Chapter 9 - Aftermath and Beginnings

The day after the battle was eerily bleak and crows and other scavengers circled slowly over the dead and wounded.

The fighting was finally over. It had taken a long time and many lives for Duncan's army to subdue the remaining Wargals. As Duncan walked through the battlefield, he stopped frequently to give aid to the wounded and help cover and remove the bodies of the dead. He was weary and aching and had his own small collection of cuts and bruises, but he knew that he couldn't rest. Many good men had died here today and, as King, Duncan felt that his men needed to see him doing his part to help, that he valued every single life that has been lost.

"What on earth did you think that you were doing, Horace? You're just an apprentice! You should have stayed with Reece! The poor man's been going frantic looking for you. He would have blamed himself if you had died, you foolish boy! Did you even think of that?"

Duncan recognized the sharp, carrying, voice instantly, and he immediately began to scan the surrounding area to locate the speaker, Sir Rodney of Redmont. Making a split second decision, Duncan decided to see what had got his old friend so riled up. As he got closer, Duncan realized that the Battlemaster had been rebuking a boy who looked no older than sixteen.

The King watched the confrontation for a short moment before deciding to interfere when Rodney grabbed the young apprentice by the neck of his chain mail and began shaking the boy. Duncan knew that Rodney almost never manhandled the boys under his charge, so for him to do so now the man must be extremely aggravated. "What's going on here?"

Rodney jerked, suddenly realizing that they had a spectator, and released Horace, giving him a harsh shove as he turned to face the King. The apprentice shot an angry look at the Battlemaster before turning and acknowledging Duncan.

Duncan was surprised to recognize a flash of bitterness in the eyes of the boy when he noticed the Royal-Purple Golden Eagle crest on his jerkin that marked him as King.

Sending a quick nod of greeting towards King Duncan, Rodney placed a hand on Horace's shoulder, unsure whether the gesture was to reassure the boy, or to calm himself after his outburst at Horace's recent bout of recklessness. The Battlemaster took in Duncan's battle weary, exhausted appearance and bloody armor with a glance before introducing the apprentice beside him. "This is Horace Altman, my Lord. He's a first year apprentice from Redmount."

Giving Horace a small nudge, he tried to get the boy to bow, but Horace stubbornly refused, causing the old Battlemaster to frown. Normally Horace was a stickler for protocol but Rodney just supposed that the young man was just still shaken from the battle. Wars were never the glorious places depicted in bard's tales and children's stories, and often apprentices found the stark reality of the 'kill or be killed' mentality startling.

Duncan had noticed that the apprentice had refused to bow, but he had no patience to force the niceties of etiquette on a good day, let alone when he was exhausted bone tired, so he ignored the Apprentice's lack of he rubbed his eyes wearily, it occurred to him that it was probably his duty to say something reassuring to the boy. It was, after all, due to Duncan's decisions that Horace had been part of the battle in the first place.

Normally, first year apprentices wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near a war, but Duncan had known that this would be a close fight and that a few extra trained men could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat. Against his better judgment, he had ordered instructors such as Rodney to allow all their trainees to fight.

After taking a moment to think, Duncan addressed the young apprentice. "I know that this must have been a horrible experience for you, Horace, and I will understand if you want to cease your apprenticeship, but just remember that things will start to look up now. The war is over and with any luck Morgarath has been beaten for good. Soon life will go back to normal and you will be back with your family and friends in no time."

Duncan had expected his words to have a reassuring effect on Horace. He expected him to smile and nod and say, "I guess you're right, sir." What he did not expect was for Horace to react as strongly as he did.

The boy flinched violently, before looking Duncan straight in the eyes, his whole body tense. "I suppose that it's easy for you to say that everything is going to be alright, sir, your daughter is still alive; my best friend isn't." The venomous words left Horace's mouth in an angry rush, and before he could stop and think he spat at the King's feet before turning and running away, distraught.

Duncan was shocked. Despite his exhaustion, he sluggishly tried to understand why Horace seemed to blame him for his friend's death. He silenced Rodney's frantic apologies for Horace's actions with a quick wave of the hand and asked him what the young apprentice had meant by his best friend being dead; he desperately hoped that none of the apprentices had been killed in the skirmishes, but he knew that was unrealistic.

