A/N: Hello everyone! I'm finally back *sheepish grin*. Again I must apologize for the delay, I'd honestly hoped that I'd have this chapter out much faster. I actually had half of it already written by the time I had posted the previous chapter. Unfortunately for me, life and work conspired simultaneously to forcibly take my head out of the clouds and then proceeded to devour all my writing time. So sorry again. I hope the content of this chapter makes up a little for the wait: this one is one of the ones I've been most looking forward to/excited about writing. It actually has an alternate title "Troll Sled" In honor of the song that gave me the idea/inspiration for it. If you'd like to take a look (or rather a listen) the song is called Troll Sled by Epic North. (It's an odd name granted, but it'll make sense when you get to the part of the tale in question). If anyone is curious or interested, I can list the playlist of songs that inspired this whole book. They are all instrumental only songs, just so you know and in case that is not your cup of tea (or coffee): Hiraeth by Jo Blankenburg, Winterstorm by IMAscore, Castle of Ice by IMAscore, Persecution by Audiomachine, Taking the Helm by Thomas Bergerson, Troll Sled by Epic North, Blood Moon by End of Silence, The Forest of Wolves by Peter Crowley, and The Hero Within by James Paget. Anyhow, thanks so much for reading and I really hope this chapter is as exciting and fun to read as it was to write XD

Guest 5/11: Thank you so much for your kind words! It was very encouraging to read! I do apologize for the delay. Life kind of ate me for a while. But I hope to try an keep a more consistent updating schedule. Hopefully, I'll be able to go back to updating once a month now that things have calmed down a little. Thanks again!

Fawnfire: Thanks for the review, and the compliment! It means a lot. I'm really glad you think it's all working together well to make an interesting story. That means a lot to hear! I'm always worried about getting it right/making a decent story. Thanks again, I really appreciate it XD

Guest 4/13: Thank you so much for the kind words and the review. It was so very encouraging to read! I do plan to keep going with this story until I finish it, so don't worry! Thanks again!

Guest 4/11: Thanks so much for the review and the compliment! I really appreciate it. I hope I didn't make you wait too long.

TrustTheCloak: Thanks so much for the compliment, it means a lot. Yup Everyone is getting back together soon. Also, it's a good guess. There will be a little bit of the reunion this chapter actually. No need to apologize! Thanks so very much for the review—It made my day to read! I wish you the best!

ArcedArrow: Thanks so much for the encouragement and compliment! I really appreciated it! As for your question: yes, I am still planning to write Messenger Hawks and Hides—both of which are currently resting within my half-finished story file. I've been a little busy and run down with school and work so I haven't gotten the chance to write as much as I'd like. There are way too many stories in the half-finished file, actually *sheepish grin*. Hopefully, I'll get the time and inspiration to finish them and all the others too.

Gerbilfriend: Yup, getting the gang back together! I'm looking forward to writing it XD Thanks so much for the review! I really appreciate it!

Lilly-daughter of Radolso: Awwww :3 Thanks so much. You have no idea how encouraging it was to read your review! There is definitely going to be a Halt and Gilan reunion in this chapter, so the moment you've been waiting for is here actually. XD That's totally alright, I really appreciate you taking the time to leave a review at all, it doesn't matter to me if it's late. I totally get not being able to outwardly fangirl for fear of getting weird looks. XD It stinks, doesn't it?

Ranger-of-the-shadows: Thanks so much for the compliment and the review! I'm so glad the update made you happy, that's what I want the most out of my writing—so that's great to hear. Thanks again!

Random Flyer: Thanks so much! You have great predictions, as usual, and you'll probably see a few of them happen this chapter. It is indeed going to be very fun when Halt meets up with Gilan and finds out about Will and Horace XD. I really appreciate the encouragement and advice! Thanks again!

jaymzNshed: Thanks so much for the review! I hope this chapter proves to be as exciting as you hoped!

Chapter 17: The Mountains of Rain and Night Part II

~x~X~x~

Morgarath sat astride his white charger, ignoring the tumbling snowflakes in favor of surveying the darkened landscape around him. Several of his higher-ranking lieutenants stood beside him, trying, as he was, to see through the night shadows and the curtain of snowfall.

