Chapter 12

"What are you two doing here?" Edmund asked while Gilan clapped him on the back and Will opened his medical kit.

"Did Evanlyn ever tell you about the time we went to Arridi?" Will asked, examining the arrow wound. It was wedged through Edmunds upper arm, just under the shoulder plate of his armour. While Edmund wasn't complaining and the wound wasn't bleeding much, that was because the steel tip had gone clean through and was now sticking out the other side.

"Of course," Edmund answered. "But not as much as you have. With all your bragging about what a fast horse Tug is, it's a wonder the horse still has a sense of balance. I was sure he would become big-headed with how conceited and vain he is."

Tug tossed his head and neighed loudly and Will muttered something to the horse under his breath. Anyone else would have thought that the man was out of his mind, but Edmund had been around Ranger's long enough to understand the special relationships they had with their horses.

"Stand still," Will said before he used a pair of clippers to cut off the arrow tip. Edmund winced and could have sworn Tug was laughing at him.

"That's what you get for saying I'm big-headed," the horse seemed to say.

"He's faster than Thunder," Will insisted, offering Tug an apple which the horse chomped down much too quickly. Halt raised an eyebrow. It was another thing that Will had never quite grasped during his apprenticeship. If Ranger horses were overfed they could get fat and slow. However, Halt chose to ignore the well-documented fact when he secretly fed Abelard dozens of apples in the well-stocked palace stables.

"Stay on subject," Gilan said with a grin. Will slowly helped Edmund take off his armour around the lodged arrow.

"When Evanlyn first went to Arridi your uncle didn't think that she would be safe. He wanted to send some of his personal guard in addition to the thirty Skandians protecting her – Oberjarl Erak's own crew at that," Halt explained.

"Sounds like something he would do," Edmund said.

"You know the old ranger saying: 'one riot, one ranger'?" Will asked. Edmund nodded.

The saying originated from a legendary event that had happened during the first few years of the Ranger Corps. A small fief had risen up against their cruel lord and the residents had surrounded his manor house, threatening to torch it. The panicked nobleman's message for help was answered by the arrival of a lone Ranger. He had asked, horrified, why only one man was sent, to which the Ranger had asked how man riots the lord had. If he only had one riot, why would he need multiple Rangers?

"Your uncle decided to create a new saying: 'one daughter, two Rangers'," Halt said. "He sent me, Gilan and Will to babysit her."

"Not that Evanlyn ever needs babysitting," Gilan put in. "Her sling is still a weapon that strikes fear into the hearts of the Arridi."

Edmund however was doing some simple calculations. "But you, Gilan and Will makes three?"

"Will was an apprentice at the time so it was really: 'one daughter, two and a half Rangers'," Halt said, amending his earlier thought.

Will cleared his throat. "If I remember correctly his exact words were two and three-quarters."

"Hog wash," Gilan said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand.

Will was scandalised.

"May I also remind you that I was such a good apprentice that I killed a Kalkara before even receiving my bronze oak leaf and was offered a position in Battleschool."

"Who was trained by MacNeil?" Gilan asked pointing to his sword.

"Who was offered a position in the Royal Scouts?"

"That was only because Evanlyn had a crush on you." Edmund laughed at Will's glare.

"It was actually quite embarrassing," Gilan added, examining his nails. "Scraggly little thing you were."

"Who stopped a Scotti invasion?"

"Who caught Foldar while you were out touring the Skandian countryside with your girlfriend?"

"May I remind you that Cassandra is your Queen," Edmund said.

Naturally, he was ignored.

"Who can play the mandola?" It was mid-argument and Will, still flustered from the girlfriend comment, brought up the stupid instrument and he instantly regretted it.

"You mean the lute," Halt corrected, keeping his face entirely straight.

"It's a mandola! How many times do I have to tell you?!"

"Mandola, lute. Same difference."

"The stringing is different. The mando…"

"I don't think it made a difference to Delilah," Halt said.

Gilan snickered in a very boyish manner. Halt gave him a sharp look and realising how high pitched the laugh was, Gilan cleared his throat.

"Her name was Delia!" Will burst out, completely and utterly frustrated. Halt and Gilan just grinned at each other.

