A/N: Hey guys! I hope you all are doing well! I'm finally back, and super glad to be. I just finished my last class of summer school last week and so finally have had time for writing again. (Sorry again for the delay.)

Random Flyer: Thanks so much for the review and the encouragement! It has indeed been a challenge, but a lot of fun at the same time. I'm glad everything seems logical (that was my hope) XD. It certainly could happen that way—Gilan definitely doesn't want anything to do with the authorities after all and he Will and Horace are growing quite close X). I've got several ideas for how it will all go down too, and I'm excited to get there.

Ranger-of-the-shadows: Thanks so much! I will answer part of that question within the next couple chapters—and part of that answer will have quite a bit of bearing with the main conflict later too.

M.T: Thanks so much for the reviews! I do apologize for taking so long to update, but I hope this chapter and the next can help make up for the wait.

ApplePower: Thanks for the review and the compliments it means a lot. That chapter was one of my favorites to write so far (for that reason) XD

On A Page: Thanks for the compliment and the review! Also thanks for catching that mistake, I really appreciate it. I made certain to fix it.

KingTritium: Thanks for the input, I really appreciate it! And thanks for catching those mistakes, I made sure to fix them. I actually did make Gilan's age very vague on purpose: this is because his age is one of the several inaccuracies/inconsistencies that exists throughout the series like Duncan's eye color, Blaze's gender, how Halt likes his coffee, the exact shade of Crowley's hair, whether or not Will has/can have a mirror etc. Throughout the entire series (in several different books) there are no less than three different age ranges to choose from (which I could cite/quote if you wish) that could put his age anywhere from 20-27—hence my vagueness XD why does everything have to be so hard? XD Thanks again!

jaymzNshed: I hope to answer a little bit of that question in the next couple of chapters. Also, some things about his past are going to be tied up with the main conflict a little later in the story too. Thanks for the support!

TrustTheCloak: Awww :3 thanks so much for the compliment and the review. There will be more revealed about Gilan's past next couple of chapters that can hopefully answer a few of the questions, and his past does have a bit of a bearing on the main conflict so questions will be answered.

Dragonslover98: Don't worry! Their chances of meeting up again are pretty big XD Thanks so much for the review!

Also Special thanks to Ranger-Corpses, Guest, and Rubyya, I really appreciate the support.

Chapter 12: The Dark of the Moon Part II

~x~X~x~

The icy water churned around Halt and Evanlyn in a heaving mass. Debris was scattered about, bobbing as it too was lifted and lowered by the waves. All this only added to the confusion. The shouts and screams of the sailors and passengers mingled with the cries and shouts of the Moondarkers on the beach as they headed into the water to retrieve the cargo and goods that were being pulled to shore by the tide—same as the people. Halt cursed.

Already, he could see several of the passengers and sailors—those who could swim or had found something to keep themselves afloat—drawing nearer to the shore, pulled by the tide and by their hope of making it to land. But they were heading to a fate that was quite possibly worse than drowning.

Halt was familiar with how Moondarkers operated. If they were ruthless enough to risk taking lives by sinking ships for snatches of cargo, then they certainly wouldn't have any qualms about taking the lives of any survivors who made it to shore. Halt had seen it before—far too many times. It was far less risky and cleaner for the Moodarkers to simply get rid of any, and all, witnesses to their crime.

Halt opened his mouth to try and shout a warning but was pushed under the surface by a wave. He only succeeded in getting a lungful of water. When his head broke the surface again, he coughed and spluttered. As he tried to regain his breath, he realized with a start that he had let go of Evanlyn.

Still coughing, he looked frantically around at the debris-strewn water, searching for a specific bobbing head. The desperate nature of the situation, as well as the panic bubbling in his chest, made him want to search quickly and heedlessly in every direction. But he forced himself to calm as he swept the water slowly in a steady pattern: it was his best chance of finding her again. He carefully moved, turning in a slow circle as he tread water and scanned for her.

For a long while, there was nothing. Then he caught sight of short blond hair, stained a grey color by the night. He quickly swam in that direction. She was meters away from him, her head turning back and forth as she looked anxiously about her—no doubt searching for him. Every second she drew closer and closer to shore and the danger that awaited her there. He swam faster, coming up behind her. He reached out and grabbed her by the back of her tunic, pulling her towards him. She startled and tried to struggle until he called out to her.

"Halt!" she gasped, quickly turning around to face him, relief curbing the terror that had paled her cheeks.

"Tread water with me and don't… swim towards the shore!" he called to her, interrupted momentarily by another rolling wave.