As soon as the runner had reported that a Wargal and human patrol were trying to stop what appeared to be two Rangers, he had set out in immediate pursuit. Apparently, the two men were trying to flee the mountains with none other than the crown princess: who one of his men had apparently found and had been trying to deliver to him. As he had been out on the plains before his fortress drilling his Wargals at the time he received the news, it hadn't taken much to join in the pursuit.

But they had lost them—or rather him, Morgarath amended. The two Rangers, if there had indeed been two, had obviously spit up sometime during the chase because Morgarath and his men had only ever caught sight of one. Likely this one had acted as a distraction to allow the other and the princess to escape, Morgarath thought, cursing those grey-cloaked meddlers—and not for the first time. He felt a steady rage welling up within him. Not only had the ultimate prize of the princess slipped through his grasp, but both Rangers had managed to escape with their lives as well. Had he the princess, his leverage over Duncan would have been unassailable… but he hadn't the princess. And it seemed that now he never would. True, the success of his ultimate plan had never hinged on this, but it was still a loss, and a biting one.

His grip tightened reflexively around the reins, the motion made jerky and sharp with his barely controlled fury. It caused his horse to curvet as it felt the tug and his master's tension and anger. As Morgarath tried to bring his mount back under control, he caught sight of something flapping in the wind amidst a flurry of skittering snowflakes. It was near to the ground and dark against the snowy backdrop. He dismounted and bent to take a closer look. It was a shred of cloth that was stuck to a low rock by a fairly large smear of blood that had frozen it in place. Morgarath called impatiently for one of his men to come forward with his torch so he could see more clearly.

The cloth was a different make, color, and texture than the uniforms of his men. Also, this was where he and his men had stopped their pursuit after having lost the Ranger. Not just because they had lost sight of the man, but also because the horsemen in their party couldn't risk riding over such uneven ground in such poor light. Therefore, the chances were more than good that this scrap of cloth belonged to the Ranger. This, in turn, meant that the man had injured himself, and fairly badly too. Morgarath smiled cruelly at the thought, a smile that only grew as he retrieved the scrap of bloodied cloth.

"Teezal!" he called and watched as the man approached quickly, nearly stumbling over the uneven ground in his haste. Morgarath waited impatiently for him to regain his balance, realizing at the same time that that was very likely how the Ranger had had his little accident: stumbling over loose boulders.

"Yes, my Lord?" Teezal asked breathlessly.

"I want you to send a message back to our outpost Brunswick," he said coolly.

Teezal nodded emphatically, nervously. "It will be done my lord…" he hesitated for a moment, wringing his hands, as the silence between them extended just too long to be comfortable, before venturing to ask. "What message would you like me to convey?"

"Lord Hadley is based there, is he not?" Morgarath asked sibilantly, and Teezal nodded. "And he trains tracking hounds and war dogs, does he not?" Morgarath asked.

"You want me to request he send some of both?" Teezal ventured.

"No, I wanted you to ask him to send me tea," Morgarath sneered sarcastically, his temper rising. He flicked the bloodied scrap of cloth under his lieutenant's nose for emphasis.

Teezal cringed, bowing, cowed. "Apologies, my Lord. I'll send for the dogs right away."

However, the man made no move to do so immediately. Instead, he stayed put where he was, hesitating again. Morgarath felt his temper and impatience flaring.

"Well?" he asked dangerously, though he already knew what the man was going to ask. In truth, he welcomed the question because it afforded him the opportunity to show off just how he was able to outsmart and outthink the enemy as well as his own men. It would only help to cement his power and standing.

Teezal flinched and floundered for words before he finally asked.

"But, my Lord, it will take a few days for the dogs to arrive. Won't the Ranger have already found a way off the mountain by then?"

"The Ranger was obviously injured, and who knows how badly. More than likely he has taken shelter somewhere and is lying low. And, if he is still here by the time the dogs arrive, then we will find him." He paused and then added, "And one more thing."

"Yes my lord?"

"Double the patrol. If he's gone to ground, we'll flush him out one way or the other." With that he remounted his horse and set off carefully back through the snow to his fortress, taking the bloodied cloth with him. A Ranger, though no substitute for the crown princess, was indeed a decent prize—especially if he could get him to talk. Even if he couldn't, he'd at least be able to extract some pleasurable compensation for his troubles in the form of revenge. And, in the end, there would be one less meddling Ranger to contend with when he'd eventually finished with him.

