Try as he might, Will could think of no way to solve the issue of the Kalkara.
He turned the problem relentlessly over in his head every night, tossing it around in his head as he tossed and turned in his bed. With every angle he tried, he always hit the same barrier: Will was...Will. Nothing but a fifteen-year-old peasant boy without even a last name. He would gain a little acknowledgement after the boar hunt - assuming it went the same time as it had last time - but even that would not change anything. He would still be an apprentice - an apprentice to Halt, yes, but still an apprentice. A first-year Ranger apprentice with no name for himself, no credibility, not even a single friend who trusted him.
Who would ever believe that?
No warnings Will gave would ever be heeded, because he was Will. He hadn't even remembered the name of the person who'd been killed! He'd had to ask Halt about all the major commanders and leaders around the time of Morgarath's war - something that had definitely weirded Halt out, but Will couldn't help it. When Halt had said the name of Lord Lorriac, something had clicked in Will's mind. Lord Lorriac. He was the next victim. Will had to save him - but how?
He could send an anonymous warning to Lord Lorriac, but even if it was believed, would that help? It would only delay the problem, not solve it. And if Lord Lorriac did believe him, if he sent soldiers out to find the Kalkara, Will would be responsible for their deaths. Besides, how could he send the warning in the first place? He'd have to involve Halt - and Will was back at the beginning, because Halt would not believe him, because Will was Will. Even if Will were not Will, even if this Halt were his Halt, Will's story was still unbelievable.
He had to face it: he had no way to save Lord Lorriac.
Will gritted his teeth, looking down at the dirt path as he followed Halt into the forest. No - no. There had to be something. He had a duty to try. In a few month's time, when the time came closer to Lord Lorriac's murder, Will would find some way to send a message. Until then, Will could do nothing but wait. Wait, and hope for an opportunity.
"Time you learned about the weapons you'll be using," said Halt.
They'd come to a stop in the once-familiar clearing. Will jerked out of his dark thoughts and glanced up at Halt. Weapons? Then that meant - his bow! Thank God, he thought. Finally! It'd been a week now since he'd started his apprenticeship and he hadn't had his bow - or Tug. Halt had instead begun teaching him unseen movement, history, and - ugh - mapwork.
Will had expected his apprenticeship to be easier this time around, but he'd found that was not the case. Beside the hanging dread of the Kalkara, Will had many other issues to be concerned with. His body still felt clumsy and awkward to him, and never had that been more apparent than on his first unseen movement lesson, five days ago. Will could have sworn he'd stomped on every single twig in the forest. He had wanted to scream from frustration. Halt hadn't seemed particularly annoyed - in fact, he had given Will one of his little, approving nods partway through. That hadn't mattered much to Will, though. Being good for a first-week apprentice was pathetic when Will had actually been an apprentice for almost three years now.
The history lessons had had their own challenges, although lesser ones to be sure. Will's main problem was the same problem he'd had before. How many of the conversations he had with Halt were important? How many of them would actually affect how Halt saw him, or worse, the chain of events leading up to Skandia? He knew he was already acting differently than he had the first time around. He simply couldn't help it. Will was honest by nature, and he was a terrible liar.
As for maps...
Yeah, Will still hated maps.
But they were outside now, a half-mile away from Halt's cabin in the familiar clearing Will had spent hours upon hours at. The sun had just peeked over the horizon. Will eyed Halt and jumped from one foot to the other, excited despite himself. He could finally get his bow back!
Halt eyed him with some amusement. "Impatient, are we?"
"It's been a week and we haven't gone over weapons at all," Will said. He couldn't quite keep a note of pleading from his tone.
"Alright, alright. We're going over them now. Slow down, youngster."
Halt withdrew a bundle from underneath his cloak and set it on the ground. Will's eager eyes instantly identified the distinctive shape of a recurve bow. He bounced a little on his feet as Halt unwrapped the bundle. He placed the recurve bow at Will's feet.
