.

When Crowley heard no response to the knock, he pushed the door open, only to see that the room was empty. There was no sign of the boy or any of his things anywhere.

"He's gone," Crowley said, unnecessarily.

Sir David thought that he could almost hear what sounded to be disappointment in his friend's words.

"Maybe he got cold feet," David suggested, stepping into the room after him.

But the Ranger, who was looking around the room keenly, disagreed.

"I think something must have spooked him. He left in a hurry." He gestured to the unfinished soup and the spilled ink bottle. He bent and touched the bed. "And he left fairly recently; the bed's still warm." He shook his head in mild consternation. "We must have just missed him."

"So, this proved to be a wasted trip and effort then," Sir David said with a heavy sigh. "Shame, the information he had could have been useful."

But again, Crowley shook his head. "Not entirely." He pulled several sheets of paper from the small bedside table. "It looks as if he left us all the information he promised."

He passed the detailed notes and chart to David. The knight's eyebrows went up in surprise as he saw them.

"He seems quite a bit more… articulate than the average peasant or soldier turned sell-sword."

David's brow furrowed in a small frown of concentration, there was something about the faintly messy handwriting that seemed familiar to him… But, the longer he looked, the more he felt certain he'd been mistaken. He brushed the thought aside, closing his eyes briefly against the accompanying ache that had taken hold of his heart because of it.

Crowley didn't seem to have noticed. Instead, he nodded in response to David's earlier remark.

"That's another reason that I believed his story and was so interested in him. In fact, when I first saw him, I mistook him for a Ranger for a few seconds. I think that perhaps he might be the son of one of the Rangers of the old guard that died or were displaced in the early years of the war. He wasn't suspicious or afraid of me when we met—and it wasn't because of fool's pride or arrogance."

"Did you get his name by any chance? That might help you find him."

"No," Crowley sighed. "And I don't have the time to try and track him down."

"Pity he didn't stick around then."

"Yes," Crowley agreed. "It is."

~x~X~x~

Present Day

~x~X~x~

Gilan reached a hand into the pack that had contained their food supplies and frowned. He was certain that he'd had ten carrots. He remembered counting them when he'd taken them from the edge of a farmer's field. Now there were only seven. He frowned again.

A couple of days ago, he might have brushed it off as his having miscounted them. But the carrots had not been the only things from his stores that seemed to have lessened, ever so slightly, in their amount since they had left Aspiene Fief. His eyes narrowed for a moment before he shrugged. It didn't really matter all that much for what he was doing now. He selected four carrots and began chopping them into smaller pieces before adding them to the stewpot he'd placed over the fire.

"Gil!" Horace and Will called happily as they burst back into camp.

"What is it?" Gilan looked up from the cook pot, offering a smile of greeting to both of them.

"We checked the town notice board like you said, and we found a really good one!" Will finished, "job, I mean." He held out a bounty notice from the small stack in his hands.

Horace nodded excitedly. "The price they're offering for his capture is 80 gold coins. It's the best one that Will and I could find."

Gilan's eyebrows lifted at that, the interest plain on his face.

"Where is it?" he asked, holding out his hand for the notice which Will handed to him enthusiastically.

"It's in Highcliff Fief," Will said. "That's just on the eastern border of this fief… right?"

Will trailed off when he thought he saw Gilan tense, almost flinch, at the mention of Highcliff Fief. And, for the briefest of moments, he also thought he saw the trace of something different... hard and somehow cold, creep into Gilan's eyes and expression. But it was gone so quickly that it left Will uncertain that he had really even seen it. Gilan's expression was unreadable to Will now as he scanned the parchment quickly before setting it aside. Then he smiled.

"What else did you find?"

Will and Horace exchanged quick glances, more than a little disappointed and confused that Gilan was dismissing their find so easily. Finally, Will spoke up.

"What's wrong with the Highcliff contract?" he ventured.

"Nothing," Gilan replied cheerfully. "It's just that I don't ever travel to Highcliff Fief." He shrugged.

"Never?" Again the two boys exchanged glances, puzzled. Based on what they knew of Gilan, they'd been under the impression that he traveled freely through the King's, and even Morgarath's, land. Will gave Horace a silent gesture that it was his turn to question Gilan.

Horace hesitated and then. "Can we ask why, Sir?" That last honorific he'd added unconsciously and so he corrected himself, "I mean, Gilan?"

Gilan hesitated a moment before he leaned forward and fixed them with a serious look. "You mean you haven't heard?" he asked them.

"Heard what?" Will and Horace asked in unison, leaning forwards in turn.

"Heard about the beast of Highcliff Fief of course," Gilan said.

