Here is Chapter 6! We don't own anything! Thanks again to VanadesseSadroniel.

Chapter 6

Sandra looked at the beginning of the chapter. "This is going to be a fun chapter to read!"

"Why?" asked Crowley curiously.

"Wait and see," she said with a smile.

HALT LEANED BACK AND SURVEYED HIS HANDIWORK WITH A satisfied sigh.

"There," he said. "That should do the trick."

Horace looked at him doubtfully, his eyes moving from Halt's pleased expression to the official-looking document that he had just completed forging.

"I remember this!" exclaimed Horace happily. "I wasn't very happy with Halt."

"Of course not," said Gilan, "Halt is forging again!"

"Whose seal is that at the bottom?" he asked finally, indicating the impression of a rampant bull that was set in a large splodge of wax in the bottom right-hand corner of the parchment. Halt touched the wax gently, checking to see if it had hardened completely.

"Well, I suppose if it's anyone's it's mine," he admitted. "But I'm hoping that our Skandian friends will think it belongs to King Henri of Gallica."

"How did you get one of those seals?" asked Will curiously.

"You don't need to know," said Halt grumpily, he had a good idea of what this chapter was going to be about and he didn't like it.

"Is that what his royal seal looks like?" Horace asked, and Halt studied the symbol impressed in the wax a little more critically.

"Pretty much," he replied. "I think the real one may be a trifle leaner in the body, but the forger I bought it from had a pretty indistinct impression to work from."

"He isn't worried about forging but about how close the forgery looks to the real one! Really?" asked David, "shouldn't he be more concerned about forging a royal seal?"

"He's Halt, he doesn't follow rules unless he finds them useful," said his son, trying not to have either his father or his mentor get upset with him and motioned for Sandra to continue. He had always been a mediator.

"But…" Horace began unhappily, then stopped.

Halt looked at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "But?" he repeated, making the word into a question.

Horace merely shook his head. He knew Halt would probably laugh at his objection if he voiced it.
"Do you really think he would laugh at you?" asked Will incredulously.

Horace glared at him, "Of course he will, if not on the outside, at least on the inside."

Will looked thoughtful and then nodded his assent, "Of course he would, he's Halt."
"Oh, never mind," he said at last. Then, realizing that the former Ranger was still waiting for him to speak, he changed the subject.

"I thought you said there was no ruling court in Gallica," he said. Halt shook his head.

"There's no effective ruling court," he told the young man. "King Henri is the hereditary king of the Gallicans, but he has no real power. He maintains a court in the southern part of the country and lets the local warlords do as they please."

"It is not a very good country to live in if it has such an economy," said Pauline thoughtfully, "I kind of feel sorry for the people."

"Yes. I noticed some of that," Horace said meaningfully, thinking about the encounter with the warlord Deparnieux that had delayed their progress through Gallica.

"So old King Henri is something of a paper tiger," Halt continued. "But he has been known to send envoys into other countries from time to time. Hence this." He gestured at the sheet of parchment that he was waving gently in the air so that the ink might dry and the wax seal might harden. The sight of the seal brought back all of Horace's misgivings.

"And you had a lot of misgivings didn't you Horace," asked Cassandra.

"Of course! He was forging a royal seal on a forged document and I am a royal knight! I am supposed to be arresting people who do that kind of things!" Horace seemed exasperated.

Will smiled at him, "You get used to it after a while, especially if you have lived with him for five years."

"That's just it! You shouldn't be getting used to it because it's wrong!"

David leaned over to Rodney, "He is so different from the Rangers! Has Halt corrupted him yet?"

Rodney sighed, "What do you think? And it happened a while ago."

Horace sighed, "You're right Will, I have gotten used to it now though it doesn't mean that I like it."

"As long as you put up with it, it is fine with me," grumbled Halt.

"It just doesn't seem right!" he blurted out, before he could stop himself. Halt smiled patiently at him, blowing gently on some damp patches of ink.

"It's as right as I can get it," he said mildly. "And I doubt that the average border guard in Skandia will see the difference—particularly if you're dressed in that fine suit of Gallican armour you took from Deparnieux."

Will was laughing and Crowley joined him. Horace glared at the two of them, "I am much older now and now, I make fun of you."

"True, very true," muttered Will, remembering some of those times.

But Horace shook his head doggedly. Now that his concern was out in the open, he was determined to plow on.

"That's not what I meant," he said, then added, "And well you know it."

Halt smiled at him, "Of course I knew that, I just wanted to tease you." Horace gave him a glare but dropped the matter.

Halt grinned easily at the young man's troubled expression. "Sometimes your sense of morality amazes me," he said gently. "You do understand that we have to get past the border guards if we're to have any chance of finding Will and the princess?"

"Evanlyn," Horace corrected him automatically. Halt waved the comment aside.

