Bump. Bump.

Halt jerked awake. Both Abelard and Tug were gently nudging him, silently urging him to sit up. As he did, his head spun. He looked around, dazed and
confused. A thousand questions raced through his head. Where was he? How did he get there? What had happened? But most importantly, if Tug was with him, where was Will?

Bump. Bump. He looked at the horses. They seemed to be trying to tell him something important, but he couldn't tell what it was. He tried to remember what had happened, but before the memory reached him, Abelard interrupted his thoughts.

Your friend needs you, the horse seemed to say. Tug just looked at him, silently pleading for help. Halt was confused. What friend? The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was Will knocking him from the saddle, away from an arrow aimed at Halt's⎯

"Gorlog's teeth!" he swore, a phrase he had picked up from the Skandians. He scrambled to his feet, staggering a few steps. Then his head cleared and he looked around the clearing with a new sense of urgency. Finally he spotted what he was looking for. He ran toward his former apprentice, a crumpled heap on the ground, an arrow deep in his left thigh.

His heart sank as he realized how much blood Will had already lost. But, as he came closer, his hopes soared when he saw Will's chest still rising and falling. He quickly removed the arrow, and while cleaning and dressing the wound, tried to picture what had happened, using his patchy memory and guessing at the rest.

He and Will had been riding through the woods, throwing insults back and forth like they usually did, when they heard a terrifying sound: not one, but two crossbows firing. Both Rangers knew exactly who they were aimed for. Will reacted instantly, throwing himself from the saddle. But instead of diving for the bushes close by, he threw himself at Halt, knocking his mentor from his own horse. As he leapt from Tug's back, the first arrow whistled over Tug's head. Halt didn't have to think much to figure out where the other arrow had gone.

Now he was guessing, and looked around the clearing for clues as to what happened. He saw two wounded men close by, with Will's gray-shafted arrows in places that were not lethal. Halt surmised that, weak from the arrow in his own leg, his former apprentice had not shot as well as he normally could, wounding but not killing the two attackers. He drew his saxe knife to finish them off, but then paused. The two men were dressed strangely, as if for the desert. They had long, beige robes that looked very similar to what Seley el'then, the Wakir, or leader, of an area in the desert, wore. They
also reminded Halt of what their nomad leader friend, Umar ib'n Talud, wore in the desert as well. More questions rushed through his mind. Why had these men shot at them? Did they simply dislike Rangers, or were they part of something bigger? And, if the latter was true, would more come? Knowing that these questions would remain unanswered for the foreseeable future if he killed them, Halt took a couple of thumb cuffs and tied
the two men to a tree.

As he finished this, Will groaned softly. Halt's hopes soared as he ran over to his friend, his anxious face the first thing Will saw. The second, of course, was Tug, relieved that his master had finally regained consciousness, pushing his way into Will's view.

"Are you all right, Will?" his mentor asked with a look of concern. Will had lost a lot of blood before Halt revived, and was very weak. Will nodded slowly, trying to reassure him.

"I think I'm fine, now. Are you okay? I'm sorry I pushed you, I was just trying to⎯"

"Don't talk. And yes, I'm all right now, and better than I would have been. Thanks, Will." Halt said quietly. Will nodded, acknowledging the gratitude that was evident in the older man's voice. Tears in his eyes, he turned to his horse. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" he asked, smiling weakly. Tug snorted, as if to say, Why would I get hurt? The arrows weren't aimed at me, were they?

Will grinned at his horse. While they bickered with each other, Halt racked his brain to find reasons that people would have to try and kill him and his former apprentice. Then a thought occurred to him.
"Will, do you remember a few years back when Gilan had to go stop that what-do-you-call-it, the tolfah, against Cassandra? Wasn't the man from the hunt with the Skandians dressed like these men?" He gestured to the would-be assassins. Will nodded slowly, then frowned, as he remembered something Halt had missed.

"Wasn't that arrow poisoned?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to worry his mentor without reason. Halt looked up sharply, cursing under his breath. Will saw a brief flash of fear in his eyes. Trying to keep his voice from rising too much, he pointed out that the arrows aimed at the Crown Princess at her wedding had been poisoned as well. He looked at Halt. The grizzled Ranger, his face usually a mask, was pale and full
of fear.

"Can you ride? We're close to Castle Araluen, can you make it that far?" Halt was trying desperately to keep the panic from showing in his voice. He stood and helped Will to his feet. Or, more accurately, his foot. The younger Ranger winced in pain, clenching his teeth as he tentatively put weight on his left leg. His leg buckled, and he lurched forward. Halt caught him and helped him up.

"I'll go as far as I can, Halt. The closer to the castle, the better, right?" Will tried to sound positive, if only for Halt's sake. Leaning heavily on Halt, he stumbled over to where Tug was patiently waiting.

An hour later, Will collapsed, exhausted, on the ground. The castle's flags were just coming into view. Halt was torn in two. He knew they had to get to the castle, but Will couldn't go any farther. Finally he came to a decision. Leaving both the horses to guard his former apprentice, he set off at a steady run, heading for the castle.