Will bent down and picked it up, running his hands over it lovingly. It looked exactly like his old bow - it was his old bow, in everything but actuality. The grip was not as worn and it didn't have the small collection of nicks and scrapes that his had had, but it was definitely the same bow. His practiced eye ran over it. It was quite the work of craftmanship. Halt would have taken quite a long time to create this. Recurve bows could take months to craft, unlike the relatively short time it took to craft a longbow.
"Did you make this?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Halt nodded. "It's called a recurve bow. You're not strong enough to handle a full longbow yet, so the double curve will give you extra arrow speed and power with a lower draw weight. I learned how to make one from the Temujai."
Will grimaced. "The Temujai?"
"Fierce fighting men from the east. And probably the world's finest archers."
"Not better than the Rangers!" Will said, affronted. He had faced them himself, and he had to say, there was no way they were better than Halt.
Halt eyed him. "Some of us, no. Some of us, perhaps. Particularly first-year apprentices who won't stop talking."
Will ducked his head and subsided. He ran his hands over the bow again. "Can I shoot it?"
"If you feel that's a good idea, go ahead."
Translation: that is a terrible idea.
Will tilted his head, wondering why. Then he remembered. Right! He didn't have a cuff. He had nearly forgotten; Will usually wore his at all times, as did most Rangers. He bent down, hands reaching towards the open bundle. Halfway there he stopped short. Looked guiltily up at Halt.
"Looking for something, are you?"
Will swallowed. How was he going to get out of this? Idiot! He screamed at himself. If you keep acting like this, Halt's gonna-
Well, thankfully, there was absolutely no way Halt would ever default to the truth, given how insane 'I am actually from two years into the future and have all the knowledge and skills of my former life' sounded. But, Halt would definitely be suspicious. He would find something, some sort of theory. At worst, he might even think that Will was some sort of Gallican spy. Come to think of it, that would actually be pretty bad...
"Well?"
Think, Will! "I-I grew up in the Baron's castle. I've seen some of the Baron's archers shoot and they have some sort of..."
Will gestured vaguely to his arm. "I was wondering if you had one, is all."
"If you had bothered to look," Halt said dryly, holding up his own arm, cuff showing, "you'd have seen that I am wearing one of them myself. But yes, archers do wear cuffs. It's to keep the bowstring from slicing into our arms when we release. Well, go on now. There's one for you in there, might as well put it on. I'd thought I might teach you a lesson on thinking before acting, but I suppose I'll save it for another day."
Will bent back down and retrieved his cuff, fitting it over his left arm. It was eerie how well it fit. He hadn't given it a second thought last time, but this time around he had to wonder - had Halt like, stolen into his room at night and measured him or something? He wasn't sure if the idea was more amusing or concerning. Then again, maybe Halt just had a really good eye for clothes measurements.
Again, Will was not sure if the idea was more amusing or concerning.
Alright, he thought, dismissing his thoughts and bending down to take an arrow out of the quiver by his feet. Don't mess this up. You have to act as clueless and unskilled as possible. You can't give Halt any more reasons to be suspicious of you.
He straightened, nocking the arrow onto the bowstring-
His fingers fumbled. The arrow skated off of the string. Caught by surprise, Will lost his grip on the arrow and it fell from his fingers, landing on top of his foot.
Well, he thought dryly. It turns out, I don't need to act clueless and unskilled. Looks like I just am.
Will let out a sigh. His shoulders drooped. Given how badly his first few unseen movement lessons had gone, he shouldn't have been surprised about not being able to shoot. He'd just been so usedto it, in Skandia. It had become as natural as breathing to him. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd retained something. But no. Only the head knowledge remained: years of Halt's quiet corrections, of blistered fingers, of aches and pains the next morning, of sweat drops on the ground.
"Come now," Halt said, stepping next to him. "You look like you just lost a war. This is your first time shooting a bow. Don't get too upset about it."
Will looked up. "I'm supposed to be an apprentice - a Ranger's apprentice. Your apprentice."
