- CHAPTER THREE -
The Ghosts of Right Now

I wanna take you someplace safer
Pull your pain out with my teeth
I wanna take away the ulcers burning holes into your cheeks
And I wanna bring you back to water, turn your branches evergreen
I wanna take you someplace safer
I wanna leave

-The Wonder Years

"No!" Gilan's immediate reaction was to protest and try to shove his way in front of Will, but Morgarath just laughed coldly, a condescending smirk crossing his features as he pulled Will away from Gilan. Evanlyn's hand was torn from his grasp.

"As if you can stop me. And don't worry—you'll join him soon enough. When this battle's won, all you Rangers will be seeing quite a lot of each other in my dungeons, where you'll have the privilege of listening to each other scream." Morgarath sneered at Gilan and jerked Will towards his horse. Will struggled, half panicked, and Morgarath twisted his arm behind his back. Will bit his lip.

"Then take me instead!" Gilan shouted, ignoring Will's frantic headshake and wide eyes. "Leave him!"

Morgarath was about to reply when he was interrupted by a horse breaking through the circle of Skandians that had formed around the altercation. It was Chirath, one of Morgarath's wargal lieutenants who had learned basic human speech and mannerisms. "My lord," it said flatly, monotonously. "I am sorry to interrupt. The left flank needs your urgent attention." Gilan felt a surge of relief wash over him like a huge wave. Will was safe—for the time being. There was no way that Morgarath was going to drag a prisoner around the battlefield with him, and especially not a Ranger.

Morgarath, seemingly, had the same idea, and cursed loudly. Will winced as his shoulder was twisted behind him even further.

With one last surge of hatred, Morgarath shoved Will away from him and towards Gilan. The apprentice nearly lost his balance but he needn't have worried: Gilan caught him neatly and placed a steady hand on his shoulder as Morgarath looked to Erak. "Hold these prisoners, Captain," he threatened, "on pain of your life."

Then he turned to Will, fixing his eyes totally on the bright brown ones of the apprentice. "We shall finish this later," he said, words directed only at Will now, and Will felt a shiver of fear run up and down his spine. Gilan's hand tightened on his shoulder and oddly enough, Will felt somewhat reassured. Morgarath spurred his horse and turned sharply, moving away from the group at a fast trot. Chirath followed him obediently, leaving the Skandian party and their captives to their own devices.

Erak watched the retreating warlord with a dark eye. He muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath before turning to the rest of his crew. "That's it," he said. "We're getting out of here. We fight for profit, and when there's none to be had we skip." Murmurs of agreement came from the mouths of the Jarl's crew, and he nodded in satisfaction. He then looked at Will. He said nothing, but his eyes moved up and down appraisingly. He nodded once, in what, neither Ranger could tell—agreement? approval?—then turned to face his second in command.

"We leave as soon as we're able." He raised his voice. "Pack up camp! Be ready to move!"

Gilan's hand, Will realized, was still on his shoulder. "You all right?" the older Ranger asked in concern, and Will nodded.

"Fine." He took a deep breath.

Gilan heaved a long, drawn out sigh. "Well, you heard Erak. By the time this battle's done, we won't be here for him to find."

"Yes," Will replied sardonically, but his heart wasn't in it. If anything, he seemed muted. "Because we'll be headed for Skandia on a slave ship."

Gilan didn't reply. But he didn't remove his hand either.

Crowley approached the king's tent curiously. When he'd left the Ranger command tent, Halt had been sitting at a folding table surrounded by maps and scribbled figures. They had been the tent's sole occupants, and as such they made no efforts to pretend or put up appearances. His friend's intense, miserable silence was beginning to drive Crowley mad. And Crowley knew his continued presence was a distraction from Halt's efforts, if anything. So naturally, when he had been summoned to speak with Duncan, he had taken his leave without too much regret.

The guards standing outside the tent immediately allowed him access with nods of respect upon seeing his oakleaf. Crowley tucked the pendant back under his shirt collar with one hand and pulled back the tent flap with the other. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Crowley asked.

Duncan nodded from inside. The king was standing next to a replica of the battlefield, shoulders sagging as though a great weight had been forced upon them. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was just a little bit more haggard than usual. He nodded tiredly.

"Yes, Crowley. Come in—and please, sit down."

While he moved to do as the king asked, Crowley took a minute to study his old friend. A quick glance at the man and some might have said he was simply tired, but Crowley knew better. The king wasn't tired—he was exhausted. And more than that, there was an air of sadness about Duncan, one that had clouded over Araluen's leader the previous day and most likely wouldn't leave until his daughter was returned safely to him.

In other words, he had much in common with Halt.

"What did you wish to discuss with me?" Crowley asked upon taking the empty seat in front of the king. Duncan sighed deeply.