She nodded, eyes wide. Halt tried to take stock of their position. They couldn't swim to shore, and they couldn't just stay out in the open water either. The beach of the cove that the wreckers had chosen was surrounded on both sides by chalky-like cliffs. Those cliffs, he knew, stretched for a good way in either direction, probably too far for Evanlyn to swim—perhaps even too far for him to swim. They also could not try to swim for the cliffs themselves and attempt to climb; they were too crumbly. It would be no use avoiding death at the hands of the men on the beach only to find it by falling or drowning.

All those thoughts flashed through his mind as he took stock of the beach. It appeared that most of the fighting was taking place near the middle and to the far-right side. If he and Evanlyn could swim to the far-left side, they might make it ashore, might be able to cross the beach and make it to the tree-line before they were spotted by the Moondarkers.

Decided, he turned to Evanlyn and realized he'd have to amend his plan to account for a few more people. Four sailors, who had seen the growing carnage on the beach, had hung back and were only meters away from Halt and Evanlyn. He couldn't very well leave them to die. Halt beckoned them closer in between a few dips of high waves around them and told them his plan.

~x~X~x~

Cordell, former Baron of Araluen, looked over the work of the Moondarkers with a critical eye. His small contingent of knights and fighting men stood beside him, awaiting his orders. Ever since he'd given up the rule of his fief—a choice he had made when he'd finally sided with Morgarath—he had become one of Morgarath's most prolific lieutenants. It wasn't the same as ruling his own barony, that was true. But the riches and promises Morgarath made—when combined with the fact that he hated King Duncan—was far enough compensation for him.

Cordell stood near the Moodarkers leader, watching as the man directed his men into fetching the cargo that was washing ashore and, more importantly, destroying any of the men from the ship that managed to make it to land. It was cleaner that way. And it worked well in slowing news of their activities, and so the threat of retaliation. Already, a battle had broken out in the shallows and on the beach and it only grew from there.

Morgarath had a loose alliance with the Moodarkers. He would let them work on the coasts of his lands in return for a cut of the profits. It had become a highly profitable venture for both parties. And their success had led them into Duncan's lands: just a few kilometers north of the border. It was a calculated plan to try and expand their reach. They had been at it for several months and so far, and had encountered no obstacles, no retaliation from Duncan.

Because Morgarath had a stake in this, he had sent Cordell and several of his men to supervise and back the Moondarkers. As the battle grew more heated and angry, Cordell decided that it was time for him to lend the Moondarkers some support in their fight. He raised his sword and then lowered it: the signal for his men to move in. He stood back, watching the battle.

As he did so, he suddenly became aware that a few of the ship's crew had swum further out to the farthest edge of the beach where the battle wasn't raging, likely in an attempt to slip away. With a shout, he directed some of his men in that direction and charged towards them to cut them off. They met in a ringing clash of arms and shouts as his men and the sailors fought.

Suddenly Cordell found himself face to face with a small grizzled looking bearded man and a boy. Their faces were partially lit by the flickering light of the false beacon fire and torches. Cordell narrowed his eyes and did a double-take at the boy—realizing that it wasn't a boy at all. Cordell had been a high-ranking nobleman who had worked with the king for many years before he finally joined Morgarath's camp, and so he recognized the girl standing before him.

"You!" he breathed.

She was no sailor, but rather the Crown Princess of Araluen herself. How she had come to be here when she was supposed to be in Gallica he had no idea, but he knew one thing for certain, and that was that Morgarath badly wanted her. He had even made a deal with a Gallic Warlord to try and get her for himself. Cordell knew also that, if he caught her, he could well swing the tides of the war in his lord's favor—not to mention how much further that would engender him into his lord's good graces. He narrowed his eyes greedily and called out swiftly to his men at arms, calling them away from the useless sailors and towards the girl and the small bearded man who was at her side.

Halt, Evanlyn, and the four sailors had only managed to make it halfway up the far-left side of the beach before they were spotted. A knight called to several soldiers around him and Halt watched with dread as they broke off from the main group to head them off. The dread only increased when he caught sight of the emblem emblazoned on the knight's surcoat. The fabric had caught in the firelight as he charged to reveal a jagged lightning bolt over a field of black.

Halt called a warning to the four sailors near them, and they all drew their weapons. Halt's hand itched to be able to use his bow, but all his time in the water had stretched the string so much so that it would be nearly useless. He had waxed the string to protect it from water, of course, but not even the wax could have helped considering how long he'd been submerged. All he had left were his two knives, so he drew these, after pushing Evanlyn behind him.