He realized, too late, that the emphasis on being Halt's apprentice in particular was not something Will should either know or care about. This Will was not supposed to know how important Halt was - that he was a close advisor to the King, that he had been instrumental in Morgarath's defeat, that he was the most renowned Ranger in the entire Corps. He was not supposed to care about the high, crippling pressure of being apprenticed to one so skilled.
Some days, Will could hardly bear up under its weight.
But, thankfully, Halt did not seem to notice Will's wording. "I hardly expect you to already know the skills of a Ranger. Otherwise, there would be no point in taking you on as an apprentice, would there?"
He paused, so Will mumbled out, "I guess not."
"I guess not indeed!" Halt said. "If you already had the skills to be a Ranger, we'd just appoint you as one and be done with it. Apprentices aren't supposed to be perfect. I certainly wasn't."
Will stared, surprised. Somehow the thought had never crossed his mind that Halt had had to learn, too. "You were an apprentice?"
Halt gave him a dry look. "No. I sprang into existence exactly the way I am now."
Will flushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He'd realized, a moment too late, just how stupid the question was. Of course Halt had been an apprentice once. Who hadn't? Well, at least one thing hadn't changed - he was still making a fool of himself.
"Here." Halt picked the arrow up, handing it to Will. "Look here. This notch clips onto the bowstring here. You'll pull it back..."
Halt put a hand over Will's hand in order to help him get the proper form. Will flinched away from him the moment his skin made contact.
Not my Halt.
The two looked at each other for a moment. Halt's expression was unreadable.
"S-Sorry," Will mumbled out, shuffling. "...surprised me."
He doubted the excuse fooled Halt. His master was very difficult to fool.
In any case, Halt proceeded on with the lesson, pretending the incident had never happened. He raised his own bow and gave a series of demonstrations, calling out his form and tips for Will as he did so. His form was perfect as ever, Will noted with admiration. He wished he could one day be as good an archer as his master.
Finally, Halt lowered his bow and nodded at Will. "Give it a go."
Will frowned intensely down at the bow. He had to get it right this time. Carefully, forcing his clumsy and unskilled fingers into submission, he nocked the arrow. He lifted the bow and sighted at a nearby tree. He started to pull back.
"Try to use your back muscles, not just your arms," Halt said. "Feel as though you're pushing your shoulder blades together."
Will's cheeks flamed and he hastily complied. Such a basic correction! He couldn't imagine how disappointed his Halt would be if he had to say that to him. Will quickly ran through his list of posture corrections. He tried to implement them as best he could, but with every correction he did, he felt something else go out of wack. It was infuriating.
"You can release the arrow, you know," Halt said dryly.
Sighing in defeat, Will did so. It hit the tree he had been aiming for, but two inches away from his target point.
"Hmm. Not bad."
What do you mean? That was horrible, Will thought, humiliated. Two inches off a target barely ten yards away from him? How could he still call himself a Ranger's apprentice with an aim like that?
"Alright, put it down for now," Halt said. He reached back into the bundle and produced Will's knives. "These are a Ranger's knives."
Will took them eagerly, happy to feel the familiar weight. It wasn't actually familiar to his hands, but Will ignored that as best he could. He wanted to strap them onto his belt immediately but knew that was a bad idea. He had already made enough mistakes.
Ugh. This "go back in time" thing was way harder than he'd expected.
"Take the top knife out," Halt said. "Carefully."
Will did. It was the throwing knife. He weighed it in his hand, trying to get used to its balance once more.
Halt briefly explained its purpose and demonstrated how to use it. Then he told Will to take out his saxe.
"This is in case your enemy gets to close quarters," Halt told him. "Although if you're any sort of archer, he never will."
Will held in a snort. He was reminded of that conversation he'd had with Horace and Gilan. What if an ax-man's coming at me, there's a sheer cliff behind me, and my bowstring's broken? What then, Gilan?
