Tomorrow came in the dark.

The heavy wooden door banged open, and a bellow of "Up, up and out!" woke any who had not startled awake at the door.

"Get up, boot and belts, no weapons, no cloaks. Get your lazy asses up!"

It was Faelon, of course. She had been warned, as they all had. They'll try to startle you, make you stumble over yourself, make you doubt your own words. And they'll try to make you think only of yourself, of your own pain and your own survival. They'll try to make you forget that those around you are your brothers, and your survival depends on theirs. They will try to break you apart. Don't let them.

She rolled over, blind in the dark, and felt with her feet for the middle bunk and then the lower, felt her foot knock against something yielding, grunted an apology to Hannas below her. Feet at last solid on the floor, she groped for her boots and panicked for a moment when she could not find them, though of course they were tucked in the corner where she had placed them the night before. Jostling and soft curses in the dark, and a sharp hiss as her shin caught the corner of a bench, but at last she made her way to the door. Which belt is mine? No way to tell now. She grabbed one at random, fastened it around her, and stepped out into the morning.

It was dim and damp, but the eastern sky was gray, and the outline of Faelon black against it.

"Why are you alone?" Low, and the fury in it was more terrible than any shout. "Where are your brothers?"

I have only sisters…and then cursing herself silently for a fool, she choked out, "Yes, sir," and ran back into the barracks. It was not the response to the question he had asked, but rather to the command he had not given. Find your brothers. Do not come here without them.

Well, that was stupid, she thought, even as she stood in the half-light by the door, and murmured to one and another who would pass, "Not yet. Not until we're all ready." Father taught me better than that. And then clear in her mind, Silevren's voice, in the Hall at night, as the crowd pressed close: 'The Wild is cruel to a Ranger alone, but together, my brother, we're strong.'

"We'll go out together." Nods and soft sounds of assent, but no other words, and when they at last numbered twelve, they went out into the dawn.

Faelon stood with his arms crossed as they gathered in a ragged group around him, waited in silence until at last they stopped shifting. In the stillness, broken only by the faint early call of a bird, he snorted.

"That was pathetic. If I had been an enemy, you'd all be dead by now." Then he smiled, thin and mirthless. "Seems like you're still asleep. Let's run."

They ran. Across the packed dirt of the practice ground, past the hall and the houses of the village, where folk were just beginning to stir in the midsummer dawn. Faelon called a greeting to the guard as they came to the gate, growled at the trainees to open it, and clumsily they did, pulling back the massive timbers with a creak of hinges.

"We may be a while," he called up loudly to the guard, and the man chuckled.

They had brought nothing with them, of course, and Miriel was glad she had eaten so much the night before, for she was not hungry, though her mouth was already dry. Maybe he will let us drink at the river…

He did, but then they kept going, up the steep slope on the other side and on toward the rising sun. They were only jogging now, and Hannas and a boy lagged behind. Learned my lesson once this morning, she thought. Ignorant, maybe, but I'm not stupid. She slowed and fell back through the group until she jogged alongside the stragglers. The boy was Thalion, one of those she had known slightly before the trials, for though he was from Ladrengil, several days' journey to the south and east, he had family in Elenost and often came with his father to visit them. He said nothing to her as he struggled along, nor did Hannas, and the glance he flashed her was almost angry. But he picked up his pace a little, and perhaps those in front slowed a little, and the gap narrowed and then closed until they were together. Faelon was in front, and he kept his pace, and the gap that now opened was between him and them. He let it widen, then called back over his shoulder, "Keep up. In the Wild, if you can't run you die." They shuffled a little faster, but still together, and the gap remained. "I said keep up! It wasn't a suggestion."

Miriel heard Hannas breathing hard beside her, heard also the slight gasping that meant she was close to tears. "Go to the front," she said in a low voice. "Set the pace and we'll follow."

Hannas glanced at her sharply but said nothing and stayed where she was.

"Go." More forceful this time, and then to those in front, still in an undertone so that Faelon might not hear, "Make a hole." There was some confused shuffling, but they moved aside, and the way opened. Hannas and Thalion glanced at each other. Thalion nodded, and Hannas gasped, "Let's go," and together they moved through the group, and the gap closed behind them.