"I have a matter of importance to bring up. I'm sorry to do it in this manner, however." Crowley waved off the apology, growing more curious as the king went on.

"It's no matter. Anyone in your position would do the same."

He regretted the words almost as soon as they had left his mouth. Well-meaning as they were, sorrow came across Duncan's face instantly when he heard them. "Unfortunately, it is my current position I need to talk about." Crowley refrained from biting his lip. Oh. "I must apologize to you—and to everyone else who is helping me command this war."

Now that, of all things, Crowley hadn't been expecting.

"For what, sir?" he asked, surprised. Duncan sighed again.

"I know I've been neglecting my duty as a leader, and my duty as King—don't bother telling me it isn't true, because I know it is. I've allowed myself to wallow in my own grief, put myself before this country. Such actions simply are not permissible for a leader. And I must apologize to you for them." Duncan ran his fingers through his hair, which seemed to have gotten grayer overnight. "I also swear that from this moment on, things will be different."

"No one expects you to remain unaffected, sir," Crowley said respectfully, but Duncan shook his head.

"It's my job as King," he said in simple terms. "I have to carry on for my country."

The two men fell into a solemn silence. The only sounds were of battle preparations outside.

Crowley finally decided to break the silence. "You're not alone in your grief, you know."

Duncan looked up. "I understand," he replied, weary. "There are other fathers grieving the loss of their sons, and their grief is no lesser than mine. We're fighting a war, after all." Crowley, however, shook his head in polite disagreement.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

The Ranger pursed his lips and hesitated a bit before replying. "Halt has lost much as well…"

"Yes!" Duncan exclaimed, voice rising in volume. He stood and began pacing. "Yes, he lost his apprentices. I have lost my daughter—my only daughter…" His voice wavered slightly, and Crowley felt real pity for him. Crowley was fond of the princess, as well—he watched her grow up, and she was a spunky, likeable figure with significant integrity. But that didn't change the amount of pain he felt for his best friend, who was suffering more than anyone apart from Crowley would ever know.

"Halt takes his role as a teacher very seriously, sir," Crowley said quietly. "I believe he understands more than you think." He, too, rose from his seat. "Now if I may?"

Duncan fell back into his seat, puzzled, but didn't press the matter. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're busy. I know."

Crowley stood and, after a polite nod to the king, exited the tent. Duncan was suffering. Halt was also. Yet the fact that Halt's relationship with his apprentices went deeper than most wasn't any of the king's business. If Halt wanted to tell him that he, too, had lost sons to this war then so be it.

Until then, Crowley would keep his friend's secret.

Halt stared down at the map. A master tactician, he could almost see the battle unfolding in his mind's eye. The Araluen forces had numbers and cavalry in their favor. Not only that, they had the element of surprise, thanks to the Araluen "Skandians" that would be waiting over at Thorntree to give Morgarath a nasty surprise.

And, of course, they had the Hammerblows. Sir David's addition. The technique was his brainchild, one he'd developed and drilled during his last few months alive. The Araluen forces had stacked advantages that could very certainly give them the decisive victory they needed. It was very like David, Halt thought, to be taken from them and still find a way to win them the battle.

Possibly win them the battle.

Halt knew many things. He knew that self-doubt was a disease. And he also knew that overconfidence was a deadly trap. Of course, there were two elements the Araluens couldn't possibly account for. One was Morgarath himself. The Dark Lord was always a wild card—formulaic in some ways, hopelessly unpredictable in others. The only thing certain was that he had some sort of revenge scheme in mind. The other wild card was, of course, his wargals. Any humans are automatically at a disadvantage when their enemies are soulless, no matter their numbers, and the sheer brutality of the wargal mass fighting style could be enough to overwhelm the Araluen soldiers.

Was it only a month ago Will had struggled to shoot at a wargal?

Halt couldn't help the way a corner of his mouth turned up at the memory. He knew how much the incident had troubled his young apprentice. If anything, however, it had been a source of comfort to Halt. Will had lost his nerve to shoot the wargal not because he lacked courage but because he was a good person—because the thought of taking a life even half-human was abhorrent to him. Yes, Will was a Ranger, and Rangers took lives. They did what they had to do. They did their duty, and Will would have to learn the same as anyone. But the incident had been a sign that Will wasn't quite so grown up yet, that he wasn't jaded and accustomed to killing, that he saw no glory in battle. He was just trying to do the right thing.

Halt's smile vanished. Will had always been one to do the right thing. And he had the feeling that when he saw his apprentice next—for he would see him, and hold him and scold him for giving them all such a fright—that Will would seem much more grown up than he had been that day.

Halt refocused his attention on the battle map. This would work. It had to.

I changed this chapter's song during the rewrite; it's "The Ghosts of Right Now" by The Wonder Years, from their album Sister Cities.