- CHAPTER FOUR -
To Hear You Call My Name

I've been so afraid, afraid to close my eyes
So much can slip away before we say goodbye
But if there's no other way
I'm done asking why

-Tenth Avenue North

It felt as if they'd been walking for days.

After Erak's pronouncement, the Skandians had packed up camp in an impressively short time, and in a quick hurry they were off. Gilan supposed quick getaways came with the territory of being a pirate. There had been a quick skirmish with a band of wargals at one point—Gilan was hazy on the details, since the only course of action for the unarmed Araluens had been to crouch behind a rock outcropping and hope the Skandians drew all the attention. But it was over quickly. There was only one Skandian casualty—a man named Nordal, Gilan thought he remembered—and there were no wargals left alive to spread the word. So now they were well and truly off.

It was hot, for early June, and the summer sun beat down uncomfortably on the mismatched group. Their feet were sore and tired—for while they hadn't been walking for days, they hadn't stopped in hours, and while it wasn't the Ranger forced march pace this was still nothing to laugh at.

Of course, Gilan was having a hard time finding anything to laugh at right then.

He might be the most junior Ranger in the Corps, but he was far from naive. And for all his youth, Gilan knew Will wasn't either. They both wore oakleaves. They both knew the risks they would face when they took their oaths, and both had made them anyway. This sort of eventuality was something they'd prepared for. Or something Gilan had prepared for, at least—Will was still on the young side for captivity training. Apprentices didn't usually start that until year three.

Well, he thought with a dark optimism, at this point maybe Will would be able to skip that particular course when the time for it came.

And however their current predicament threatened to overwhelm him, that wasn't all he worried about. What of the battle? Obviously something had taken place, now that wargals were milling directionless around the Plains. That certainly seemed to be a positive sign. But if there was a battle, and if they had won, how? What happened? Where was Morgarath, and, more importantly, where was Halt? The very thought of something happening to his old master was enough to send shivers racing up and down Gilan's spine. He wished now more than ever that he was back with his old mentor in the battle's aftermath—if for no other reason than to be a set of eyes at his back. But he had made his choice, back at the bridge.

As a Ranger, very rarely was Gilan excluded from information. Now, uncertainty made his mouth go dry.

He glanced at his side. Will was holding up well, for someone with a concussion who had very nearly been taken as a plaything for the Dark Lord. And Evanlyn was composed as well. She was a puzzle. But not one to be solved under such circumstances, Gilan thought. Priority one was protecting his companions. Priority two was staying alive. Priority three was escape, if an opportunity presented itself.

And so they marched.

Halt searched desperately through the crowd of wargals, only one thought on his mind. Find Will and Gilan. The strange bestial creatures milled about aimlessly now that there was no one to control them, but Halt paid them no heed. He knew that his apprentices had been here—or at least, somewhere near here. Morgarath's taunting words from the battle were stuck in his head, replaying over and over again.

Scrawny little thing. Almost threw him back.

Should've taken better care of your whelp, Halt.

What do you think the older one would do to protect the boy?

Halt renewed his efforts, pushing and shoving his way through the seemingly endless sea of wargals.

Not that it will matter, in the end.

To be taken away, now, when he was so close… He couldn't let that happen. He had to find them.

A groan off to his side. Halt's head whipped toward the rocky outcropping the sound had come from. He nudged Abelard in that direction. It could be nothing. Or it could be something. At any rate, it was a human sound, and Halt wanted to see to it that the person was either looked after (if he was a friend) or subdued (if he was an enemy).

His breath caught as he rounded the outcropping. It was a Skandian. Wounded, laying on the ground, bloody fingers scrambling for the ax that rested just outside of his reach.

Halt swung off the saddle. "I mean you no harm," he said clearly, approaching with outstretched hands. He kicked the ax closer to the Skandian with one foot.

The Skandian's fist closed around the ax handle, and his eyes closed in relief. "Thank you," he murmured. Halt nodded. He was no friend of Skandia, but Skandians were fierce and courageous fighters, and he respected and admired them. He would never condemn one to an eternity of wandering in the afterlife.

Halt frowned. Morgarath had hired Skandian mercenaries. Maybe—. He leaned down. "Did you see three Araluens, here? Three, a young man and a boy and a girl?"

"Boy…"

Halt resisted the urge to shake the dying man. "Yes! The boy! Where is he?"

The Skandian let go a rattling breath. "The fens…"

Halt nodded. The fens would make sense. He had never known a Skandian to put himself in a position without a quick getaway. "Thank you," Halt said sincerely. The man nodded, eyes slipping closed.

Halt stood and whistled to Abelard behind him. The faithful horse came to him quickly, as if he sensed his master's urgency. "Come on, boy," Halt whispered in his horse's ear. He swung himself up into the saddle and set Abelard forward at a fast pace. Even in their mindless state, the wargals' fear of cavalry was very much still present, and they parted in a panicked state as Abelard cantered ahead, gathering speed with every stride.

Morgarath was dead, but his words echoed through Halt's mind. You might as well tell yourself they're already dead. It'll be easier that way.

"Faster!" Erak called, pointing toward the edge of the trees. "There."

"Obviously," Will muttered under his breath, and Gilan sent him a warning glance. They weren't in any position to voice their thoughts in such a way. The Skandians, however, didn't even so much as look Will's way. Maybe they were concerned about being followed? Gilan didn't know.

The dirt underfoot began to slowly turn to sand. The knot of tension in Gilan's stomach grew larger and larger with each passing second. He wasn't a religious person by definition, but still he found himself praying (to whom, he wasn't sure) that Halt was all right, that he was coming, that he would be able to save them from this nightmare. The alternative to any of those was unthinkable. Not with more people than himself to worry about.