"It's balanced for throwing, but you can also block a sword stroke with that blade. It's made by the finest steelsmiths in the kingdom. Look after it and keep it sharp."
"I will," Will said softly.
"It's similar to what the Skandians call a saxe knife," Halt added. Will frowned in distaste of Skandians. "It's both weapon and tool - a sea ax, originally. But over the years the words sort of slid together to become saxe. Mind you, the quality of the steel in ours is a long way superior to the Skandian ones."
Halt showed him how to strap the scabbard onto his belt. "Now, all you have to do is learn to use them. And you know what that means, don't you?"
Will grinned. "A lot of practice."
The last of a set of arrows thunked into the target in front of Will. He lowered his bow and examined it. As usual, the results were not pleasing. Most of his arrows were still clustered around the outer edges of the target, with only two getting close to the center. None had hit it dead-on.
Will sighed, closing his eyes. It had been over a week since he'd started, and his fingers were still the clumsy, fumbling ones of an absolute beginner. Every arrow he shot grated against his nerves. He was beginning to get short-tempered over it, enough that he'd had to bite back several snappish remarks to Halt over the past several days.
"Not bad at all," Halt said from behind him. Will turned his head. He'd sensed Halt's presence several minutes ago. One of the few things he'd kept was his ability to sense others' presences. He certainly hadn't kept much else. "Your shooting is improving quite nicely."
That was high praise from Halt, but Will brushed it off with a frown. Improving it might be, but it was nowhere near where it had once been - and even further from where it needed to be. He glared restlessly down at his hands, curled around his bow. Blisters were only just beginning to appear - it would take weeks more before his calluses were back once more. The skin was still so untouched, so clean. The lack of his past scars bothered him every time he looked down.
"You seem upset," Halt noted. He came up beside Will, examining him carefully. "Is there something wrong?"
Will bit his lip and turned away. He ached to tell him. Will hated lying and was terrible at keeping secrets. If he'd thought that Halt would believe him, Will would have told him in a heartbeat. But Will had turned the story over in his head countless times over the past two weeks and never had he discovered a way to tell it that was believable. No. Will's tale was a madman's tale, and the telling of it would make him a madman.
"No, everything's fine."
"Hmm." Will could feel Halt's eyes on him. "You don't seem fine."
Will heaved a breath. Ugh. Halt wasn't going to let it go now that he'd latched on. Will knew him well - too well. Once Halt found something to be concerned about, he kept at it until it was resolved. Will had no choice but to give Halt something. He supposed it should be as close to the truth as possible.
"It just seems so...slow," he said finally, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt. "My progress. I'm not nearly as good of a shot as you are."
"You do realize that you have only been training at the bow for a week now," Halt said. "I've had my bow for a little longer than that."
Will huffed. "I know that, I just-"
He cut off, shaking his head. He heaved a long, frustrated sigh.
Halt was silent for a few seconds. "You're in such a hurry, boy. Progress will come, in time. You just need to be patient."
Will ducked his head and nodded, pretending that every time Halt called him 'boy' was not another stab to his heart.
"In any case, that's enough shooting for now. Let's go."
Halt motioned him down a small path on the edge of the clearing. Will frowned, tilting his head, but followed obediently. His tongue burned to ask what was going on, but he knew Halt was not about to tell him - not this Halt. Will's Halt would often tell him what was going on, deeming him worthy to know such things - and probably also tired of Will asking. It was yet another disparity.
They walked for about an hour. Halt pointed out several tracks along the way, and Will dutifully answered the questions he posed. It took until the outlines of buildings appeared in the tree-line for Will to realize what was happening. He caught his breath. A huge, giddy smile sprung to his lips. Tug! He was about to see Tug!
Will's legs twitched to run. He only barely kept himself from breaking out into a sprint. A wild joy raged inside his ribcage, begging to be let out.
"Hullo, Old Bob!" Halt called, stopping outside of Old Bob's hut and signaling for Will to stay silent.