And when Faelon next looked back, something like a smile flickered briefly over his lips.

They left the road at the edge of the River Wood, perhaps five miles from the village, where the road began climbing up into bare grassy downs. Gaerferin lay that way, two days' journey further on, for the road wound across the downs and then down into another valley filled with beech and birch trees, beside another small river. Miriel had been there once with her father and Darya, for her father's sister had married a Ranger from Gaerferin and lived there with her children. And as they turned off the road, Miriel remembered what it was that had brought them to the village, for they had not traveled alone. They had been with her aunt and two young cousins, a girl of perhaps five and a toddling boy. But not with her uncle, for his star was on the wall, and they accompanied his young widow home so she did not have to travel alone. That had been three years ago, and Miriel had not seen her since, though Sirhael had made the journey several times, in spite of his lame leg. And then she thought, Hannas must know her. Father will be glad of news.

But they turned off the road to Gaerferin and went south along the edge of the forest at the feet of the downs. They went more slowly on the rough ground, and Hannas did not struggle so much; indeed she seemed almost glad to set the pace. When the sun was high overhead, they reached a stream that flowed down out of the hills, splashing over stones into a clear pool before flowing silently into the trees. They stopped long enough to drink and to cool their flushed faces in the water, but no longer, and then Faelon led them into the forest.

There was no path, but they followed the stream until the downs were far behind them. Miriel had little sense of how far they had come, but the stream seemed to be flowing as much south as west, though it was hard to tell in the shadows of the trees. She wondered where Faelon was taking them. At last they stopped in a little clearing, amid trees so tall the westering sun lit only a small part of it.

They stood in a ragged half-circle facing Faelon, and no one spoke, their hoarse breathing the only sound aside from those of the forest.

"Where are we?" Faelon was not breathing hard, nor did he seem weary, though sweat gleamed on his face.

No one answered. In the River Wood, somewhere south of the road and east of the Taeg. Boundary, it meant in the old language, for it had once marked the limit of power of the lord who ruled from Elenost. But that was not the answer he wanted, and she knew it.

"Which way is the village?"

This she thought she knew, or close enough. But close enough is not close enough. Instinctively she knew getting home was not the point. Given enough time, they could all blunder their way back to the village. The point is to pay attention, so there is no need to blunder.

"That way."

It was Hannas, her thin arm stretched out toward the trees. It was in the general direction Miriel would have guessed, but farther north. Better too far north than too far south, though. At worst, we'll hit the road. And then, Does she really know? Or is it a guess, to make up for being slow?

Faelon smiled thinly. "Very well. Lead on."

Startlement flashed in Hannas's eyes, but she did not hesitate, and with Miriel at her shoulder, she plunged into the woods.

The going became easier as they left the stream behind, for under the ancient forest there was little sunlight, and so underbrush would not grow. They clambered over many fallen trunks, some fresh enough that they still had their bark, others crumbling beneath their feet with rot. There was the occasional trickle or boggy patch, and at times great stones loomed before them, soft with moss. But Hannas did not falter, leading them with surprising swiftness and coming back without hesitation to her way after every check. Miriel tried to keep track of the sun, but aside from a sense that they were going generally west, she could gather nothing from it. Yet at last, after how long a time she could not guess, another sound began to whisper beyond the rustle of leaves and the calling of birds. Water. Soon there was no mistaking it. The ground began to slope downward, gently at first and then steeply, and at last they clambered down over rocks to the edge of the river.

It was perhaps twenty yards across, not swift but deep, and so early in the year she knew it would be cold. When they were all there, Faelon swept his gaze deliberately over the river, and then over them. "Who can't swim?"

It was required of Rangers, for river crossings in the North were many and bridges were few. Most children of the Dunedain learned to swim, at least enough to splash and dive in pond or stream with their mates. But not all, and playing in a pond was not the same as swimming a river. Miriel was a confident swimmer, as was Meren, but she knew Lain was not, and Tarag was well-known among the children of Elenost for refusing to go near the water.