"How many girlfriends did you have? How does Alyss feel…"

"Gorlog's tongue! Can you get to the point?" Edmund said, bringing a stop to Gilan's impassioned speech. "It's a wonder you three haven't caused an international incident!"

"Hey, what happened in Toscana has never been confirmed," Gilan said.

"I still think it was the stale coffee," Halt put in. "Toscan's don't know how to properly brew coffee."

Edmund rolled his eyes at their antics but couldn't help but laugh quietly.

"And the moral of this story?"

"When Evanlyn heard you were going off to Caraway she said, and I quote: 'one baby cousin, three Rangers'," Will said.

"Was that really so hard. Like honestly it's a wonder Araluen hasn't been in a war…" Edmund started and then yelled out in pain as Will pulled the arrow out of his arm and immediately put a piece of clean linen against it to staunch the flow of blood.

"You could have at least warned me!" Edmund said, muttering a couple of curse words which would have made a Skandian blush.

"You were getting on our nerves," Gilan said. Will carefully bathed the wound in water before wiping off the excess blood. Then he applied salve to help numb the wound and prevent infection, before tying it up neatly.

"We better get going," Halt said, looking around as if expecting a third attack. But it was late and he doubted there would be any other trouble tonight.

The three men looked at Halt expectantly. No matter how experienced they got, he would always be their leader and the first person whose opinion they would ask.

"Will you should ride back to Castle Araluen and tell Cassandra what's happening. It would be best for them to send the army to stamp this out before the spring when more soldiers arrive."

Will nodded and began preparing Tug. While they had just taken an almost three-day ride here, this was an emergency and Tug would just have to make another three back. Looking around, Will decided to take another horse with him to make it easier for Tug. While Tug nuzzled his hand telling him that he could make it back, Will wasn't going to take any chances.

"And the three of us?" Edmund asked, glad that he hadn't brought the horse he had wanted to gift Mon. It would have been slaughtered and would only have posed a hindrance.

"You're going to pose as an Iberian soldier, go in, find Mon and see if she needs any help to kill el jefe," Halt said.

"What?" Gilan said. "You know Cassandra sent us to keep Edmund safe. You can't just send the Crown Prince there. It's too dangerous."

"Relax Gil," Edmund replied. "Even if they capture me, they won't kill me. They'd rather ransom me off."

"How can you be sure," Will said, his eyes darkening. "You know what they were prepared to do to Danny."

"Look," Edmund said. "While you all have such unwavering loyalty to Araluen it's different for me. It has been my duty from birth to protect Araluen. I was never the heir. Cass and Maddie are the ones who need to be protected. They royal line is secure so I'm not needed anyway. My duty has always been to protect them and this country and right now it is threatened and I will not shy away from this just because I might die. Mon is in there and she has so much less duty to this country than I do. If I let fear of death stop me protecting Araluen, then I'm no better than a lowly traitor."

Halt clapped Edmund on his shoulder – the right one – and smiled. "Your uncle would be so proud of you. I know I am." Edmund smiled back.

"Also, he's the only one who could pass for an Iberian soldier."

"Meaning, you're too old," Gilan said, grinning fiendishly at Halt. "But why can't I do it."

"You don't speak Iberian," Halt answered, choosing to ignore the jibe.

"And what are we going to do?" Gilan asked.

"You're going to size up their military strength and I'm going to keep an eye on Edmund in case anything goes wrong."

Edmund clutched at his heart dramatically, wincing as he moved his left arm. "Your low opinion of me is like a dagger into my very heart." Halt raised an eyebrow.

"And this is exactly why I need to go," Halt said dryly. "He obviously cannot act."

"What about his arm?" Gilan asked.

"I'll just pretend I got shot by one of you pesky Rangers," Edmund said. "Please note the emphasis on the pesky."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Duly noted."

"And if one of the wounded men recognises you when he's finally hauled back to Caraway."

"They'll have to survive the night."

Seeing the inch of snow that already coated the road, Gilan conceded. They most probably wouldn't make it.

"Sounds like a plan."

† † †

Will had to resist the temptation to clap his heels into the grey gelding and urge him into a full gallop. He had the horse at a steady lope, a gait that Ranger horses could maintain for hours on end. While this horse wouldn't have the endurance, his longer legs more than made up for it. Tug followed without any need for instruction.

