Gilan picked up the book and started reading.

Chapter 2

"All right, candidates! This way! And look lively!"

Gilan said in a loud, enthusiastic voice which almost perfectly mimicked the speaker, causing a chorus of laughter from the room.

The speaker, or more correctly the shouter, was Martin, secretary to Baron Arald.

"Good impression of him." Baron Arald commented.

As his voice echoed around the anteroom, the five wards rose uncertainly from the long wooden benches where they had been seated. Suddenly nervous now that the day had finally arrived, they began to shuffle forward, each one reluctant to be the first through the great ironbound door that Martin now held open for them. "Come on, come on!" Martin bellowed impatiently.

"He's always bellowing." Halt muttered.

Alyss finally elected to lead the way, as Will had guessed she would.

"Of course you did." Cassandra said to Alyss, grinning at her friend, "A diplomat from the beginning!"

The others followed the willowy blonde girl. Now that someone had decided to lead, the rest of them were content to follow. Will looked around curiously as he entered the Baron's study. He'd never been in this part of the castle before.

"Apart from spying from that tree…" Baron Arald grumbled, but Will could see the humor behind it in his eyes.

"I'd only seen it from one angle." Will replied in kind.

This tower, containing the administrative section and the Baron's private apartments, was seldom visited by those of low rank-such as castle wards. The room was huge. The ceiling seemed to tower above him

"Every ceiling towers above you, Shorty." Gilan grinned.

"Who are you talking to, Will or Halt?" Crowley asked.

"Both."

"Just because you're an abomination of nature…" Halt complained. "Besides, Crowley, you're only a little bit taller than me."

"And don't you forget it."

and the walls were constructed of massive stone blocks, fitted together with only the barest lines of mortar between them. On the eastern wall was a huge window space-open to the elements but with massive wooden shutters that could be closed in the event of bad weather. It was the same window he had seen through last night, he realized.

"See!" Baron Arald said to Will, who grinned in response.

Today, sunlight streamed in and fell on the huge oak table that Baron Arald used as a desk. "Come on now! Stand in line, stand in line!" Martin seemed to be enjoying his moment of authority.

"He has so few." Arald mumbled.

The group shuffled slowly into line and he studied them, his mouth twisted in disapproval." In size place! Tallest this end!" He indicated the end where he wanted the tallest of the five to stand. Gradually, the group rearranged itself. Horace, of course, was the tallest.

"Of course you were, you giant." Will said with mock venom.

After him, Alyss took her position. Then George, half a head shorter than she and painfully thin. He stood in his usual stoop-shouldered posture. Will and Jenny hesitated. Jenny smiled at Will and gestured for him to go before her, even though she was possibly an inch taller than he was.

"Thanks for trying, Jenny." Will smiled.

"It would have worked if Martin wasn't so picky." she replied.

That was typical of Jenny. She knew how Will agonized over the fact that he was the smallest of all the castle wards. As Will moved into the line, Martin's voice stopped him.

Will grunted, remembering how annoying Martin could be.

"Not you! The girl's next." Jenny shrugged apologetically and moved into the place Martin had indicated. Will took the last place in the line, wishing Martin hadn't made his lack of height so apparent." Come on! Smarten up, smarten up! Let's see you at attention there," Martin continued, then broke off as a deep voice interrupted him. "I don't believe that's totally necessary, Martin." It was Baron Arald,

"Thank you!" the ward mates chorused.

who had entered, unobserved, by way of a smaller door behind his massive desk. Now it was Martin who brought himself to what he considered to be a position of attention, with his skinny elbows held out from his sides, his heels forced together so that his unmistakably bowed legs were widely separated at the knees, and his head thrown back.

Most of the room snorted in amusement as they pictured the secretary doing that pose.

Baron Arald raised his eyes to heaven. Sometimes his secretary's zeal on these occasions could be a little overwhelming. The Baron was a big man, broad in shoulder and waist and heavily muscled, as was necessary for a knight of the realm.

The Baron in question sat up in his seat, proudly. Lady Sandra, sat next to her husband, shook her head and rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Gilan, who had seen the next sentence, struggled to keep the grin from breaking through onto his face.