They came to the edge of the treeline, and Will wasn't able to hide his gasp. The ocean stretched out big and blue in front of them, sunshine bouncing impossibly bright off its far waves. Even now it was beautiful. Had Will never seen the sea? Gilan wondered. Then he shook himself. Will was from Redmont, an orphan; of course he'd never seen the sea.

But there was no more time for wonder. The Skandians were speeding up.

"There's a skiff by the beach," Erak said. "That'll take us to the ship." Despite the view in front of them Will glanced backward, and Gilan resisted the temptation to do the same. If Halt came, they'd know. When Halt came, they'd know.

To most people, the fens were impassable. Thick, dense, swampy forests with no real pathways created a perfectly impossible maze enhanced by a lack of sunlight and the quicksand patches that had a nasty habit of cropping up when one least expected them. Most people said that there was no way through them.

But most people weren't Rangers—and most Rangers weren't Halt.

He and Abelard had been forced to slow down once they entered the thick tangle. The Rangers knew their way around the fens reasonably well, but that didn't mean Halt was able to just charge through the middle. Abelard was always at risk of falling into a patch of quicksand, and several times Halt had been forced to dismount and take the reins so that he could guide the horse around them. It was slow going.

Abelard picked up his head and whinnied. Alarmed, Halt turned on his heel, knife in his hand, but there was near danger. Halt paused and breathed in deeply. There—a sea breeze. Abelard had picked it up. The fens were thinning.

"Merci, bon ami," he murmured, scratching Abelard in between the ears. Instead of snuffling in pleasure as he normally would have, however, the little horse tossed his head in the direction of the beach. Hurry up! he seemed to be saying. Halt nodded, acquiescing the point.

"Let's go."

Halt's coming. Halt's coming. Halt's coming.

Will repeated the mantra in his head over and over. Halt's coming. Halt's coming. He had to be. He wouldn't leave them. And he wasn't dead. He couldn't die. Not now, not ever.

He risked another glance at the tree line behind them. Nothing had changed—no sudden disturbances. No one was there.

A Skandian smacked the back of his head, and Will saw stars. Gilan grabbed at his arm and steadied him so that he wouldn't stumble. Will concentrated on the light pressure of Gilan's fingers. "Eyes up front," Gilan muttered, not unkindly, and Will obeyed. The skiff was getting closer and closer.

Halt's coming. Halt's coming. Halt's coming.

"What the devil—" one of the Skandians swore, and Will heard a noise from behind him.

Halt nudged his heels into Abelard's sides, urging him into a full gallop. In front of him, he saw Will turn towards him. He shouted out but was promptly backhanded into the small skiff on the beach. Gilan followed soon after, along with the princess, and Halt redoubled his efforts.

He took both hands off the reins, grabbing his bow with one and an arrow with the other. Notch, sight, aim, release… The pattern he'd drilled into Will's and Gilan's heads a thousand times now ran seamlessly through his. And the arrow flew true, as did the others after it. Was it just his imagination, or did Abelard get just the tiniest bit faster?

"Pull!" Erak shouted. "Pull like the devil himself's after you!" The Skandians obeyed, rowing harder and faster, muscles straining. Gilan beckoned to Will and Evanlyn, and they crawled into the center of the boat just as Will detected the familiar hissing sound of an arrow in flight. He had never once feared that one of Halt's arrows might strike him, and he didn't fear it now.

Thwack!

One of the Skandians yelped as the arrow struck the wood near his hand, and the others reacted in total panic. "Harder!" Erak urged, and his crew obeyed, pulling like mad. Three other arrows struck the boat—one going through a crew member's arm, another narrowly missing his leg, and one striking the side of the skiff uselessly. Halt moved to draw again, but Gilan's heart sank—Abelard was knee-deep in the waves, and they were fast moving out of range.

Halt had come for them. But he wasn't in time.

The skiff reached the wolfship, and the Skandians began to board, hauling the three Araluens up onto the seemingly gigantic vessel. None of them struggled against their captors. What was the use? Gilan thought dully. They might as well get used to it early.

The Skandians ran about the ship as Erak shouted orders, settling into their respective jobs as the wolfship gained speed. The Araluens stood, forgotten as the pirates worked busily around them, now secure in their knowledge that the mysterious green-and-grey-cloaked Ranger was far out of range.

Unnoticed by the crew, Will moved to stand by the railing. Gilan followed him. He placed a hand on Will's shoulder, and they both blinked back tears as the wind carried Halt's voice to them.

"Will! Gilan! Stay alive! I'll find you wherever they take you!"

The Rangers stood motionless at the ship's railing. They watched as the seemingly tiny figure on his horse grew smaller and smaller, so close and yet so impossibly far away.

Will felt hopelessness closing in on him. Gilan's hand on his shoulder was the only thing anchoring him reality. "He promised," the apprentice whispered, numb, and he sensed Gilan nod beside him.

"And if there's one thing we know about Halt," he said gently, "it's that he always keeps his promises." They were both Halt's apprentices, and they knew better than anyone alive that Halt never swore oaths he didn't intend to keep.

Will didn't reply. But then again—he didn't need to.

So many questions without answers
Your promises remain
I can't see you but I'll take my chances
To hear you call my name

I didn't write out the battle scene because we all know what happens and frankly because I didn't want to. I wanted to get back to Gilan & co. and get things moving. That being said, this chapter was hard to write in middle school and hard to rewrite in college, so please do let me know if you feel like there are ways to improve it. Reviews are lovely. Thank you all!