For a moment after Faelon's question, no one moved. Then slowly, not looking at the others, Tarag raised his hand. A swift glance at Miriel, and then Lain did as well, and Morfind, the black-haired boy from Ladrengil.

Faelon looked around the group, stopped at Hannas. "And you, girl?"

"I can swim." Her voice was quiet, but she met his eyes steadily.

"Can you carry another?"

She hesitated a moment, but then, "Yes."

He looked at her hard, but then nodded. "Lain, go with her. Who else?"

Calen took Tarag, for he was taller than the others. Meren nudged Miriel, and she stepped forward to stand by Morfind. He glanced at her dubiously, but she smiled a little, and hoped it was reassuring. She could swim well, it was true, and they had often played games of carrying each other across the pond, races even, and she and Meren nearly always won. She pulled him, for though he could swim, they both knew she was better. But this is farther, and colder, and with the current… Shut up and do it.

Faelon gestured to Hannas, and then to the water. "Well, go on." Hannas and Lain glanced at each other, and then without a word they waded in.

Faelon stayed on the bank as they crossed, watching narrowly. It made Miriel feel a bit better, for surely he would rescue any who looked near drowning. But not until they've nearly gone under, not if I know the Master. And in the Wild there will be no Master. The water was breathtakingly cold at first, but the shock faded quickly, and she and Morfind made it across without trouble, for he held onto her lightly, as she instructed, and did not clutch or flounder.

Tarag was a different matter. He was breathing fast before his feet even left the bank, and he tried to clamber further up on Calen's shoulder and nearly pulled him under. There was thrashing, and words those on the shore could not hear but guessed well enough, and when at last they reached the far bank, Calen dropped him in the shallows and left him to make his own way onto dry land. Calen was gasping, even shaking a little, and he sat down heavily on a rock. Miriel, still shivering but otherwise recovered, crouched beside him. Mindful of his earlier prickliness, she did not touch him but asked in a low voice, "Are you all right?"

He did not look at her, but nodded. "Scared me a little, that's all."

Then she did lay a hand on him, and he glanced at her and then quickly away, and she squeezed his shoulder gently before rising and moving down to help Meren out of the river.

He was the last, and Faelon came behind, stroking swiftly through the dark water, and he rose dripping and panting a little, but for the first time since the trials had begun the day before, the smile on his face was warm and real. "I've seen worse. Let's go home." He nodded to Hannas, and dripping and shivering though she was, she answered with a crisp, "Yes, sir," and set off without hesitation into the woods.

At last the lowering sun glimmered through the trees ahead of them, and Miriel knew they were coming to the edge of the forest, and her heart beat a little faster, with hope and with apprehension. But when they came out of the trees, she nearly laughed, and nudged Hannas with her shoulder, grinning broadly. There before them, not half a mile away across the fields, lay the village, smoke from the cookfires rising into the still summer afternoon. Hannas glanced at her, a smile edging her lips, though it vanished as Faelon came up behind. He did not look at her, said only, in a low voice, "Not bad, girl," and strode off across the rough pasture land, the trainees following wearily in his wake.

They were hot despite their wet clothes, scratched and very hungry. Yet they held their heads high, and the guard whistled, loud and deliberate, as they came through the gate. "I thought you said you'd be back late, Master. Beleg told me not to expect you until near dark."

"I thought I would."

"You're going to have to try harder with these ones."

"Hah. So I will. This is going to be fun." There was mirth in his voice, but it was cold, and they dared not smile.

But he let them eat, and then gave them the rest of the evening off. "Dry your clothes, and your boots. You won't want wet boots tomorrow."

Miriel was tired, but not exhausted. Not yet. She had caught Silevren's eye in the Hall as they ate, and the older woman's slight nod. Not yet. She smiled thinly, and touched Hannas on the elbow as Faelon strode away and the trainees began to drift apart. "Come with me." Hannas raised her eyebrows in question but said nothing, and she followed Miriel out behind the barracks to the practice ground.

Silevren was sitting with her back to the weapon shed, two wooden swords on the grass beside her.

"Haven't thought the better of it yet? And you even brought a friend. Good." And before Miriel could reply, her voice changed, and the crack of command pushed Miriel's body into motion before her mind was aware of it. "On your face."