It was well known, however, that Baron Arald was fond of his food and drink, so his considerable bulk was not totally attributable to muscle.

Baron Arald, his eyebrows drawn together and a scowl on his face, glared at the book. Everyone else in the room burst into laughter and giggles, except from Halt, Alyss and Pauline, who were the only ones managing to keep from laughing, only just. Jenny looked to her boyfriend, wondering how he had managed to keep himself together for the whole sentence.

"Okay, it's not that funny!" Arald bellowed to the group, who had all almost managed to compose themselves, which caused another bout of giggling to ripple through. "You Skandians are large too!" he tried arguing.

"But our bulk is attributed to muscle." Erak countered.

Will tried to contain his laughter long enough to whisper to Alyss, "Big word for a Skandian." to which she elbowed him in the ribs, but lightly since she was trying not to laugh.

(I feel like i went on too long for this part)

He had a short, neatly trimmed black beard that, like his hair, was beginning to show the traces of gray that went with his forty-two years. He had a strong jaw, a large nose and dark, piercing eyes under heavy brows. It was a powerful face, but not an unkind one, Will thought.

"Thank you, Will." Baron Arald said, glad the attention had been diverted from his weight.

There was a surprising hint of humor in those dark eyes.

"Then why doesn't anyone laugh at my jokes?" Arald questioned.

"What jokes?" Rodney replied, straight faced.

Will had noted it before, on the occasions when Arald had made his infrequent visits to the wards' quarters to see how their lessons and personal development were progressing. "Sir!" Martin said at top volume, causing the Baron to wince slightly. "The candidates are assembled!" "I can see that," Baron Arald replied patiently. "Perhaps you might be good enough to ask the Craftmasters to step in as well?" "Sir!" Martin responded, making an attempt to click his heels together. As he was wearing shoes of a soft, pliable leather, the attempt was doomed to failure.

Duncan shook his head in despair, although the smile on his face told.

He marched toward the main door of the study, all elbows and knees. Will was reminded of a rooster. As Martin laid his hand on the door handle, the Baron stopped him once more. "Martin?" he said softly. As the secretary turned an inquiring look back at him, he continued in the same quiet tone, "Ask them. Don't bellow at them. Craftmasters don't like that."

"Does anyone?" Crowley said with a roll of his eyes.

"No." Halt answered, despite the fact it was a rhetorical question.

"Yes, sir," said Martin, looking somewhat deflated. He opened the door and, making an obvious effort to speak in a lower tone, said, "Craftmasters. The Baron is ready now" The Craftschool heads entered the room in no particular order of precedence. As a group, they admired and respected one another and so rarely stood on strict ceremonial procedure. Sir Rodney, head of the Battleschool, came first.

Sir Rodney sat up straight in his seat, eager to hear his description, but also slightly concerned since he'd heard Arald's.

Tall and broad-shouldered like the Baron, he wore the standard battledress of chain mail shirt under a white surcoat emblazoned with his own crest, a scarlet wolfshead. He had earned that crest as a young man, fighting the wolfships of the Skandian sea raiders

Everyone looked towards Erak, who guessed it would he his country's turn to lose its dignity.

who constantly harried the kingdom's east coast.

"Not anymore!" Erak said, a little defensively.

He wore a sword belt and sword, of course. No knight would be seen in public without one. He was around the Baron's age, with blue eyes and a face that would have been remarkably handsome

The knight in question sat up at that, smiling smugly.

if it weren't for the massively broken nose.

And the smile turned into a frown.

He sported an enormous mustache but, unlike the Baron, he had no beard.

"A broken nose? That's the only negative thing they said about you?" Baron Arald complained.

"What other negative thing could they have said?" Sir Rodney replied smugly.

"That you're an asshole!"

"No!" Will chimed in, "They're saving that for Halt!" to which his ex-mentor glared at him. Meanwhile Pauline frowned, apparently Halt's language wasn't the only one she'd have to manage.