Both shook their heads, eyes wide and earnest. They didn't notice how the corners of Gilan's mouth had twitched faintly up at the corners, or how his eyes flickered for a brief moment before he regained composure.

"It's a terrible monster that terrorizes the borders of the Fief," he said earnestly.

"What kind of beast?" Horace asked nervously. Both he and Will were, by now, enthralled by his words.

"Nobody really knows what it is because nobody that's seen it is left alive. The only thing people can agree on is that it's absolutely deadly."

Will tried very hard to suppress a shudder.

"That's why you don't go to Highcliff?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Gilan nodded solemnly. Will was about to ask more questions, but listened on instead as his friend continued.

"It's because all the victims of this beast have two things in common." He paused and it was Horace who asked the inevitable question.

"What's that?"

"They were all highly intelligent and incredibly good looking," Gilan said and both boys failed again to notice the sudden mischief dancing in his eyes.

"They were?" Will asked confused.

"Oh yes, they were. See, you two could probably get through with little enough trouble, but me?" he shook his head, "I'd never make it past alive."

It took a moment, but first Will and then Horace a little after, realized that Gilan had been having them on the entire time. With a howl, Will, followed quickly by Horace, flung himself at Gilan, wrestling him playfully to the ground—a feat that proved not to be too difficult because Gilan was far too busy laughing to defend himself.

"You take that back!" Will said, grinning himself. "You're twice as ugly as us!"

"I don't know about that. The two of you together are enough to give anyone nightmares," Gilan shot back and then burst into helpless laughter again. "Your faces," he snorted, "priceless."

"It wasn't that funny," Horace said, a little miffed as he rose, as dignified as he could, off of Gilan's chest, Will following.

"Yes, it was," Gilan chuckled, rising to his feet to pick up the notices that had been scattered by their horseplay, his quick eyes scanning the parchments. "Look at this," he said suddenly. "There are two notices here: one for 50 gold coins and one for 34. That's more than the other, and we won't even have to leave this fief."

Will and Horace nodded quickly in agreement before Will's face screwed up in thought as he added the numbers in his head. There was only a 4 gold coin difference. Did Gilan really care that much about 4 gold coins? He glanced at Horace who had obviously made the same calculation in his head. They both shrugged, deciding to follow Gilan's lead. He was far more experienced than they were, after all.

"We'll strike camp early tomorrow morning and head out," Gilan decided. Then he glanced back at the cook pot, smiling brightly. "And there's enough time before supper's finished for you both to get in some extra practice."

Horace and Will let out simultaneous groans; they knew that that wasn't a suggestion.

The next day found them traveling down one of the kingdom's main roads, heading north. It had been fairly quiet and peaceful for the past hour or so, which made it all the more noticeable when the forest ahead of them suddenly exploded with sound.

~x~X~x~

Crowley sat easily in the saddle as Cropper made his quick and steady way down one of the kingdom's main roads. By traveling in the Ranger's forced march, he'd managed to make it to one of the border fiefs in a little under a week. He knew that, if he kept this pace, he'd be able to reach the border by evening.

The path he was headed down was shadowed by the overhanging branches of trees. Sporadically, a lacy shifting patch of light would filter to the ground as the canopies overhead moved in the wind. As he turned around a bend in the road, his direction of travel shifted enough so that the wind was now coming from behind him. Crowley knew that that was something he needed to be aware of. Cropper wouldn't be able to scent anyone ahead of him.

This stretch of the road was even darker than it had been before. It was this, coupled with the direction of the wind, that was beginning to make an uneasy feeling take hold in his chest. It was a feeling that only grew when Crowley realized something else. As he'd been riding earlier, he had been traveling with fairly constant background noises: the chirp of birds, the chatter of squirrels, and hum of bugs. But this stretch of the road has no such sounds. There was a distinct absence of noise: as if something had disturbed this stretch of woods. Even as he had the thought, the trees shifted in the wind again and a glittering patch of light shone off something thin and out of place in the road.

His eyes widened as he realized what it was. Someone had stretched a tripwire across the path. It was an occasionally used gambit favored by roadside bandits. The tripwire, if unnoticed would, trip any horse or rider who didn't see it in time, often injuring or killing both horse and rider if they were going fast enough. The thieves would then just swoop in and steal whatever goods they could get their hands on.

In the very moment Crowley realized the foreign object for what it was, he drew sharply, desperately, on the reins, bringing Cropper to such an abrupt skidding stop that the horse was forced onto his hind legs in a rear. Cropper stopped mere centimeters from the deadly tripwire, but the force and suddenness of it threw Crowley from the saddle. He fell backward, hard, catching the back of his head on a rock.