She dropped to her belly in the dirt, Hannas beside her. When she raised her head, Sileveren was on the ground as well, facing her.

"I will count the cadence, you will count the repetitions. Twenty-five. Push up. Down."

"One."

"Down. Slowly."

"Two."

"Down."

"Three."

"Slower. Down."

By the time she reached fifteen, her arms were shaking, but somehow she kept going until she gasped out, "Twenty-five," and collapsed into the dirt. Hannas had failed at seventeen, and lay on the ground panting.

"On your feet." Silevren's voice was strained, but there was no pity in it. "To the wall and back. Go." Without waiting, Silevren ran.

They lurched to their feet and staggered after her, arms aching with the effort of moving back and forth. Silevren reached the wall first, touched it, and turned back. When she passed Miriel she met her eyes, and the faintest of smiles crossed her face.

When they returned to the grass by the weapons shed, the older woman was waiting.

"Twenty." And she dropped to the ground.

Stifling a groan, they followed her.

Then it was another run, then fifteen, then ten, then five, then squats with a sandbag over their shoulders. When that was done, she dared to hope it was over, but then she saw the wooden swords lying still unused in the grass and knew it was not. A small part of her was gratified to see Silevren too moving stiffly as she bent to pick up the swords. She tossed one of them to Miriel and another to Hannas. Miriel caught hers awkwardly and moved to the ready.

"No. Left hand. Up." Silevren lifted her own sword until her arm was parallel to the ground and pointing straight in front of her. "Steady," she growled, as their arms began to shake. "Circles." She moved her arm at the shoulder until the tip of the sword made small circles in the air. "Now out to the side. And circles."

The muscles of Miriel's shoulder and back burned, and her whole body shook with the effort of keeping the sword in the air. Just when it seemed she could hold it up no longer, Silevren's voice came again.

"Switch hands. Up." And she did it all again on the right, and then again on the left. When at last she lowered the sword for the third time, Miriel was sure she could not have lifted a broom handle.

"Your left will never be as strong as your right. But it must be strong enough to hold a sword, so when your right arm is broken, you can fight on. Better a broken bone than a dead Ranger, eh?"

Miriel nodded. From the sag of her shoulders, she knew Silevren was weary. She has twenty years on you, girl. You're pathetic. And anger gave her strength.

Silevren saw it and smiled. "Got one more in you?"

"Of course."

"Yes, mistress."

"Good." Gesturing them to follow, she moved to the high bar. "Belly to bar, fifteen of them, and then we're done."

Miriel groaned. But in spite of herself, she grinned a little at the challenge in Silevren's voice. "Yes, mistress." And they began.

She made it to eight, and Hannas managed only three, before their shoulders gave out. They dropped to the ground and bent over, gasping for breath, arms hanging limply at their sides.

"Take a break," rasped Silevren beside her. "Shake out your arms, and try again."

And she did. "Nine." But she failed again on ten.

"Pace yourself. Know your limits. Know when you need to rest, and for how long. Know where the edge is."

"Ten. Eleven." The rests became longer, but she did not fail again, until at last, she gasped, "Fifteen," her arms locked out, her body poised, the bar pressing hard against her stomach. She pushed back, released her grip, and dropped to the ground.

Silevren had finished before her, though not by much. She sat on the ground, knees drawn up, arms clasped loosely around them. When Miriel flopped down beside her, she turned to meet her eyes.

"Still alive?"

"Just about. You?"

"Looks like."

They sat together without speaking as the pounding of their hearts gradually slowed, and their breath came back under control. They waited for Hannas to finish, and at last Silevren unfolded her body and pushed herself stiffly to her feet. She reached down a hand. Miriel took it, and Silevren pulled her up, and then Hannas.

"Not bad for a start. Go clean yourselves up, and get some sleep."

Though her aching body screamed against it, she asked, "Shall we come again tomorrow?"

Silevren shook her head. "I think Faelon has…something in mind for you all tomorrow evening. I'll see you the day after." She chuckled dryly. "I'll need the extra day after this."