Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters (besides those I made up) nor do I own anything else besides the places (that I might make up) in the story. All of the credit goes to John Flanagan.

Ranger's Apprentice

Chapter 3
THE PIERCING SCREAM ABRUPTLY SUBSIDED AS ALYSS FELL INTO THE DARKNESS. A WHITE LIGHT ENGULFED HER NO MATTER WHAT SHE TRIED TO DO. ALL WAS GONE. SHE WAS ALONE. SHE WAS ALONE IN THE DARK. She was alone in the dark and could not move nor see. Black. Darkness. Nothing! She moaned. It was over.

Will quickly placed an arrow on the bowstring, looking around for any sign of movement. He gestured for Horace to pick Alyss up, not moving his eyes from the spot the arrow had sprung from. Will turned for a fraction of a second to make sure Alyss was all right.

The bushes rustled.

Will spun around in his saddle, pulled an arrow back, aided by the big muscles in his back and shoulders with an ease born of numerous repetitions. He created the sighting picture, focusing on the target, and nothing else. They were simply two parts of the overall picture that culminated in the bushes. Will shot the arrow, the entire procedure taking less than half a second.

To any Ranger, the shot would have been considered a success. However, this was magic they were dealing with, not commonfolk.

From the Shade's lips came the words, "Spular amio castloin." It was a phrase which practically meant, 'Warp me back!'

The arrow ripped part of the black gown before the Shade made his escape. The piece of fabric, pinned by the point of the arrow, hit the tree and made a rich smack. The forest disappeared along with the Shade, but Will's arrow was still there. It dropped to the ground, where it was in plain view next to the fabric.

Will went to retrieve his arrow, and noticed the dark fabric. He swooped down to pick it up from the ground and returned to where Horace and Jenny were treating Alyss.

"Look at what I found," Will said, showing them the cloth.

Horace and Jenny inspected the textile, and shrugged. They didn't know what to do with it. They left the thinking for Rangers.

"For one," Will began. "This proves that Alyss was shot by a being wearing black. Or it could be someone trying to throw us off track."

Jenny and Horace nodded. They knew incidents where those events could occur. George, at last noticing the commotion, walked up to Will and plopped down right next to him.

The path to the East was clear, nothing but a few bugs to stop them on their journey. Those bugs, however, would get nasty.

Horace and Will carried Alyss onto her horse and strapped her onto the stallion with a rope. Will quickly tightened the rope, unsure of what may happen next, and began riding. Horace rode next to Alyss, who was still bleeding.

Will suddenly stopped, grabbed the piece of fabric, and covered Alyss' wound. She groaned a little and then fell into her trance.

They rode toward the East, rain or shine, taking breaks only when the weather became too harsh for travel with an injured girl, or when they were out of water. Will took out his wineskin and wet it in the river flowing the opposite direction of them. The skin absorbed the water, and everyone took drinks from the river. Will wet Alyss' wineskin for her, and squeezed it onto her lips.

Better than nothing, he thought.

However, it had been three days now, and Alyss had still not stirred. There was more to the arrow than it seemed, apparently. Some unknown force, possibly magic, was stopping Alyss from recuperating.

One day, Jenny and George rode up to Will and said, "Will, it's been 6 days now, and Alyss doesn't seem any better. George and I will take Alyss back to Redmont and see what the healers can do."

Will had responded with a statement he knew was true. "Don't you see? Orman was poisoned just like this before. The only person who knew how to relieve it was Malcolm. We need the help of that sorcerer."

"But what if you're wrong? What if the sorcerer isn't real? What if he's not interested in helping us?"

"Then I'll tear him apart, piece by piece," Will concluded.

"No," said Horace, arriving at the scene after traveling 100 meters ahead of the group. "We can't risk it."

Will racked his brains to come up with a solution. There was nothing. Then it hit him.

"Jenny and George, take Alyss to the North. Maybe you'll meet Halt there, maybe you won't. Anyway, go to Castle Macindaw and then into Grimsdell Wood. Go deep inside until you find Malcolm. He's short, has hazel eyes, and a large nose. Malcolm will be able to tell you what happened to Alyss and cure her."

It was the best plan at the moment, so Jenny and George agreed to his instructions.

Horace and Will waved good-bye to George and Jenny as they rode away from each other. Horace could've sworn he saw a tear drop from Will's eyes. Will noticed that, too. The tear dropped down to his lips, and strangely, it tasted like salt.

***

(A/N: I usually won't do A/N's, but ***'s indicate a change in either time, setting, or both.)

Around forty miles to the east, Jenny, George, and Alyss were riding along. So far, there had been no encounters, no warnings, and no killers.