It was vital that Cassandra and her advisors get this information as soon as possible so they could start preparing their army. It had been decades since Araluen had faced a real domestic threat. Horace had made sure that the army was always ready, having lived through the second war with Morgarath and killing the Dark Lord personally, but it was inevitable that barons would become lazy and unmotivated.

The wind whipped around Will's head and he wished for the umpteenth time that he could be cradling a mug of coffee between his stiff fingers. Darkness fell but Will continued to ride, even as the trees blurred into obscure shadows with arms that seemed to stretch out over him. He was tired. Absolutely exhausted. Every single bone and muscle ached. He was still riding the gelding, wanting to rest Tug for as long as possible. It was well past midnight and he had been riding with only small rests for almost three days. He shook his head to clear the blurriness and squinted at the sky. He needed to steer by the stars and also watch for any obstacles.

Finally, he reined the gelding in. Glancing around the countryside he saw a tree that was so twisted and gnarled that it had become a quasi-landmark on the seemingly endless highway that stretched from one side of Araluen to the other. Roots as thick as tree trunks had risen above the ground creating little mounds for travellers to sit on as they ate. The wood itself was transcribed with the initials of those who had travelled this way. There was a clearing on the other side of the road, about a hundred metres within the tree line. Will and Gilan had taken a brief rest there on their way to Caraway. The dense foliage provided a shelter from the elements and also hid the spot from passers-by.

He swung down from the saddle, rubbing his backside which wasn't used to the stiff Iberian saddle. His knees gave way slightly as he touched the ground and staggered a few steps. He loosened the girth on gelding's saddle and fastened a rope between the horse's saddle and Tug's saddle bow. Tug wouldn't wander, but the gelding was a simple stead with no such training. Taking out a collapsible bucket he poured some water from his canteen before taking a swig for himself. The gelding greedily drank all the water and Will had to pour a second round for Tug. Tug in turn gave the gelding a decidedly hostile sideways glance. If Will wasn't so tired he would have laughed.

The ground was surprisingly soft and after Will wrapped himself in his cloak and pulled a woollen blanket that had been stowed in the saddle bags over him, his lack of sleep caught up with him. He closed his eyes, giving himself two hours to rest. If he didn't wake, he knew that Tug would do that for him. But right now two hours with his eyes shut as his head rested on dirt and fallen leaves was as appealing as lazing around on a goose down mattress.

It was only two hours, but it was sleep.

† † †

Edmund cringed inwardly as he pulled the uniform off the dead soldier. The man had died of a head wound so luckily for them there was no blood to stain the uniform. He felt like a criminal but the feeling was soon forgotten as soon as he pulled the blood red surcoat and cloak on over his armour.

"It stinks," he complained, breathing through his mouth as he scowled at Halt. It was wet and Edmund could feel his skin crawl as he realised it was sweat. The man's sweat was now all over him. Edmund wanted to gag.

"It's the only uniform without bloodstains," Halt stated.

"This man didn't know how to wash."

"Perhaps it's just the scent of death," Gilan suggested unhelpfully. Edmund's scowl deepened.

"Shouldn't there be some bloodstains since I was shot?"

Halt just grabbed a bloodstained cloak and to Edmunds eternal horror wiped it over his clothes.

"There. Realistic blood stains."

Gilan grinned. "You were asking for it."

Edmund gave up. "Well I'm taking Thunder. There's a few horses his size and colour here so it won't be too out of the ordinary. I'll go in. Pretend that is miraculously escaped this massacre and then look for Mon. We'll kill el jefe and then hopefully she'll come back with me."

"And I'll follow you just in case everything goes to hell," Halt added.

"Alright, well here goes nothing," Edmund said as he swung up into the saddle. He winced as the movement jolted his left arm. But he had experienced pain much worse. He squeezed his knees together and Thunder started at a canter before moving into a gallop. Each movement in the saddle went straight to his arm but Edmund just bit his lip and went on. Mon was risking her life and here he was complaining about wearing a dead man's cape and a little scrape in his arm.