Rodney looked uncomfortable for a moment before he took a deep breath and spoke, "He was friends with Halt's apprentice, sir. Will. They grew up together in the Ward."

Neither man spoke as the King contemplated what he had just been told. Not only was the boy an orphan, but his best friend had just died defending Duncan's daughter. No wonder the boy was bitter. Duncan felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he thought about the young apprentice Ranger.

As he stood there on the empty battlefield, Duncan made a promise to himself. He would make sure that Will was honored for his bravery and sacrifice, and that he would never be forgotten. Soon, everyone in the kingdom would know his name. Will Braveheart; a brave and honorable name for a boy that had grown up with nothing. Duncan knew it wouldn't be enough, not to Halt and Horace, who had known the boy the best, but it was all he had to offer. He couldn't bring the boy back from the dead, after all.

Crowley slowly trotted his horse, Cropper, towards the pass. He was leading a group of four senior Rangers in a search for Morgarath. The Lord of Rain and Night had been spotted by a number of Araluans fleeing the battlefield on his notable white charger when the cavalry had attacked, but there was always the chance that he had been killed before he had managed to make it to the pass.

They had been searching the bodies for Morgarath and his senior officers for hours, heedless of the growing darkness, and they were almost ready to drop. Even though the battle itself was over, each member of the corps still had a lot of work to do before they could begin to rest. They would be needed to organize what was left of the troops and to track down any of Morgarath's band that might still be alive. It would be messy, tiring work but it had to be done, and Crowley didn't trust many people outside of his corps to do things right.

Sighing, he raised his right hand above his head and slowly closed it into a fist, giving the order to fall in. They had been riding spread out in a triangle shape which gave them the advantage if they happened to be attacked. They weren't so far from each other that they couldn't help their comrades if they needed it, but they weren't too close as to be caught off guard and surrounded. As his fellow Rangers began to gather around him, Crowley turned to survey the area in front of them.

The darkness was oppressive, and the sky overcast, leaving no moon to guide them; the ghostly shapes of corpses and cries of wounded men echoed through the night. Despite the poor visibility, they would have been hard pressed to miss the pass into the Mountains of Rain and Night. The cliffs were huge and imposing and the pass was the only gap in them for miles. It should have been reassuring to stand at the entrance to the pass and know that the cliffs weren't impenetrable, but it wasn't. The cliffs on either side looked like the mouth of a giant beast that was getting ready to swallow them whole. There were fresh tracks on the ground between their resting place and the entrance to the pass; Crowley dismounted to get a closer look at them.

"It's hard to tell if Morgarath managed to escape or not. There are so many footprints here all layered on top of each other that it is almost impossible to tell who passed here or when. We will need to move into the pass and just hope that we get lucky and find a distinctive hoof print going in the right direction," Crowley said calmly, and, seeing a nod of understanding from each of the other four, he mounted Cropper and rode into the pass.

It was almost midnight by the time they found what they were looking for. It was Daryl of Lansdale fief who found the prints and the huge lump of horse dung, and called the others over. Most of the trail through the pass was just a mess of mud and dirt, which blurred all the tracks of individuals until they were indistinguishable, even for a Ranger, but Daryl, who had been riding ahead, had reached a small clearing of packed earth, where the tracks had set almost perfectly in the ground.

Daryl quickly studied some of the tracks, slightly off to the side of the main path. "There are more of the wagon tracks here, Crowley. Whoever was travelling with it must have passed here just over a week ago. It looks like they stopped here for a while, before moving on to Morgarath's castle."

"I don't think the wagon or whatever they were carrying is worth worrying about," said Crowley. "Whatever it was is long gone, and had no part in the battle. We need to find out if Morgarath is indeed heading back to the Mountains of Rain and Night."

After giving his commander a quick nod of acknowledgement, Daryl returned to surveying the main path with the other Rangers.

"Crowley, I've got something here," Alun, Ranger of Whitby Fief, called from the far end of the path. Immediately, the four other Rangers gathered together around the distinctive horse tracks.