A soldier appeared at the end of the road, prohibiting them from passing. George stepped off the horse.

"Please tell your friend to get off the horse, if you will," the warrior smirked, drunk. George did not like where this was going.

Jenny got off the horse.

Almost immediately, seven men tried to strip George, Jenny, and Alyss of their items. George and Alyss did not have anything. However, Jenny did.

George ran up to the drunken man and punched him in the face. The man grinned sheepishly and fell down. Three men grabbed a hold of George and tied him up.

"No!" Jenny screamed. "Those are my mother's!" she cried, as two men tried to take her possessions.

A young knight, quick as the devil, strong as the demon, flicked his sword towards the group of men. He struck one down, then the next, and so forth. The three persons who were holding George rushed toward the young one. The knight quickly took care of them, using the deadly backhand that he had grown accustomed to in his first year of training. Jenny screamed once more as they tried to take away her possessions. The young warrior leaped towards her and flipped his sword at the two persons. The gang ran off, terrified at the knight's natural skill in combat.

"Horace!" Jenny cried.

Horace then asked the one question that was bugging him. "Why were you carrying your mother's possessions?"

Jenny made a laugh and a sob. "These? They give me *hic* good luck."

A muffled sound made Horace raise his sword. He then realized it was poor George, tied up. Horace cut the ropes and got back on his horse.

"I'll be accompanying you until you find Halt," he said.

"But what about Will?" Jenny asked. Horace, knowing someone would ask the question, said: "He'll be fine on his own— you know how Will is."

Horace, Jenny, and George put Alyss back up in her saddle and galloped toward the north. The sun was soon to rise.

***

The grey bearded Ranger sat in the cold, having no wish to draw attention. The food was cold and tasteless, and Halt spit it on the ground. He leaped on Abelard circling a mile from the campsite. Nothing. Halt stroked a fire and poured himself some coffee. Will, Crowley, and he had become coffee hounds after sipping the warming, creamy liquid and couldn't resist it. Halt was getting ready to heat up his soup when—

—there was a slight footstep. Abelard's ears picked up, sensing the movement. Halt gestured to Abelard to calm down. He reached for his longbow, but it was not there. He checked his scabbard, and luckily, he still had his knives and the heavy saxe knife. Halt closed his eyes, producing an image of the area around him in his mind. There was a quick scurry, and the draw of a bowstring.

Whiz! The arrow slipped right past Halt's left ear. At the last second, Halt had twisted his head, causing the arrow to be off by the margin.

Angry voices could be heard, possibly shouting at each other.

"Drop your weapons," Halt called, drawing the sharp throwing knife. There was no metallic clang as the weapons hit the ground. "Drop them!" Halt ordered once more, with such authority that it could have made King Duncan tremble.

The longbow dropped, he could tell. It made a soft sound as the stranger set it on the ground.

"Come out with your hands in the air," Halt said, not putting away his throwing knife.

He came out. The man was around six feet tall, a bit taller than Halt, with a scruffy face. He wore a rugged hat that covered his hair, if there was any, and was a bit overweight.

"What is your name?" Halt asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

"Skit," the man responded nervously. Halt, not caring much about who he was, asked, "Who sent you to do this?"

The stranger opened his mouth. Halt made out the words, A RAT, when a knife marked with a red band flew towards the foreigner. It hit him square in the chest, and he flew towards where he had come from. The outsider was on the verge of death when Halt reached him. He opened his mouth. "A—"

A second knife flew by Halt. All movement of the unknown foreigner ceased, and his body went limp.

Halt chased after the killer, knowing there was something behind the ploy. He snatched up his longbow, placed an arrow, and ran as fast as he could.

The man was waiting for him.

He wore a mask, with black clothing. The being, fast as lightning, kicked Halt's longbow right out of his hands. Halt, still shocked by the person's quick actions, drew his saxe knife. The individual drew a long, gleaming blade. There was a mark on the sword which Halt was sure he'd seen before.

The thing attacked. Halt tried as hard as he could to block the sword, but the saxe knife was too heavy and slow. No options left to him, he drew his throwing knives. Halt chucked three of them towards different places near his heart, and one directly at it.

The being seemed to glide upward, spinning 360 degrees, seeing the knives hit a large oak. Halt took this opportunity to attack. He leaped upwards as well, although not as high, and met this 'visitor' as they fell. Halt sent a blow at the head. The thing flew backwards as the murdered man had done, and crashed into a tree. His mask cracked. It fell down, and his face was visible.

"No," Halt whispered, staring at the face he knew so well. "It can't be."

Sonín al distpúrr lóso!

May your arrows stay sharp!

The Review button is for questions, comments, and criticism.
Also remember, it's what gets me writing.