He and one of the soldiers met. The soldier swung a vicious overhead strike a Halt. The grizzled Ranger allowed himself a minimal movement to the side. The soldier's strike flew wide; Halt's body simply was not where the man expected it to be. The soldier stumbled forwards, off-balance, leaving himself open for a counterattack.

Halt turned away from the now fallen man to face the next one. He was aware of the other soldiers facing off against the four sailors. There were six soldiers left standing and Halt and the sailors were holding them grimly back. There came the sound of a cry and one of the sailors fell, just as Halt took down another of the soldiers. They still had a chance… that was until a sharp order from the knight called his men away from the sailors to have them all converge on Halt and Evanlyn instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw the sailors, now that they were free from the press of enemies, quickly turn tail and run—intent on taking their chance to save themselves. Halt was now effectively cut off from the safety of the woodlands, left to face the press of warriors on his own. He took a breath, straightening as he took stock of the men facing him: including the knight on horseback. He tried to ignore the growing sinking feeling in his gut in favor of focusing only on protecting Evanlyn and finding a way to get them out of this mess. He didn't know for certain why all the men had suddenly converged on him, but his gut told him it was because the lead knight had somehow recognized Evanlyn as Princess Cassandra. It was the only thing that made sense.

He readied his two knives as the first soldier charged. He swayed to the side to avoid the sword stroke, rolling under the next and getting inside of the man's reach to make the length of his sword a hindrance rather than an advantage. Once Halt was inside the man's reach, the soldier was unable to block as Halt struck forwards with his saxe. The man fell and Halt moved to intercept the next two who were trying to outflank him.

As he was grappling with those two, another tried to take him from the side—only to fall back with a cry, clutching at his left eye. Halt caught a glimpse of Evanlyn reloading her sling. Had there been time, he would have praised her, impressed with how she was handling the situation and herself. But there was none.

One of the two soldiers he'd been grappling with attacked again. The man had an axe and Halt, armed as he was with only two knives, knew he was at a distinct disadvantage. The best he'd been able to do was dodge that man's attacks. Halt decided he really needed to do something about that. He noticed the wooden haft of the axe as he blocked another soldier's sword stroke. Narrowing his eyes, he slipped his throwing knife into its sheath. When the axeman drew back for a downward strike, Halt took a step forward, and then swayed minimally to the side. He caught the haft of the man's axe with this left hand and held it firmly in place for the milliseconds it took for him to bring his saxe knife down upon the wood with all the strength he had.

The force of the blow, and the sharpness of his blade, severed the head from the axe and it fell harmlessly to the ground. The man stared dumbly at his ruined weapon, but neither of them had the time to dwell on that. Halt could see that the remaining three soldiers, and the lead knight, had been moving inexorably forward to flank him. Halt kicked hard at the axeman's knee. He fell with a cry and Halt turned to engage the others, aware of the whirring of Evanlyn's sling. One man stumbled back as a stone hit his arm, but it did not deter him for long. He kept coming. Then there was a clang as another of her stones bounced harmlessly off the lead knight's helm.

Halt had his hands full, his heartbeat accelerating as he recognized how dire the situation was becoming—how many near misses he was encountering. Something needed to happen, or change, because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. So intent was he on trying to defend both himself and Evanlyn from so many sides that he didn't see the axeman rise again to feet behind him. He didn't sense the blow coming until it was too late.

The broken haft of the man's axe came down hard on his back and skull. His vision exploded into stars as he crumpled to the ground. Through his wavering sight, he saw Evanlyn bowl into the axeman, knocking him down— but milliseconds too late. She took a step back, eyes wide with fear as they darted between Halt's crumpled form and their attackers. He saw her start to shake slightly as the full realization of the direness of their situation hit her before she turned to run. Halt couldn't move, could barely see through his hazy vision. All he could do was watch helplessly as the lead knight ran her down on horseback.

"No!" he wanted to scream, but it came out little louder than a choked whisper.

He watched, helpless, as the knight grabbed her by her hair. She screamed, a torn cry of fear and pain, as she was hauled bodily over the saddlebow. The last thing Halt saw before his vision went black was the knight galloping away.

When Halt came to, he realized dully that he hadn't been out for very long. The sounds of battle on the beach still carried dimly, and distorted, to his ears. He cracked his eyes without moving to see the silhouettes of men moving in front of a flickering fire in the distance. He could just make out the three soldiers from earlier still around him. He heard one of them moving towards him and knew instantly that the man intended to finish him off.

Halt listened, pinpointing the man's movements and position. He could feel the hilts of his saxe and throwing knife near the fingers of each of his hands. But he didn't move until he could tell by the sound that the man was standing directly above him, weapon poised.

