Okay, third chapter. I wasn't going to update this fast, but I didn't have much to do today and I finished the chapter. This is getting funner by the day. Anyway… I'll just start the chapter because you probably came to read that, not my ranting. Oh, one last thing, any Gallic in this fic is just French off of Google, in case anyone was wondering.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice. End of story. (Wow, that was a terrible pun…)

Halt woke up to see that Pauline was already up and doing her paperwork. He sighed.

"Any particular reason you're up before the sun?" he asked his wife.

She spared him a glance as he sat up. "'Up before the sun'?" she quoted. "Hardly. It's an hour after sunrise. You slept in and I wasn't so heartless as to wake you up."

"Wasn't?" he muttered.

"What was that?" Pauline asked in a falsely innocent tone. She'd heard him, all right.

"Nothing, nothing," Halt replied hurriedly. The only thing in the entire fief of Redmont, or practically in all of Araluen, that could intimidate him was his wife. Not only was she a diplomat, but she was, well, his wife.

He swung his legs out of bed, stood up and walked over to his desk. He should probably get started on this mess before Pauline began pestering him about it rather than after. Besides, none of the senders would be happy if he didn't send the necessary replies soon. He sighed and sat down. Just as he was about to start, he noticed that Pauline was heading toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Rangers," she muttered. "Too curious for their own good." Halt pretended not to have heard that. "I'm going to the Baron's office for a meeting. Only for the diplomats," she added, anticipating his next question. And he thinks Will asks a lot of questions.

He nodded. "I'll see you when you get back," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Will the fief be managing itself today?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. "No, but I think Will's going to have a little extra work to do. He agreed that I needed to clean this up," he said wryly, gesticulating to the mess on top of his desk.

"You owe your apprentice so much," she smiled, kissing his cheek and sweeping out the door.

Halt felt no need to reply. She was right, after all.

Sighing heavily, he turned toward his workspace. This was going to take a while.

He picked up a envelope sealed with the Ranger's Oakleaf. He broke the wax and read it. Something about him needing to go up to sort out a gang of thieves in one of the northern towns of Redmont. He sighed again. He'd leave tomorrow. He moved to the next one.

But this one wasn't a normal report. For one, he didn't recognize the seal off the top of his head. It looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place it. He'd seen it before… where?

He broke the seal, opening the letter. Inside was a single sheet of paper. He didn't know why, but that paper made him a bit nervous. Slowly, he unfolded it. There where only five words on the page. It wasn't signed.

Vous avez rompu votre promesse.

Halt was fairly fluent in Gallic, so he knew almost immediately what the message said. You broke your promise. His brow furrowed. Who had sent this? He knew of no Gallic person he'd made a promise to. Or maybe they weren't Gallic? But he didn't even know anyone who knew Gallic that he'd made a promise to. What the heck was going on? He didn't know how the letter had gotten onto his desk, it hadn't been there last night, he was sure; something was going on.

Kietleen walked briskly down the road, aiming for the inn she was staying at. The sun was already setting. She'd been asleep for most of the day, but in the later hours of the afternoon, she'd decided to get some exercise. Now she was trying to get back before full dark. Luckily, she wouldn't have to have any midnight 'strolls' tonight.

She was walking past a dark alley when she heard something, a shuffling of feet, perhaps. Then a voice came out from the shadows.

"You there."

Kietleen paused for a moment, then realized her mistake. She tried to continue walking, but it was to late—there was a man blocking her way.

"Yer a little dark haired beauty, aren't ya?" he said, grinning like a maniac. He was wearing rather drab clothes, and had a general air of dirtiness about him. He was a bum or something of that sort. Kietleen knew she shouldn't have even paused. A little too late for that now, though.

He advanced, and Kietleen stepped backwards, listening for other footsteps to see if there were others with him. Fortunately, he seemed to be alone.

Suddenly, he pounced, taking Kietleen by surprise and dragging her into the alley. She pulled away, but he dragged her in close. Punching him solidly and suddenly in the nose, she tried almost frantically to get out of his grip, but he was too strong. He pushed her up against the stone wall of the alley and glared her in the face, the blood dripping from his nose where her fist had landed. Kietleen felt fear spark in her chest as she saw the man was drunk. This just keeps getting better and better doesn't it, she thought. By the look in his eyes and the smell on his breath, she was surprised he was even walking straight. She let out several foul curse words at her predicament, throwing a couple Gallic ones in there for good measure.

He smirked crookedly. "Bit of a foul tongue you got there, dame." She now heard the definite slur to his words from the drink.

Reacting as forcefully as she could, Kietleen brought her knee up. As it hit where his legs connected, he crumpled—forward, unfortunately, landing practically on top of her. She heard something metallic, then felt a crippling pain explode in her side.

The drunkard stood up, looked down with a lopsided grin to where she lay on the street, and swaggered off.

Kietleen could barely breath. What could cause so much pain? With great difficulty, she looked down at her abdomen. She gasped in disbelief as she saw it, bringing even more pain to her already agonized body.

Sticking out of her side, allowing her blood to seep between the cobblestones, was a dagger.

Ooohhh, I'm bad. Yes, I just got her stabbed. Mwaa haa haa! This story just keeps getting better and better. To write, anyway. What's going to happen next? Review and I'll tell you. Yes, that was a bribe.

Ideas, constructive criticism, praise, just about anything but pure flames, kay? Thank you!

-Rydd Rider