A chair scraped back, then loud, stomping footsteps came up to the door. It opened, revealing Old Bob. Will wrinkled his nose. The man smelled just as bad as Will remembered. But, those keen eyes - so like the eyes of every Ranger horse - were the same as well.
"Morning to you, Ranger!" Old Bob said, despite it being past noon. "Who's this you've brung to see me?"
"This is Will, my new apprentice. Will, this is Old Bob."
Will smiled at Old Bob. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Old Bob chuckled good-naturedly. "Calls me sir! Hear that, Ranger, calls me sir! Make a fine Ranger, this one will!"
Halt grunted - whether at Old Bob's familiarity, disagreement over Will becoming a good Ranger, or impatience over seeing Abelard, Will couldn't tell. "Are they ready?"
Old Bob laughed again and nodded several times. "Ready they are indeed! Step this way and see them."
He took them around the back of the house. Will was practically skipping, scarcely contained excitement affecting every step. Halt threw him a raised eyebrow - and the slightest amused quirk of the lips. As they rounded the building, revealing the paddock and lean-to, Old Bob let out a piercing whistle.
"There they are, see?"
And there, indeed, were Tug and Abelard.
Abelard came immediately to Halt, who handed him an apple to crunch and murmured something into his ear. Will practically vibrated as Tug came up. He was rather unkempt, Will noted with a frown - he always kept Tug's mane better brushed than that! Well, he would be able to fix that very soon. He grabbed an apple from the same bin Halt had gotten his from. He reached it out to Tug but stopped halfway, quickly looking to Halt and Old Bob.
"Can I?"
Old Bob cackled. "Learns quick, this one does! Apples be the best way to get into this 'un's heart - or stomach! Go ahead, boy!"
Will did. He offered the apple to Tug. The little pony trotted over to him, eyeing him in much the same way as Halt often did. His brown eyes were curious: Who's this boy? they seemed to say.
"Hi," Will said softly. His heart felt about to burst. "My name's Will."
"This 'un's called Tug," Old Bob told him. "He looks about your size, don't he?"
He handed Will Tug's halter. Will took it and leaned forward, gazing into Tug's eyes. He had to blink back tears in his own. How he wished he could drop the halter and throw his arms around Tug's neck, bury his nose in Tug's mane and cry tears of joy on finally, finally being able to see him once more. How he had missed Tug! It had barely been two weeks, yet it felt like years.
"Well," said Halt. "What do you think of him?"
Will abruptly returned to reality. His mouth gaped open slightly as he hesitated. The recurring refrain of what do I say? had returned once more. Will could, vaguely, remember how he'd initially reacted to Tug. It would probably be best to keep that the same.
"He's rather small," Will said.
"So are you," came Halt's response.
"What! I - I am not!" Will cried indignantly, flushing. "I'm just...um..."
As he floundered about for a response, Old Bob wheezed. Will's cheeks grew hotter.
"He ain't no battlehorse, are he, boy?" he asked Will.
"Well, no," Will said. He kept his mouth shut against what he wanted to say. He's far better than a battlehorse could ever be.
"But he'll run any of those fine, fancy-looking battlehorses into the ground!" Old Bob said proudly. Will had to stop himself from giving a spirited agreement. "He's a strong 'un, this 'un."
He certainly is! Will thought proudly.
"He'll keep going all day, long after them fancy horses have laid down and died."
"I know he will," he said softly. He remembered the Kalkara, his long hours of journeying to reach Baron Arald, how Tug had borne him through without the slightest complaint. Old Bob did not even know how right he was about this horse, Will's horse. Will reached a hand out to stroke Tug's neck. The horse accepted his touch with equanimity.
"Why don't you see?" Halt asked, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're fast on your feet. Turn him loose and see if you can capture him again."
Will's lips quirked as he remembered what this was. Will humiliation incoming - except, this time, he knew what to do. He let go of the halter. Tug stepped back, tossing his head, and trotted lightly away to the middle of the paddock. Grinning, Will ducked under the fence. He started towards Tug. After a few steps, he hesitated.