He had to squint to make his way in the dark, and when the clouds completely covered the waning moon, Edmund slowed Thunder down to a canter. It was slower going but eventually he reached a knoll in the road from which he could see Caraway and the Slipsunder River sprawled out in front of him. He could feel his horse's chest heaving so stopped for a few minutes, finding a dry cracker in his saddle bag to nibble on.

Suddenly Edmund heard the sound of hooves and stopped mid-chew, his full attention diverted to finding the source. He knew that it couldn't be Halt and Gilan as they had decided to travel the rest of the way on foot to avoid detection, as only Ranger's could. That left only one possible option.

Edmund got Thunder to walk off the knoll and back only the main road. An Iberian soldier wouldn't stop to sight see. It was only a few minutes before the patrol caught up with him.

"Detener!" the captain of the patrol called. Edmund immediately reined Thunder in and turned.

"Gracias a los dioses!" Edmund said, the many gruelling years under his harsh tutor Collins immediately coming to the forefront of his brain. His tone shifted into an Iberian lilt and he did the sign of the cross, remembering it from the time he had accompanied his uncle on a diplomatic mission to Iberion.

Spying the blood on Edmund's shoulder the captain said, "You were a member of the party that was attacked?"

"Yes!" Edmund answered. "There were only two of them but then another six came out of the tree line armed with bows. I think they were those Araluen Ranger's. Had aim like the bloody devil. Got nicked by an arrow myself and then my captain sent me to warn the commander."

"Your captain's name?"

Edmund was glad for the thoroughness of the Ranger's who had thought to go through the things of the captain to find his name.

"Raphael."

"And your name?"

"Manuel." It was a common Iberian name.

"Señor Romero will want to know the news at once. He has a particular interest in Ranger's," the captain said. For a second Edmund wondered who in Gorlog's name Romero was, but then it hit him like a tonne of sandstone.

They finally had a name for the mysterious and illusive el jefe.

"Should we not send men to tend to the wounded?" Edmund asked as the captain waved his soldiers on.

"Why should we? They are probably dead already and we have a better prize."

It took half a second for Edmund to process the words, but it was already too late.

"Seize him!"

Thunder instinctively tried to get his master out of there, but a group of horses blocked his path. Edmund unsheathed his sword, the weapon breaking free and ready to shed more blood. But before Edmund could put it to use, a jarring pain spread through his back as he was hit with a club. The man who was wielding it had used all his substantive upper body weight and Edmund was swept off his saddle, hitting the ground hard as all his weight landed on his injured arm. His foot got caught in the saddle and in the chaos he was dragged around for a few metres before he managed to get loose.

Edmund swore and continued to swear as his weapons were taken away and he was tied up.

"We're not stupid boy. I know all my men and I have never seen your face before," the captain said, spitting at Edmund. To his credit, Edmund didn't even flinch when the spray found his face.

They lead him away on foot, surrounded by half a dozen spearman who were only inches away from skewering him like a ripe fruit. Edmund spewed filthy curse words in both the common tongue and Iberian – his tutor had been very thorough. An eager young spearman took it as an opportunity to shove his weapon into Edmund's thigh. The Prince stumbled, landing with his face in the ground, the salty soil covering his lips. As he was hauled back to his feet, Edmund spit the dirt at the offending spearman. That spear aimed for his leg again, but this time Edmund was too quick and took a quick step forward before smiling at the young man.

Edmund knew he was asking for it and before the night was over he was reacquainted with precious Araluen soil on a number of occasions. It was long past midnight when they finally arrived.

The battlements were crawling with men, the castle lit by hundreds of lamps placed at intervals. The stone was dark and foreboding and built in the traditional four corners with the Castle Keep a separate tower in the middle. It was much the same as the last time he had been here. The only difference was small, but a threat to the entire country.

Edmund couldn't help but scowl at the coat of arms of the House of Castile. The shield shaped flags with either a castle upon a red background, or a red lion on white, waved in the wind.

His mind cast back to much simpler times. Last time Halt had officially introduced him to the castle guard. Edmund remembered calling Mon his lady. The prettiest blush had coloured her cheeks and she had tried to look away to hide it. Now he realised, he was right where he wanted to be. She was in there, and he was going to make everything right.

Well, if she didn't do it herself first.