~x~X~x~

Halt moved stealthily through the night shadows. He went carefully, ensuring that he put his feet into footprints and paths that were already worn into the snow by the foot traffic of patrols. Even still, the snow crunched somewhat underfoot and his passage was nowhere near as silent as he would have preferred.

It had been five days since Halt had first taken shelter in Norman the hermit's abandoned cave. And, so far, Morgarath's men had not once stopped patrolling everywhere in search of him. The snow itself had also caused another set of problems to keep him lying low. When it had first fallen, it had been a good two-thirds of a meter deep, maybe even more in some places. Aside from the fact that it would have left a completely obvious trail if he'd left his shelter, there was the additional problem of moving through it with any sort of ease. He just wasn't equipped for it. So he had spent those five days waiting.

He'd known that his odds of making out only increased in this situation if he remained patient. Don't rush into things; it had been one of his rules as a mercenary and now he realized that it had been a mantra he'd learned as a Ranger—as many of his personal rules had turned out to be. This one he remembered saying to his first apprentice on more than one occasion. He felt the now familiar ache in his heart grow at the thought and briefly toyed with the idea of hunting down Morgarath while the traitor Baron was still here—instead of simply escaping. One thing he knew for certain was that if he ever was so lucky to be presented with such an opportunity, he was going to take it.

Regardless, the one good thing about the numerous patrols was that they had steadily made trails through the snow. He'd seen the Wargals with their heavily clawed and muscular bodies making their way through the stuff with a speed and ease he could never hope to match. He glanced down at his left ankle. It had healed fairly well over the few days he'd been in hiding and waiting, but not completely. And it certainly wasn't helping him move through the snow with anything close to ease or speed either—despite the worn trails.

His progress had been slow, and he well knew it. To further the matter, it had been made all the slower by having to constantly dodge and hide from patrols. Already he could see the faint brightening at the horizon that hinted of the rosining sun. Soon it would be up and his chances of sneaking off the mountain would diminish substantially—especially with the number of patrols around.

He was going to have to find someplace to lay low throughout the day and then move out again when the sun set. He wasn't happy about the delay that this would cause, but he knew there was nothing for it.

As soon as the sun started glimmering over the horizon, Halt began looking for suitable cover in earnest—and, more importantly, he looked for a place where he could avoid, hide, or cover any tracks he might make when he broke off from the worn paths of the patrol trails.

The sun was halfway above the horizon before he found a spot. The wind had blown most the snow off the tops of some smaller boulders near the worn trail. Halt was able to leap to the top of the first one and then to the next three without touching the pristine snow. When he was about five boulders in and away from the path, he ran out of rocks. He leaped out from the top of the last boulder as far as he could into the snow. He winced as his landing jarred his ankle, but he knew that he'd managed to get far enough out from the road not to have left any noticeable trail. From there he was able to walk almost normally, aside from the times he had to make his way through deeper drifts, to a shadowed cleft in between two boulders. Halt moved into their shade and then settled down to wait.

Having lived as both a Ranger and a mercenary, he was used to waiting, holding completely still for hours on end. However, merely being accustomed to it didn't stop his muscles stiffening with the cold nor stop the water from the snow, melted by his body heat, from seeping into his clothes and his boots. And it didn't make the whole ordeal any more pleasant.

Halt was still waiting when he felt a weird feather-light whispering intrusion into his mind—as if someone had dragged a whisper-soft touch across his thoughts. He'd felt it before when he'd been near Wargals in that other time, and a few times while he'd been in hiding. However, this time, the fleeting intrusion seemed to last longer than usual. As it grew in strength, he became aware of the sounds chanting and heavy footfalls that signaled the passage of Wargals. By the sound and feeling, he suspected this party was much larger than any of the small patrols he'd seen during his time in hiding. Even as he held still, the intrusion seemed to grow and even seemed to hold a picture—something that looked fairly similar to a Ranger. At first, he'd thought he'd merely imagined it but, when it kept repeating, he knew it hadn't been him. He knew that Morgarath communicated and directed the Wargals with his mind, and supposed that those images were somehow part of this mental communication.

It was in that way that he was fairly certain that they had some vague idea that he was a Ranger and that they were still actively hunting him. Then the faint intrusion was gone as the Wargals crossed out of range.