After a quick study, they mutually agreed that the tracks were indeed those from Morgarath and his party. The white charger that Morgarath rode was distinctive, not only because of its colour, but because of its size. The horse, an Arridi crossbreed, had a noticeably different gait and hoof-prints than the other horses commonly found in Araluen. For the trained eye of the Rangers, it was highly unlikely that the prints belonged to another horse. It looked as if Morgarath had indeed escaped and was making his way to the mountains.

"What do we do now?" Daryl asked, voicing the question that had been each been thinking. They were all exhausted and wanted to head back at the plains for a well-deserved rest, and besides, now that they knew where Morgarath was, he was no longer an imminent threat.

Crowley thought for a moment, looking around at his weary comrades. "We leave. We turn around and go home. It will be near impossible to continue to track him in the dark like this and there is just no point. We know where he is going, and we can go after him any time we like. Remember, he will be exhausted as well. Nearly all of his men were killed on the plains, so he has no supporters; he won't be launching another attack anytime soon."

Even though they didn't like the thought of turning around and giving up, each of the Rangers knew that what Crowley was saying was sensible, and as one they got back into their saddles and rode away back towards the plains. They didn't know when they would go after Morgarath again but for now they would just watch and wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to. There were bodies to clear, memorials to hold, and criminals to bring to justice.

Halt was dead on his feet by the time he made it out of the fens and emerged into the early light of dawn. He was covered in minor bruises and scratches from the battle in the fens and his desperate fight at the cove. He was limping slightly but couldn't remember why. He supposed that he must have tripped on his reckless trip in the dark through the Fens, but the time between leaving the beach and arriving back at the small hill above the battlefield was just a grief induced haze.

The old Ranger knew that he would be in for a grilling from Crowley for going after Erak and his crew, but for now he didn't care. He just wanted a plate of food, a nice warm bed and a great, big, steaming pot of coffee.

Will gasped as Morgarath's castle came into view. It was an ugly looking thing, made from unevenly cut black stone. The black castle seemed to radiate a malevolent air which choked the life out of the surroundings, and Will couldn't help the shiver that run down his spine as they rode closer, the forest around them thinning the closer that they got to the castle.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that he would be thrown into a dungeon cell and locked up until Morgarath arrived, and he really didn't want to think about what would happen to him then. Possibly the only chance that he would have to escape would be when General Owen and his men took him from the cart to his cell, and Will had no intention of wasting the opportunity.

He had learnt a lot about Owen and his men on the journey here, and he was surprised to find that he rather liked Owen. He was a thief and doubtless a murderer too, but he had been kind to Will. He always made sure that he had good food and water, and he had checked the wound in Will's shoulder daily. He wasn't gentle, but he wasn't purposefully rough and he spoke to Will sometimes too.

The old General had told him how one night he had been drunk and had gotten into a fight with his senior officer, which got him kicked out of his battalion. "I gave years of my life to the service of the kingdom, boy, and how do they repay me? They throw me out on my ass is how. I had no choice but come to Morgarath, boy, so don't you look at me like that. No one would hire me and I needed work. Who wants a disgraced soldier?

"Morgarath might be a brute, but he gave me a job, so I have no right to complain. You're too young; you wouldn't have known what he was like before the first war. He was charismatic, and promised his men all kinds of riches and glory. Araluen was in chaos, and people were grabbing power all over the place. Morgarath was just the only one that was ambitious enough to reach for total control.

"Morgarath's mad, no doubt about that, but he's smart too. Don't underestimate him, don't piss him off, and whatever happens, be respectful, boy. That's the only bit of advice I can give you. I don't know what you did to get on his bad side in the first place, but I tell you, I wouldn't trade places with you for all the gold in the world."

Will had tried not to let Owen's words scare him, but it was useless. He couldn't contain his trembles as the cart left the last fleeting cover of the trees, and passes into a courtyard paved with the same dark stone that the castle was carved out of. Will sent a last fleeting glance at the trees behind him as the cart jerked to a stop in front of the massive wooden doors, cast into ominous shadows from the seemingly lifeless castle.