Halt sprang into action, going from a standstill to a flurry of movement in an eye-blink. He kicked the legs of the man standing above him out from under him and leaped to his feet, sending his saxe and his throwing knife into the chests of the two soldiers near him. They fell to the ground, but Halt was already on them, regaining his two weapons in time it took for the first man to rise again to his feet.

The battle between them was short. The soldier crumpled with a soft groan to join his companions. Halt spared them hardly a glance as he tore off, heading to the southwest—in the direction that the knight had taken—directly into the lands that he knew belonged to Morgarath. He needed to find Evanlyn, get her back from the knight before it was too late.

He directed his thoughts towards the girl as he willed her to stay strong and alive. He promised silently that he would find her, promised he would get her back safely. As he ran, his head and back still throbbing, he whispered a silent apology to everyone he had once known—hoping that, if they were still alive, that they could all hold on just a bit longer; for, at this rate, it looked as if he wouldn't be finding them anytime soon.

"Sorry Will…"

~x~X~x~

Crowley had taken the mercenary's advice and had traveled a fief over to the east before trying to cross the border. The young mercenary had been right; crossing the border had been fairly easy there. The woods grew very thickly in that area and there had been very few patrols. Morgarath, or perhaps more aptly, his lieutenants, obviously had decided that the woods themselves made enough of a barrier.

He stroked Cropper's neck as he looked over the farmlands before him from his hidden position in the woods. He ground his teeth slightly, his left hand clenching tightly around the reins. He was, of course, aware that Morgrath did not object to the practice of slavery in his lands, but it didn't make it any easier for Crowley to see. He moved his attention from the farmland and closer towards the village itself and his frown increased. Judging by the presence of both soldiers and wargals, it was fairly obvious that Morgarath kept his holdings under a tight fist. He tried to quell the rising heat of anger and told himself to breathe.

He'd always had a bit of a temper; a temper that had gotten him into trouble more than a few times during his apprentice years. And the sight of people being treated so cruelly only poked at the old twist of anger and resentment that Crowley had long harbored for the traitor Baron: ever since the death of his mentor. As the muscles of his face drew together in a tight scowl, he could feel the puckered edges of his scar all the more clearly. Funnily enough, that reminder did nothing to assuage the feeling.

Cropper, obviously picking up on his master's sudden distress, nosed him gently.

Doing something stupid right now isn't going to help.

Crowley had a good mind to push his horse's questing nose away at that, but merely let his breath out in a huff, the largest edge of his anger leaving with it. Cropper was right and he knew it.

"I know," he said softly.

I know you know. Cropper nudged him again then added, don't worry, we'll get him eventually.

'Eventually'… Crowley was getting so very sick and tired of that word. But it was going to have to do. What Morgarath was doing to his people was disgusting, but racing in and trying to help them and revealing himself to Morgarath wasn't going to help these people in the long run and he knew it. He was in this for the long game as much as the traitor Baron was.

"One thing's for certain," Crowley said as he eyed the village once more. "It'll probably be in our best interest to stay away from all villages and settlements if we want to play it safe."

He allowed himself one last glance at the scene before him before he melded back into woodlands, Cropper following. Already, he was taking out his map to start charting himself a safe path that would skirt any fief centers or larger settlements as he would head steadily south.

~x~X~x~

Gilan watched silently as Will rose carefully from his bedroll and then froze, listening carefully for any sounds before moving one cautious step at a time forward. His footfalls were almost completely silent as he moved instinctively with the shadows of the night—and paid strict attention to many other tips that Gilan had been teaching him. Gilan could not help but give an inward nod of approval—the boy was really good.

He watched unmoving as a Will crept towards the bag that held their provisions. Will paused near it, looked around, listened, and then moved to open it. He then proceeded to snatch several items from it and stuff them down the front of his jerkin. He then reached in for more, pulling out an onion pasty. He was about to shove that down his shirt front too when Gilan spoke.

"Unless you've a mind to spend hours scrubbing laundry, I wouldn't put that one down your shirt," he said mildly.

Will startled in shock and nearly dropped the greasy pasty. He turned towards the sound to see Gilan, sitting comfortably in the hollow between two roots not ten paces away. Will's eyes widened and he stiffened, face paling considerably.

"G-Gilan," he stammered, "I was just…just…"

"Stealing food," Gilan finished for him with a raised eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He rose easily to his feet and took a few steps nearer Will.

"Y-yes," Will admitted, hanging his head.