It wasn't long after that when he became aware of the faint sound of voices, clanking armor, weapons, and other similar camp sounds carried very faintly to his ears on the wind. Halt was an experienced campaigner and surveyor and so the more he listened, the more he could tell that it was most likely made by a very large party—likely that was where that large group of Wargals had been heading.

As soon as he realized this, he debated silently with himself for a moment against whether or not it would be worth the risk to take a closer look. With a camp that size, there was bound to be a chance to uncover or overhear potentially vital information and information was something they needed if he was ever going to find a way to fix this, find a way to end the war. Then he shrugged to himself. He was already in this deep, he might as well go all the way.

The place where the large party had made camp was situated on the edge of a steep slope and surrounded by boulders and a line of scrubby stunted trees. Approaching unnoticed had been easy, but learning anything had not been. Dressed as he was, and with the whole mountain still on high alert for him, Halt knew he couldn't pretend to belong and interpose himself in the camp. Nor could he sneak in unnoticed in broad daylight.

He had been forced to resort to staying near the edge and trying to pick up useful snippets of conversation from the few human commanders and soldiers. There had been precious few instances of that. He had gotten to this area around noon and it was now reaching evening, and had only heard one piece of conversation that could be useful; unfortunately, his distant position had made it fragmented and incomplete. He had been crouching in the shadows near the south side of the encampment, trying to stay downwind of the Wargals, when he'd heard the snatches of the conversation carried by the breeze.

"Still say… wasting time hunting the Ranger… Obviously long gone…" He heard one soldier tell another. "What about the… on Highcliff fief. We were supposed to be joining the troops there… even without… support."

To which the other had said something about "Lord Morgarath" and still having "three weeks" before… before something. The only other words he could make out were something about a "watchtower" and "fenlands". He couldn't catch anything else.

Even now he tried to piece together what the two soldiers had been talking about. It sounded to him as if Morgarath had found some opening to attack Highcliff fief, an attack that was scheduled, if he'd heard right, to happen in three weeks' time. But he wasn't certain. He watched the camp from under the shadow of his cowl, thinking.

He needed to get off this mountain and away from Morgarath's men. The risks only grew the longer he stayed. But, if what he guessed about the conversation, he had overheard was true, then he needed to find out more or get confirmation. If he waited the few hours it would take for night to fall, he stood a better chance of trying to get closer to the camp to find out more.

He was still thinking about it when he heard the low eerie moan of a howl coming from behind him. His blood froze in his veins. He knew that sound—knew what it meant. He had heard it before. The sound came again, this time accompanied by furious barking. Halt whirled, drawing his bow in the same motion just as he caught sight of three war dogs weaving through the boulders and scrubby trees, heading straight for him. In the span of a breath, Halt had drawn knocked and fired. Three arrows were on their way before the first found its mark in the leading dog. The second dog fell shortly after the first. His third arrow missed as the dog swerved around a boulder. The beast was only meters away from Halt by the time he again had a clear shot. The dog fell as Halt shot again, coming to rest centimeters away from his feet.

The noise of the dogs had attracted the attention of the many Wargals and few humans in the nearby camp; attention that only increased when the dog's handlers started shouting, raising the alarm. Halt hadn't been able to shoot fast enough to silence all of those human handlers in time. The air filled with the shouts of Wargals and men as they caught sight of the prey that they had been hunting for days. The commanders were already trying to rally the men in support of the advanced party that had been traveling with the war dog's handlers. But Halt didn't have time to focus on that for that advanced party was already upon him. Heart pounding, Halt found himself backing out into the middle of the clearing, facing off against about twenty Wargals.

Halt shot grimly into the fray, intent on catching anyone who got too close, knowing all the while that it wouldn't be long until they closed the distance between them, and he was in a bad position. He loosed four more arrows and four more Wargals fell. He then pivoted ninety more degrees and managed to drop three more Wargals before they got too close for him to use his bow effectively any longer. He just managed to sling it across his back and draw his two knives when the first Wargal reached him.

The rest, after recovering from the deadly volley, showed only a momentary hesitation before they too joined the fray. And now Halt was in trouble. He grimly faced them as they began to encircle him, but he wasn't feeling at all overly optimistic at the prospect of facing the remaining twelve with nothing but his two knives.