Next came the Horsemaster, responsible for the care and training of the castle's mighty battlehorses. He had keen brown eyes, strong, muscular forearms and heavy wrists. He wore a simple leather vest over his woolen shirt and leggings. Tall riding boots of soft leather reached up past his knees. Lady Pauline followed. Slim, gray-haired and elegant, she had been a considerable beauty in her youth and still had the grace and style to turn men's heads.

Halt frowned a little at this, slightly jealous.

Lady Pauline, who had been awarded the title in her own right for her work in foreign policy for the kingdom, was head of the Diplomatic Service in Redmont. Baron Arald regarded her abilities highly and she was one of his close confidants and advisers. Arald often said that girls made the best recruits to the Diplomatic Service.

"And also the best at controlling Halt." Horace added, to which Halt's frown deepened.

They tended to be more subtle than boys, who gravitated naturally to Battleschool. And while boys constantly looked to physical means as the way of solving problems, girls could be depended on to use their wits.

"Although sometimes, when wit doesn't work, you need physical means to solve problems" Alyss said, and she and Halt exchanged a glance, remembering a certain incident with a knight.

It was perhaps only natural that Nigel, the Scribemaster, followed close behind Lady Pauline. They had been discussing matters of mutual interest while they waited for Martin to summon them. Nigel and Lady Pauline were close friends as well as professional colleagues.

Halt frowned, a little enviously. Crowley, noticing, decided to not pass up on the opportunity to tease his friend. "Jealous?" he asked, and Halt glared in response.

It was Nigel's trained scribes who prepared the official documents and communiques that were so often delivered by Lady Pauline's diplomats. He also advised on the exact wording of such documents, having an extensive background in legal matters. Nigel was a small, wiry man with a quick, inquisitive face that reminded Will of a ferret.

George cocked his head thoughtfully. He'd never made that comparison with his mentor, and it wasn't how he would have worded it, but now it had been said, he couldn't deny how true it was.

His hair was glossy black, his features were thin and his dark eyes never ceased roaming the room. Master Chubb, the castle cook, came in last of all. Inevitably, he was a fat, round-bellied man, wearing a cook's white jacket and tall hat. He was known to have a terrible temper that could flare as quickly as oil spilled on a fire, and most of the wards treated him with considerable caution. Florid-faced and with red, rapidly receding hair, Master Chubb carried a wooden ladle with him wherever he went. It was an unofficial staff of office. It was also used quite often as an offensive weapon, landing with a resounding crack on the heads of careless, forgetful or slow-moving kitchen apprentices.

"And now he's passed that skill on to you, Jen." Gilan said to his girlfriend with a smile.

Alone among the group, Jenny saw Chubb as something of a hero.

"I can't see why." Will grumbled under his breath, remembering a certain incident while he was in the ward.

It was her avowed intention to work for him and learn his skills, wooden ladle or no wooden ladle. There were other Craftmasters, of course. The Armorer and the Blacksmith were two. But only those Craftmasters who currently had vacancies for new apprentices would be represented today." The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!" Martin said, his voice rising in volume. Martin seemed to equate volume and the importance of the occasion in direct proportion. Once again, the Baron raised his eyes to heaven.

The baron in question repeated that action.

"So I see," he said quietly, then added, in a more formal tone, "Good morning, Lady Pauline. Good morning, gentlemen." They replied and the Baron turned to Martin once more. "Perhaps we might proceed?" Martin nodded several times, consulted a sheaf of notes he held in one hand and marched to confront the line of candidates. "Right, the Baron's waiting! The Baron's waiting! Who's first?"

"What about the first in line?" Halt asked sarcastically.

Will, eyes down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, suddenly had the strange sensation that someone was watching him. He looked up and actually started with surprise as he met the dark, unfathomable gaze of Halt, the Ranger.

Gilan made eye contact with Will, and half whispered "Run!"

Will hadn't seen him come into the room. He realized that the mysterious figure must have slipped in through a side door while everyone's attention was on the Craftmasters as they made their entrance.

"No. I was right behind Rodney." Halt objected.

"You were?" a puzzled Rodney asked. "I didn't hear you."

"Of course you didn't, you knights make enough noise to wake a dead horse."

"Hey!" all the offended knights protested.

Meanwhile Crowley whispered to his friend "Yeah right." He didn't believe what Halt had said, guessing it was just a way for Halt to take a job at the knights.