His vision went black at the edges and burst with stars before it cleared a little. His head swam and that seemed to transfer to all of his senses, making everything thing seem distorted. Dimly, he was aware of the shouts of men—the bandits presumably, as they broke cover to finish him off and relieve him of his possessions—and of Cropper neighing and rearing—this time at the approaching men in an attempt to protect his fallen rider. Crowley tried to get up, tried to get a hold of one of his weapons but his movements were slow and clumsy.

Cropper managed to successfully distract and keep the bandits at bay long enough for Crowley to draw his saxe, but he was still in trouble. Cropper danced nimbly away from a wild sword swipe from one of the bandit's rusty blades. While two men were distracted by Cropper, the other three came for Crowley. Crowley tried to rise and fight them off but was still dazed.

Suddenly, he became aware of the sounds of arrows being released from bows and two bandits went down with arm wounds. There came the sound of a brief scuffle, the ring of steel on steel. Then he saw the bandits fleeing, taking their wounded with them.

A shadow passed over Crowley and he looked up to see a figure standing over him. Dimly he was able to make out the shape of a young man dressed as a woodsman and two boys a way behind him, one armed with a bow and the other with a sword. He blinked and his vision started to clear, as the spinning in his head died down. The face that was looking down at him seemed familiar. Then it clicked into place as the young man spoke.

"Hello, Ranger."

Crowley recalled the boy he'd helped those years ago when he'd been trying to take Bartoc's gang to heel. He felt himself relaxing and he put his saxe back in its sheath. Gilan, for his part, had recognized the Ranger as soon as he had laid eyes on him.

"You know," Gilan said airily as he looked down, "I think that last time we met it was the other way around."

Crowley nodded his agreement a little despondently. "I think I might have liked it better that way."

"I didn't," Gilan said honesty, smiling faintly as he helped the Ranger to his feet.

Crowley couldn't help but chuckle at that. He swayed off balance for a moment as he regained his feet so Gilan kept his hand on the Ranger's shoulder until he seemed steady enough.

"You certain you're alright?" Gilan asked.

Crowley nodded and then wished he hadn't as it set his head to aching again. He was certain he had a pretty nasty lump there.

"I'll be fine. I just have an absolutely aching head," he admitted unhappily, brushing the concern away. "It could have been a lot worse if you hadn't happened by. Thank you," he said reaching out to clasp arms gratefully with the young mercenary and nodding at his two young companions. Then a warm smile grew on his face. "But the real question we should be asking is about you."

Gilan saw no need to reply other than tilting his head curiously.

"Have you fallen off any roofs lately?" Crowley asked innocently.

Gilan tried to hide a smile as he seemed to think about that, counting absently on his fingers as he seemed to recall incidences. "Oh, and I can't forget the one in Saldor," he said before looking up, not bothering to hide his grin anymore as he announced his final count, "that brings it to a grand total of none. Which, I'm guessing, is about the same number of gang leaders you've managed to take to heel."

"Is that so? You know, most people wouldn't consider it wise or politic to insult a Ranger," Crowley said solemnly, trying to stifle a chuckle.

Will who had been watching the byplay between the two men with wide eyes, nodded in agreement with the Ranger's words, wishing Gilan would be more careful. Everyone knew that Rangers were dangerous and black magicians. It was dangerous enough just being near one, let alone insulting him. And this one looked especially fierce and dangerous with that jagged scar across his face.

In a glance, Will could tell that Horace was very nearly as uneasy as he was. But Gilan only laughed, not seeming troubled by the Ranger or his scar in the slightest. At that, Will relaxed the tension in his shoulders a little. Perhaps this Ranger wasn't quite as terrifying as others. He did look friendly enough, and Gilan seemed to know and trust him.

Crowley had seen the faint motion of Will's head and turned his attention back to the two boys behind Gilan.

"Made a couple of friends since last time, I see." Then a thought struck him. "Still in the business of hunting bounties, are you? And likely spreading your bad habits to these two. Don't know what they did to deserve that," he teased.

Gilan's grin widened. "And what about you? Is there another gang roaming about?"

Crowley's expression turned grim at the mention. "No, I'm afraid I've been sent to deal with something a little more serious than even that. And I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to be miles south of here before sundown." As soon as he'd said it, he called Cropper to him.

As much as he might have liked to catch up with the mercenary, he knew he didn't have the time at the moment. He didn't want to seem ungrateful or insult the young man by leaving so abruptly, but he really didn't have much choice at the moment. The mercenary, however, seemed to understand.

"Don't let us keep you then," he said. Then his smile turned knowing he added. "I'd head further east before I'd try to cross the border. The patrols are not as tight there and there are more places where it is easier to breach. If you have the time to travel one or two fiefs to the east, you wouldn't regret it."