His mind was working overtime to try and figure a way out of this one, but he realized that the time for doing that had been before he had wound up in this position—opportunities that he had missed. Then he shrugged to himself. It looked as if his only option now was to fight. He glanced at the half-circle of Wargals advancing on him and then behind him towards the bluff at his back. He moved then, catching the blade of the first Wargal with his crossed knives then driving forwards into the creature.

As it fell, he stepped past it, breaking through the Wargals' line to get behind them. He moved to dodge the swipe of another one before sending it to the ground with a lightning reply from his saxe. He knew the only way for him to win this fight would be to keep moving and not to let them surround him. He downed another one, but the rest were getting wise to his tactics now.

Soon he found himself defending two fronts as two attacked him simultaneously from either side. It was then that he noticed something else that made him swear under his breath. The Wargals and men of the camp had finally gathered themselves and were streaming down from the mountain above him. He could also see one of Morgarath's human captains among them as well, driving them forward.

He needed to break free and get away before those re-enforcements made it down to the long flat ledge that he was currently fighting on in order to stand a chance. But he couldn't break free from the press around him.

The ugly sinking feeling only grew stronger. He couldn't afford to die here. He was the only one who knew what was wrong, what had happened. He was the only one with the knowledge to be able to fix this all before it was too late.

Suddenly, a hooded figure broke through the cover of the scant trees to his left. In his hands was a longbow and he shot with blinding speed as he moved forwards. Five Wargals fell—three dead and two wounded. That included the one that had been attacking Halt form the left and one that had been trying to sneak up on him from behind.

Halt took care of the one on the right. The newcomer got off one more shot before he reached the press of warriors. He slung his bow over his shoulder with one hand and unsheathed a sword with the other in a single fluid movement. He drove forwards into the Wargals. The speed and power of his slashing attacks cut through the creatures' defenses like a knife through butter. Wargals fell before him or reeled away, wounded. It gave Halt the distraction and pause he needed to regain the momentum of the fight he had been losing.

He moved to fight his way towards the newcomer in the hooded surcoat and leather armor. All the while, he felt an odd twisting feeling growing in his chest. The man's shape, bearing, and the way that he moved was so familiar. Halt instantly knew him… not from this time, but from the one he had left behind. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He had been told that his first apprentice was dead—yet here he was, alive.

"Gilan," he whispered, that twisted feeling turning into an ache of joy, longing, and an odd sense of apprehension as he caught another glimpse of his former apprentice. Soon they were fighting side by side. And though they had never so much as set eyes on each other before in this time, Halt felt an odd sense of familiarity. They fought almost as fluidly together as they had done in that other time.

Under their combined attack, the four remaining Wargals backed away and stood warily out of sword and knife reach. They were suddenly not so very eager to renew the attack on these strange two men who had caused them such casualties. This created a sudden lull in the fighting.

"I hope this isn't a habit of yours," Gilan partially turned towards Halt, a cheery and heart-achingly familiar grin on his face, "walking straight into Wargal encampments."

"Trying to walk away from them would be a better way to put it," Halt replied gruffly.

Gilan's smile widened at that before it froze; he seemed almost to frown at the sound of Halt's voice, looking momentary startled before he shrugged it off. Halt's moment of hope died away as he realized that there was no recognition. But he didn't have time for such thoughts now, he knew.

"See if you can start edging towards the left," Halt said, then. "If we can make it to the tree and boulder line before those reinforcements get here, we might stand a chance of getting away then. It could draw our four furry friends out to attack us."

"My thoughts exactly." Gilan nodded.

During this conversation, Gilan's sword had been up and pointed unwaveringly at the remaining Wargals. Together they began inching towards the trees. The Wargals, sensing their intentions, threw caution to the wind, just as Halt had predicted, and rushed them. Halt and Gilan moved to intercept them. Soon those last four were dead.

Halt looked up and then swore. They had been moments too slow. The first part of the Wargal reinforcements had arrived, cutting them off from the tree line and higher ground as they fanned out, creating an even more menacing half-circle than the previous one. And it grew ever more numerous as the beasts kept pouring down the slopes.