As soon as Gilan was nearly an arms distance from him, he saw Will cringe back a half pace, free hand clenched, face tense, every line in his body looking as if he more than half expected some unpleasant form of remonstration to descend. Gilan stopped short as he saw it, a frown growing on his face. Will saw the frown and tensed further as he misinterpreted its meaning. He was certain Gilan was angry with him, and that he was about to find himself in serious trouble.

"I-I'm sorry," Will said, his voice more than a little strained. "I'll put it back. I promise I won't steal from your bag again—"

Gilan decided that this had gone on long enough and cut Will short, feeling a sad sort of sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reach out toward the boy but knew that it probably wouldn't be a well-received, or well advised, gesture in this moment. He instead made certain to keep himself just a little further back than arm's reach and concentrated on not making his gestures sharp, or posture threatening. Not for the first time, he found himself cursing that farmer for treating Will as he had. He guessed that Will's habit of hoarding food at meals and stealing them from the provisions at night sprang from habit. The farmer had probably often neglected Will and so he had developed the habit to survive. It was something Gilan indented to fix if he could.

"I should hope you won't steal from the provisions anymore," he said carefully. Then added with a chuckle, more softly, "Or, better put, I should hope you realize that you don't need to try and steal it."

Will looked up cautiously in surprise as Gilan said it.

"Gil?" he asked confused.

"Will, you are welcome to take what you need, whenever you need." Gilan shrugged. "Always have been… Although, I am pleased you've been practicing your stealth skills. It was impressive. With a little effort, you might learn to be half as good as me."

Will's expression went from dumbfounded to indignant to grateful and then back to indignant within the span of a second as he tried to process what had been said. Finally, he found his voice.

"Nobody told me that," he protested weakly in response to the first part.

"You never asked," Gilan pointed out.

"So, you just let me sneak around instead?" Will demanded, flabbergasted.

"I was interested in seeing how you were going to go about it," Gilan said. "You've got a lot of potential."

It was obvious by the still dumbfounded look on Will's face that he still didn't quite know what to make of this all.

"I can just get something whenever I'm hungry?" Will asked, a trace of skepticism in his words and expression—as if he expected Gilan to take it all back.

Gilan nodded. "The provisions belong to all of us."

"What about when they're low?"

Gilan smiled, pleased with the question and Will's foresight. "What do you think, Will? What would you do?"

"Be careful about them I suppose," Will said eventually, not having expected the question. Then added, "And make sure that there's enough for everyone to get equal shares."

"When they're low, we'll ration them more carefully, and decide together what we'll do about it. I'm certain there will be times when things will be hard like that—it happens when you live like this. But I can promise you that I'll try my best to make sure that we'll have what we need. Horace will probably promise that too, considering that bottomless pit he calls a stomach."

Will couldn't help but grin at that. Horace was always hungry, and he did eat a lot.

"And I'm sure you'll do the same?" Gilan asked raising a questioning brow.

Will nodded seriously. "I can do that."

Gilan nodded again before gesturing to the pasty that was still in Will's hand. "Still needing a midnight snack?"

Will grinned ruefully, shaking his head. He hadn't really been hungry. He quickly replaced it and the other things he had taken before heading back to his bedroll with Gilan.

"Gilan? How did you know it was me?" he asked curiously as he settled into his blankets and re-fluffed the cloak he was using as a pillow.

"Considering that it was only after you joined that food started going missing, it was an easy enough guess," Gilan said as he too settled in for the night. "Also, I had noticed how you often set some of the food you get at meals aside. I've seen men do that before in pr…—places where food is scarce." He had stopped short fractionally before starting again as he'd said it—as if stuttering because he'd tripped over his own tongue.

Will paid it no mind, instead nodding at what Gilan had said. It made sense.

"You'll need to be a little more careful about little details like that if you're going to make a career out of stealing," Gilan said then after a pause. "I think I'd have waited a while before I started, tried hard not to make any obvious patterns and, if I knew I'd be a top suspect, I'd perhaps try to put suspicion elsewhere."

"Or you could just try not stealing," Horace said indignantly. Their conversation had woken him a couple of minutes prior. He'd been silently listening, but couldn't keep silent any longer. "It's the more honorable thing to do and it'll save you all that trouble."

"Or you could do that," Gilan said agreeably.

Horace groaned, placing the bag he was using as a pillow over his head. Will snickered.

A/N: Thanks for reading and sticking around for the ride! I wish you all the very best until next time! Next chapter arc will be titled "Memories and Outsiders" which will help to show exactly how many pies Morgarath has gotten his dirty little fingers in, or is aiming to get his fingers in, in this messed up world XD