Crowley finished mounting Cropper, settled in the saddle, and looked sharply at the young mercenary.

"I don't recall anyone saying anything about crossing the border."

The mercenary merely shrugged. "There's nothing else south of here that would interest a Ranger."

Crowley looked with new interest at the young bounty hunter, remembering some of his thoughts from the last time they had crossed paths.

"If you ever make it north to King Duncan's fortress, do me a favor and ask for me," he found himself saying on impulse. "You and your two young friends would be welcome. After all, I think I owe you now."

He saw the young mercenary smile and nod once at him. He and the two boys raised a hand in farewell as Crowley urged Cropper back into a gallop. It only occurred to him, when he was several kilometers down the path, that he had once again neglected to catch the young bounty hunter's name.

~x~X~x~

Halt stood on the deck of the ship, gripping the railing tightly. A gentle breeze ruffled his salt and pepper hair. Everywhere was quiet except for the muttered conversations of a few of the sailors manning the ship. Everyone else, including Evanlyn was asleep. Because the ship had left port so late, night had already fallen. But the captain estimated that they would probably make the coast of Araluen within the hour. Halt felt his stomach twist as the thought, the feeling adding itself to the nauseous one already there. All around him was a world of stars, made more bright and brilliant by the fact that there was no moon; but he had no eyes for the beauty. It was hard enough trying to keep his stomach from betraying him.

Halt was seasick. There was no going around it. It was something he had learned always happened to him during the first several hours of sea travel. He knew it was purely mental. It took both him and his mind a while to get used to the lurching, heaving, and tossing of the ship against the waves. But once he did, he was fine.

Usually, the seasickness would have passed by now—but this time it was different. He had a vaguely uneasy feeling that it was because that, this time, the feeling was due to more than just the tossing of the sea. Every kilometer brought him closer to the Araluen coastline, closer to the uncomfortable knowledge that he did not know what he would find there—and a very small corner of his mind was reluctant to find out. There was sometimes a sort of avoidant, oblivious, peace in ignorance. He frowned as he thought it, snorting softly at the ridiculousness of the notion, roughly trying to shove the thoughts and the seasick feeling away simultaneously. That kind of thinking wouldn't help Araluen, or the people he'd been forced to leave behind.

He let his eyes wander towards the direction he knew the coast was situated. He could just make out the twinkle of lights up ahead, and the beacon fire of the port town. He fixed his gaze on them, watching as they gradually grew larger. The captain pulled on the tiller, changing the ship's direction so that they were headed straight towards them.

As Halt watched, he became aware of an uncertain feeling brushing at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right. The more he looked, the more he thought that it had something to do with the town ahead. Even though it had not been in this time, Halt had sailed into this particular port a few times before. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to pinpoint what it was, but the nauseous feeling wasn't helping him think.

Then he had it. He didn't recall the jetty, where the beacon was burning, ever being so high. It was true that, in this time, the town could have changed its configuration; but he doubted that a massive landform would have.

There was also no moon tonight.

As soon as Halt realized it, he put two and two together. Moondarkers. He swore.

"Pull the ship about!" he yelled, letting go of the railing, and running towards the tiller where the captain stood.

The man looked surprised and even a little annoyed at Halt's interruption, though that look faded into one of pale-faced fear and uncertainty at Halt's next words.

"That's a false beacon!"

"Are you certain?" the captain asked, seemingly in a near-frozen stupor by Halt's claim.

"Of course I am!" Halt shouted, half ready to take the tiller from the man and try to turn the ship about himself. He has started moving to do just that when the captain seemed to shake himself and heaved on the tiller, shouting orders to his men.

Evanlyn, who had been awakened by Halt's shout, made her way to his side.

"What's going o—" she started to ask, but never finished.

The ship lurched violently to a sudden crashing stop. The captain hadn't managed to turn her around in time and she slammed side-on into the hidden shoals. Her hull was immediately bashed inwards; splintered wood flew in all directions. Halt and Evanlyn were sent flying hard into the rough planks of the deck. There was a horrible crunching rending sound as the wood planking twisted and snapped. The sailors and the passengers started screaming as the ship began to break apart and fill with water. Halt only just managed to grab Evanlyn by the back of her cloak in an attempt to keep them together as they were folded into the icy, inky-black, sea.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always very much appreciated; they help feed the muse. XD I know I said last week that this chapter would focus mainly on Halt and Evanlyn, but I had to do some rearranging to help with the flow and it ended up being a little different than I had initially planned. But, next chapter, they will definitely be the main focus. XD

I wish you all the very best! Until next time!