It was starting to look like their only option would be to surrender. At the same time, Halt knew that surrendering to Morgarath would probably lead them into a fate worse than death. He could tell by the set to Gilan's jaw that he was obviously thinking along the same lines. But before Halt could say anything, the human commander of the Wargals spoke.

"I think the best thing, foresters," he sneered, "would be for you to lay down your arms and surrender." He stepped forward a pace. "You see, when a larger force gets in position around a smaller one, it means that the smaller force is, what we like to call, surrounded. This army is far too big for two to fight alone. No one can succeed against the might of Lord Morgarath."

Gilan and Halt glanced at each other, each recognizing the other's refusal to surrender. Gilan turned towards the man then.

"Most everyone knows that Wargals molt seasonally. But what most people don't know is why." He picked a clump of Wargal fur off of his leather armor and flicked it idly away. "It's the heavy grease content. It clogs their pores and makes them shed."

Silence greeted his odd announcement. Halt stared at his onetime apprentice with an eyebrow raised. Gilan, seeming to notice the reaction for the first time, looked up, first at Halt and then at Morgarath's commander. The man was also staring at Gilan oddly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gilan said, his smile turning sharp, "I thought we were all taking turns announcing worthless information."

Halt's raised eyebrow rose further, though this time he could hardly keep the ghost of a surprised smile from his face. Though the remark was just a touch more scathing than the Gilan he remembered, it was still so familiar. He'd missed Gilan.

The captain snarled incoherently in range, albeit a little belatedly, as he finally understood the insult and directed his Wargals forward.

"I hope you have a plan a sharp as your tongue," Halt said mildly. "I don't recall deciding that it would be a good idea to antagonize this bunch."

Gilan merely shrugged. "We're outnumbered, surrounded, with nothing but a veritable cliff behind us. I have a sort of philosophy when it comes to situations like this."

"And what's that?" Halt asked suspiciously.

Gilan grinned. "To jump off the cliff. It'll be less messy that way."

The second eyebrow rose to join the first as he saw Gilan stoop to gather a large oval-shaped shield that had belonged to one of the Wargals in the first raid. And Halt realized what he was up too. He just had time to mutter darkly about totally mad former apprentices as Gilan ran for the ledge. Jump off the cliff indeed.

"You coming?" he called over his shoulder.

Halt glanced from his impulsive first apprentice to the hoard of murdering Wargals almost upon them and then shrugged philosophically.

"Why not?" he said then, racing after Gilan who threw the shield down and leaped upon it, Halt not moments behind him.

The momentum sent them towards the edge and then over it. The polished metal of the shield front skimmed over the surface of the snow and they were soon careering down the almost cliff-like incline at a speed rivaling that of any horse at a gallop. That crazy heart-gripping pace eased some when the slopes leveled a little. But still, they found themselves careening down the bald face of the snowy mountain. And the speed was breathtaking. Halt gripped the back of Gilan's leather shoulder armor, and Gilan griped the shield just as fiercely.

Halt chanced a quick glance behind them to see that the mass of Wargals was in pursuit, already jogging, sliding, and tumbling down the incline after them. He quickly turned his eyes back to the front, only to have them widen as his heartbeat increased. The angle they were currently headed down was going to lead them off an actual cliff.

"Lean left!" he yelled over the crunching sound of snow as the metal of their sled cut over and through it.

Gilan obliged without hesitation and their movement made it so that their shield curved in a slow ungainly 'u' shape away from the edge as they continued their rapid descent down the mountain. The Wargals were now hopelessly far behind them. The two of them flew over a two-meter rise. Halt was gripped by a sensation of weightlessness before they crashed back to earth again, the impact nearly jarring them both off the shield. Little pieces of ice and snow flew into Halt's face, making it so that he could hardly see. He knew that it was probably even worse for Gilan as he was sitting in the front. Registering this, Halt shouted steering directions to him.

Somehow the two men on their ungainly and wayward craft managed to make the breathtaking descent down the lower parts of the mountain face and towards then into the ravine-like path of Three Step Pass whilst avoiding most the more dangerous obstacles. Soon they were off the mountains and racing across the flat bottom of Three Step Pass—the speed of their descent combined with the slight angle of the ground kept them going forward at a pace now equal to a galloping horse. But it wasn't over yet.

Ahead of them, Halt could see the fairly low, yet formidable, wall that blocked the entrance to the pass: the very one he and Crowley had seen when they'd first arrived. Wargal sentries patrolled atop it.