He and Tug had often played this game: Will scrambling after Tug, Tug joyfully evading him. It had become a pastime for them, akin to playing fetch with a dog. Tug loved being able to outpace Will; Will loved playing with his horse, and especially loved the few times he had actually won and caught Tug. But - was now the time to do this? He glanced back. Both Halt and Old Bob were watching him intently. What if this just made Halt more suspicious?
Suspicious of what? He asked himself. Being able to catch a Ranger horse? I still wouldn't be able to ride one without knowing the password. All it'd mean is I'm fast - and I am, so Halt wouldn't be wrong to think so.
Besides. Will would most likely fail, anyway, like he usually did against Tug. Then he'd go and catch Tug the traditional way. At least he could have a bit of fun first, right?
He walked forward, mind made.
"Come here, boy," he started, the same words that always started the game. Tug tossed his head, unimpressed. The movement made Will's grin wider. Tug didn't know it, but that was how he had always responded to such a statement. The look in Tug's eyes was clear: make me.
Will started forward. Like always, as soon as Will reached a hand to Tug's halter, he reared away, dancing several yards to the right. Will followed. The game was afoot.
The two wove back and forth for several minutes. Will would leap forward, or lunge sideways, or dance back just in time, and come mere inches away from the rope. Tug would whinny in amusement and just barely evade him once again.
Then, right as Will was about to give up, it came. Tug had backed himself up to the enclosure, the fence framing him on one side. Will reached forward. Tug dodged left, as Will had known he would, side-stepping with phenomenal nimbleness. Will leaped.
His hand closed around Tug's halter.
"Hah! I did it!" he cried, jubilant. He spun around, beaming, to face Halt and Old Bob.
Halt's eyes had widened, ever so slightly, in shock. Old Bob outright gaped.
"I knew you were quick on your feet," Halt said slowly. "I didn't expect that."
"Well I'll be darned!" Old Bob said. He elbowed Halt in the ribs. "See, I toldya that boy'd make a darned fine Ranger, didn't I? He can even catch Tug, this 'un can!"
At that moment, Tug jerked his head up. The unexpected movement caused Will to lose his grasp, and instantly the horse bolted away. He whinnied, tossing his head at Will, as if to say, that was fun. Round two!
"Oh, come on!" Will told him, exasperated. "No fair, I'm not doing that again!"
"You know," Halt said, "if you just used your brain instead of your feet, there is a much easier way to catch him."
Will huffed good-naturedly, walking back towards him and Old Bob and the barrel of apples. He grabbed an apple and turned back to Tug.
"Come here, boy."
Tug came immediately. Will petted him as he ate, scratching that spot behind his ears that he loved. Tug nickered and headbutted him gently.
"They certainly taken a liking to each other quick, huh, Ranger?" Old Bob asked, cackling.
Halt grunted. Thankfully, he didn't seem suspicious. He probably just saw it as a stroke of luck, nothing more. "Will, it's getting late. Take Tug over to the lean-to and Bob can show you how to groom him and look after his tack. We'll stay with you tonight, Bob, if that's not inconvenient?"
"I'll be glad of the company, Ranger," Old Bob said, nodding. "Sometimes I spend so much time with the horses that I start to think I'm one myself."
As he spoke, he reached down and selected an apple from the barrel himself, raising it to his mouth and munching in the exact same way Tug just had. Will stifled a snort.
"We might be just in time," Halt told him dryly. "Then, tomorrow, we'll see if Will can ride Tug as well as catch him."
Will grinned. He couldn't wait.
That night, as he lay in the barn, listening to the soft breathing of Tug and Abelard, he gazed up at the ceiling sleepily. It had been a long, yet rewarding day. He had finally gotten Tug back - and, unlike with everyone else, with Tug everything was so easy. Already he and Tug were friends. It made him giddy just to think about.
He only hoped that, one day, Halt, Horace, Alyss, Gilan, and Evanlyn - all the other people he loved - would be the same.