Now he stood behind the Baron's chair and slightly to one side, dressed in his usual brown and gray clothes and wrapped in his long, mottled gray and green Ranger's cloak. Halt was an unnerving person. He had a habit of coming up on you when you least expected it-and you never heard his approach.

Crowley felt eyes on him, and looked up to meet the glares of Duncan, Cassandra, and Horace, all three of whom came from Castle Araluen with him.

"What?" he asked innocently, even though he knew exactly why. He was regarded the best at unheard mover in the corps, which he always took advantage of around Castle Araluen.

The superstitious villagers believed that Rangers practiced a form of magic that made them invisible to ordinary people. Will wasn't sure if he believed that-but he wasn't sure he disbelieved it either.

Halt made eye contact with his ex-apprentice, and raised one eyebrow accusingly.

"I was only a kid!" Will said defensively.

He wondered why Halt was here today. He wasn't recognized as one of the Craftmasters and, as far as Will knew, he hadn't attended a Choosing session prior to this one. Abruptly, Halt's gaze cut away from him and it was as if a light had been turned off. Will realized that Martin was talking once more.

"Wow! Astute!" Gilan said sarcastically.

"Wow! Asshole!" Will replied in a similar tone, finishing with a grin.

Yep, Lady Pauline thought, she'd definitely have to get onto the Baron about his language.

He noticed that the secretary had a habit of repeating statements, as if he were followed by his own personal echo." Now then, who's first? Who's first?" The Baron sighed audibly. "Why don't we take the first in line?" he suggested in a reasonable tone,

"How on earth did you keep a reasonable tone?" Sir Rodney wondered.

and Martin nodded several times. "Of course, my lord. Of course. First in line, step forward and face the Baron." After a moment's hesitation, Horace stepped forward out of the line and stood at attention. The Baron studied him for a few seconds. "Name?" he said, and Horace answered, stumbling slightly over the correct method of address for the Baron. "Horace Altman, sir… my lord." "And do you have a preference, Horace?" the Baron asked, with the air of one who knows what the answer is going to be before hearing it.

"You could have been a little less obvious about it." Alyss teased.

"Battleschool, sir!" Horace said firmly. The Baron nodded. He'd expected as much. He glanced at Rodney, who was studying the boy thoughtfully, assessing his suitability. "Battlemaster?" the Baron said. Normally he would address Rodney by his first name, not his title. But this was a formal occasion. By the same token, Rodney would usually address the Baron as "sir." But on a day like today, "my lord" was the proper form. The big knight stepped forward, his chain mail and spurs chinking slightly as he moved closer to Horace.

Halt muttered something under his breath. Something that sounded like 'noisy knights'

He eyed the boy up and down, then moved behind him. Horace's head started to turn with him." Still," Sir Rodney said, and the boy ceased his movement, staring straight ahead. "Looks strong enough, my lord, and I can always use new trainees. "He rubbed one hand over his chin. "You ride, Horace Altman?" A look of uncertainty crossed Horace's face as he realized this might be a hurdle to his selection. "Well… no, sir. I…" He was about to add that castle wards had little chance to learn to ride, but Sir Rodney interrupted him. "No matter. That can be taught." The big knight looked at the Baron and nodded. "Very well, my lord. I'll take him for Battleschool, subject to the usual three-month probationary period." The Baron made a note on a sheet of paper before him and smiled briefly at the delighted, and very relieved, youth before him." Congratulations, Horace. Report to Battleschool tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp." "Yes, sir!" Horace replied, grinning widely. He turned to Sir Rodney and bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir!" "Don't thank me yet," the knight replied cryptically. "You don't know what you're in for."

"Understatement of the decade." Horace muttered moodily, thinking about a certain 3 battleschool apprentices who had made the start of his own training a nightmare.

A/N You may have noticed, but I started getting really tired near the end but I really wanted to get it out quickly. After I have posted this, if I think of something to add, I will include it.

Thank you to Weirdo and Christian for reviewing, Falachen for reviewing and favoriting, AreiaCannaid for reviewing and following, and Yogmon for following.

I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.