It was the only way out and the gate was open. Halt directed Gilan to lean a little to the left so that they were heading straight for it. Even at that distance, Halt could see the Wargal sentries startle as they noticed the two speeding men on the sled. They moved immediately to close the gate.

Gilan, blinking back tears brought on by the stinging flying snow, saw it too. He swore softly. He then pitched his voice over the crunch of snow and hiss of wind.

"They'll close it before we make it through!"

Halt saw that he was right. Even if they stayed at this breakneck speed they still wouldn't make it in time.

"Now what?" Halt asked his one-time apprentice.

"I don't know," Gilan shouted back. "I didn't actually plan this far ahead."

"You don't know?" the scathing incredulous tone in his voice was unmistakable.

"I'm open to suggestions."

Halt stared blankly ahead at the wooden palisade that blocked the way to their only exit from these mountains. He watched the Wargals scrambling to close the gate and then his gaze settled on something else. There was a vat of oil perched on a tripod of rather flimsy pine. The lip of this vat stood just a little higher than the palisade wall. Its purpose was to dump hot oil on the heads of any invaders trying to enter the pass, Halt knew.

But inspiration truly struck when he saw the rope tied to a frame above it that was used to hold the vat upright and to aid in the tipping process. He had a desperate idea, possibly their only way out of this. But he would need a fire arrow to pull it off.

He had flint, but he didn't have any tinder to catch the sparks. And, at the speed they were going, they would need something highly flammable. They didn't have that either. He felt his heart rate accelerate as he floundered momentarily. What could he do? Then another question popped into his head. What was it that Gilan had said about Wargal fur—that the beasts had to shed it because it was so greasy? He looked down. There was a large clump of the stuff stuck in the shield's retaining arm strap. He grabbed it.

Gilan who had turned around to face him—as they had no need to steer on this flat stretch—saw what Halt had and his eyes widened as he caught on to Halt's plan.

"Do you think you can make a shot like that?" Halt asked.

He knew that the Gilan of the other time could do it without effort, but he didn't know about him in this time.

Gilan nodded instantly.

"I can. And, if you're doing what I think you are, you're shot would be much more difficult than mine."

Gilan took the large clump of greasy fur from Halt, tore a piece off the light shirt he wore underneath the leather armor and surcoat. He wrapped the cloth shred and the fur around the head of one of his arrows. Halt handed him the flint and he took it, already moving to strike some sparks and ground them in the Wargal tinder on the arrow. He used his body to shelter it from the wind of their forward motion. When he got it lit, he unslung his bow. Still sitting with his back to their forward motion, he waited. Halt meanwhile had un-slung his own bow and selected and arrow.

"Wait until I give the word," he said and Gilan nodded. Halt placed his arrow on the string and drew back; tilting his bow a point to the side as he would have done if he were one a horse, in order to compensate for his kneeling position. They were hardly more than fifty meters from the palisade now and the Wargals had already reached the gate to close it.

Halt took in the motion of their makeshift sled, the speed and direction of the wind, and then sighted and shot. His arrow slammed into the back leg of the tripod, followed in quick succession by another three. It caused the rather flimsy pine wood to buckle slightly inwards, ensuring that, once the tipping rope was severed, the oil would spill backward onto the walkway and the Wargals. He set his sight on the rope then: a much harder shot. He mentally viewed it while he breathed to steady himself. He adjusted his aim a hair and then shot again, knowing instinctively that the shot was good. He loosed another two arrows and the rope severed completely.

"Now!" he shouted to Gilan who turned, drew back, sighted, and shot in the same fluid motion. His fire arrow hit the vat of oil just as it tipped backward and set it alight. A waterfall of fire cascaded into the ranks of the Wargal patrols.

Their highly greasy fur caught alight as did the wood of the palisade itself. Halt could hear several of the creatures scream in pain and fear as they ran blindly to put out the flames and, in many incidences, bumped into their companions and set them alight too.

The result was instantaneous. The Wargals' sense of cohesion was shattered and they scattered, leaving too few of their number to continue shutting the heavy gates which were left aflame and half-closed. They hung open just enough as Halt and Gilan steered their sled towards and then through it at a speed far too fast to be stopped. They burst out into the open planes before them, leaving the palisade ablaze and smoking behind them.