He managed to tear his eyes from the frightful sight just in time to see one of Owen's men jumped into the back of the wagon. He anxiously flicked his gaze between the man and the surrounding courtyard. Will jumped in fright as the man was tossed a key by one of his comrades before he used it to unlock the shackles from around Will's ankles. Will sucked in all of his courage, and tried to remember all of Halt's training; this was likely to be his only chance and he wasn't going to muck it up.

Will made his move the instant that his feet were free, his hands having been left unbound as Owen hadn't wanted to aggravate his shoulder wound. He rose to his feet and sharply punched the man in the face, as hard as he could, hearing a very satisfying 'crack' as it connected.

With nimble hands, Will snatched the heavy dagger from the man's belt and jumped from the cart. His eyes focused on the direction that they had come from, and Will started to sprint, sacrificing stealth for speed and hoping that his captors would be too stunned to immediately pursue him.

Unfortunately, Owen had expected Will to try and run, and he and his men reacted the same instant that Will did. "Catch him! Do not let him escape!"

Hearing Owen's shout, Will desperately tried to run faster, ignoring the spinning in his head and wishing he was in the cover of the trees. Suddenly, he felt a hand close onto the back of his shirt, and he was jerked backwards as he heard a tearing sound from the fabric. Will kept his footing through sheer desperation, and he pulled frantically at the hand restraining him, heedless of the growing throbbing in his shoulder. Footsteps and yelling were ringing through the courtyard now, and even as the young apprentice felt his shirt rip free from the man holding him, the rest of Owen's men converged on him.

The young apprentice sent a fleeting glance toward the safety of the trees and the opening of the path he could see there, before deftly flipping the dagger in his hand into a fighting grip and throwing himself at one of the men blocking his path. He had no choice; he couldn't allow them to recapture him. Will plunged the deadly dagger deep into the man's neck, severing his artery.

As he pulled the dagger back from the man's neck, he felt the spray of blood hit his face and torso, and he forced himself not to be distracted by the warm sticky feeling. He could break down later, but now was not the time for any regret.

The knife once more in hand, Will continued his sprint for the comforting cover of the trees, breathing hard, and not daring to look behind him, for fear of slowing down.

There were feet thundering all around him, and his heart was in his throat, and he was almost there, when, all of a sudden, a giant weight collided with his back, forcing him to the ground, losing his grip on the knife in the fall. Owen had tackled him, and even as Will tried to push the heavy man off of him he knew that it was pointless. He was still weak from the shoulder wound, and Owen was too strong.

When a wild punch from the young apprentice connected with Owen's head, the man growled and pinned Will's hands beneath his. General Owen gripped Will's arm tightly, but not too roughly, and pulled him to his feet, snarling at the gathered men, "Take him to the cells. Make sure that he is chained up, and keep a guard outside his cell at all times."

Silently, Owen watched as two of his men grabbed Will from him and dragged him away. Despite his harsh treatment of the boy, he hoped that they wouldn't cause him any undue harm. The boy would have a hard enough time when Morgarath arrived.

A/N

TaDa! A chapter! It's been nearly 8 months, I think, but I'm too ashamed to check for sure. I'm back now, that's what matters, and i haven't been totally inactive in my absence. I have written like 60 pages handritten of bullet pointed notes to start around 20 stories. Some are nearly completely planned, and others have just a large chunk done, and others are just one line ideas that I didn't want to forget. Now I just have to find time to write them all. Don't wory, The Black Castle (both versions) will always come first, and hopefully by the end of the year it will be completed. Wow. Wouldn't that be something?

A lot has happened in the past ages for me in RL, and I've finished high school, with good marks too. I'm now in JAPAN, somewhere I've always wanted to go, for a year on a student exchange. Unfortunately, that means high school, again, but that doen't really matter, because nothing bad can happen if I fail, and I'm in JAPAN! I'm all buzzed, can you tell? XD

I hope this chapter meets expectations and despite all the perspective changes is alright to follow. It may be a bit disjointed in places, but feel free to let me know if something isn't quite right so I can fix it. It may take me a bit to get properly back into the 'flow' of the story. I hope to hear from you guys, either by reviews or I'm always up for a random chat via PM. :) Let me know what you think of the story.

Ali Ranger51

By the way, am I the only one that cried in The Lost Stories in the chapter about Tug?