They continued forward, gradually slowing until they hit a rock and were flung forward off the sled. Both of them rolled to lessen the impact. Halt landed a little way behind Gilan and he quickly rose to his feet. He hurried the few paces towards his former apprentice and bent to help him to his feet. As he did so, his eye caught on a small splotch of red staining the snow in the indentation that Gilan's body had made.

He ignored it for the time being as he and Gilan raced toward the cover of the trees at the edge of the plains and then into them. They did not stop running until they were sure that they were out of the Wargal's and Morgarath's men's reach. All the while they did their best to hide and cover their tracks, even going so far as to lay a few false trails. By then, the sun had set entirely. The two of them stopped in the shadow of a thick-trunked tree, nearly collapsing with exhaustion and panting to regain their breath. Halt's ankle was throbbing dully again.

Gilan cast a sideways glance at Halt once their breath was mostly back. His hood had fallen back from his face during their crazy escape and Halt could see a bright flash in his eyes that matched his grin. It made that ache in Halt's chest reappear.

"That was excellent shooting," Gilan said, his words wholly genuine. "I've never seen anything like it."

For a moment, Halt couldn't speak as he stared at the young man in front of him, still reeling over the fact he was alive, alive and standing there in front of him after all this time, after all, he'd heard.

In so many ways he was exactly the Gilan he remembered. Yet, in other ways, he wasn't quite exactly. There was something… harder about him. And there was something else that Halt couldn't quite put a name to: colder maybe? Guarded? Shadowed? It was almost as if he were looking at a slightly rougher version of him. If the Gilan he had known once was like the edge of a finely honed saxe knife then this one had edges that were more jagged and less polished.

At the same time, he was still that person that Halt had always known, that person that Halt had spent the better part of five years training and caring for, the person that he had once considered both friend and family—a person who would always have an extremely close place in his affections. It was all overwhelming and confusing.

But what was by far the worst, was the blank look in Gilan's eyes when they turned towards him. There was no true recognition there. There was respect, recognition of skill, and that odd familiarity that they had felt when they had fought so fluidly together; Gilan obviously had felt that strange sense of connection. And Halt could tell that it both intrigued and puzzled him. But there was no real depth to it, no remembrance, no true connection or friendship.

The respect and care in his eyes was little more than the passing affirmation and admiration of one with marked skills. It extended no further than the recognition of a kindred spirit, a possible ally. And that hurt. It hurt more deeply than Halt would ever have cared to admit. He'd already gone through this with Crowley and, in that moment, he didn't think he could go through that pain again. He couldn't do it again.

Ever since finding Crowley, he had known that this was the way it was going to this way whenever, or if, he ran into his old friends—the people he had cared so much about in that other time. He had thought he had prepared himself for it. But he realized now that there was really no way to actually prepare for it: to prepare for the pain of knowing and caring about someone, but knowing also that they could never quite return it. It was the pain of remembering a friendship and another life that no one else could.

The pleasure at seeing Gilan again, at knowing he was alive and well, was heavily shadowed by this pain. Gilan had been the nearest person to him when Morgarath's stone had gone off—if Gilan did not remember, then it was unlikely that anyone else would.

All these thoughts and feelings flooded through him in the few seconds it took for him to finally open his mouth to reply, not knowing exactly what he would say. Gilan solved the problem by beating him to it.

"You're a King's Ranger, aren't you?" he asked, nodding. "They don't often send you into Morgarath's lands." He grinned and held out his hand. "My name's Gilan."

Sorrow settled over Halt as he reached out in turn to clasp arms. Resigning himself to the disappointment, he made his expression a blank mask. "My name is Ha—" he started to say but never got the chance to finish.

A/N: Bit of a cliff hanger, sorry about that. But it will be resolved, mostly, next chapter. Also, next chapter will most likely bring more of the focus to Horace, Will, Evanlyn, and Crowley (perhaps Lady Pauline and Alyss too if I get ambitious). Anyhow thanks so very much for reading! Reviews are very appreciated, if you've a mind to leave one, I'd be most grateful. Constructive criticism or suggestions are welcomed as well. I'm always eager to learn how to improve my writing. Thanks again to all my readers!

I hope you all have an amazing day and I wish you the very best! Until next time!