"Whoever." He knew that Horace tended to refer to Princess Cassandra, the daughter of the Araluen King, by the name she had assumed when Will and Horace had first encountered her. He continued: "You do realize that, don't you?"

"Yes, both of them are used to her using the name Evanlyn even though Horace is now used to both, being her husband and personal guard," stated Duncan, smiling at his daughter who returned it.

Horace heaved a deep sigh. "Yes, I suppose so, it's just that it seems so…dishonest, somehow."

Halt's eyebrows rose in a perfect arch. "Dishonest?"

Horace went on, awkwardly. "Well, I was always taught that people's seals and crests were sort of…I don't know, sacrosanct. I mean…" He gestured toward the figure of the bull impressed in red wax. "That's a king's signature."

"I never knew you knew such a long word!" said Will with amusement.

Horace ignored him saying instead, "What I said back there was true! And it was drummed in my head over and over again. I can't just get over it like that!"

"Don't worry Horace, we weren't trying to. We are just unused to knowing a person so fixated on the rules because we definitely aren't," replied Halt before muttering under his breath, "We still aren't for that matter."

Halt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He's not much of a king," he replied.

"That's not the point. It's a principle, don't you see? It's like…" He paused, trying to think of a reasonable parallel, and finally came up with: "It's like tampering with the mail."

In Araluen, the mail was a service controlled by the Crown and there were dire penalties proscribed for anyone who tried to interfere with it. Not that such penalties had ever stopped Halt in the past when he'd needed to do a little tampering in that direction.
"Halt!" came Horace's affronted cry. He knew that Halt usually didn't follow the rules but going so far as to tamper with the mail? That was unacceptable. Duncan watched, amused and finally figuring out that Halt had been breaking so many of his laws. He had known of many of the times that Halt had broken the laws but he hadn't paid any attention because he liked Halt and he knew it was in his best interests to leave him alone. After all, his methods brought exceptional results with such a high rate of success too. Some people would say that he should probably have Halt arrested, after all, he had insulted him and all the breaking of the laws. But he knew that if he did that, pretty much all of the Rangers would be angry, especially Crowley, Will and Gilan. So, he decided it would be best to pretend that he knew nothing about it.
He decided that it wouldn't be wise to mention that to Horace right now. Obviously, the morality code taught in Castle Redmont's Battleschool was a good deal more rigid than the behaviour embraced by the Ranger Corps. Of course, the knights of the realm were entrusted with the protection of the Royal Mail, so it was logical that they should have such an attitude ingrained in them from an early part of their training.

"That is very true, we emphasise that in our lessons," agreed Rodney, "Though should I start to stress it even more?"

"So how would you suggest that we deal with the problem?" he asked at last. "How would you get us past the border?"

Horace preferred simple solutions. "We could fight our way in," he suggested with a shrug. Halt raised his eyes to heaven at the thought.

"Of course, he is a warrior after all, that is all most warriors think about, fighting, no offence to the warriors in this room who are not like that," said Will. "We all know that Horace prefers plain out fighting to subterfuge though he has gotten a lot better recently."

"Of course! How could I not when I spend so much time with Rangers!" said Horace, ending the argument.

"So it's immoral to bluff our way past with an official document—" he began.

"A false document," Horace corrected. "With a forged seal at the bottom."

Halt conceded the point. "All right—a forged document if you like. That's reprehensible.
"After all, it is forged and we all know that," said Crowley with a giggle. Halt glared at him.
But it would be perfectly all right for us to go through the border post hacking and shooting down everyone in sight? Is that the way you see it?"

Now that Halt put it that way, Horace had to admit there was an anomaly in his thinking.
"You said that to try and make me think your way!"

"Of course he did! He's Halt and he was starting to corrupt you, turn you into a Ranger!" said Gilan, "I used to be the same way."
"I didn't say we should kill everyone in sight," he objected. "We could just fight our way through, that's all. It's more honest and above board, and I thought that's what knights were supposed to be."

"It is, but Rangers aren't," said Crowley, "You should have learned that a long time ago!"

"Knights may be, but Rangers aren't," Halt muttered. But he said it below his breath so that Horace couldn't hear him. He reminded himself that Horace was very young and idealistic. Knights did live by a strict code of honour and ethics and those factors were emphasized in the first few years of an apprentice knight's training. It was only later in life that they learned to temper their ideals with a little expediency.

"Like now, I am more than used to your ideas," said Horace, "If I had been that way during that time, we wouldn't have been having that argument."

"Very true," said Will, "I kind of like this Horace better than that Horace!"

"You would."

"Look," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "Think about it this way: if we just barged on through and headed for Hallasholm, the border guards would send word after us. The element of surprise would be totally lost and we could find ourselves in big trouble. If we decide to fight our way in, the only way to do it is by leaving nobody alive to spread the word. Understand?"

Horace nodded, unhappily. He could see the logic in what Halt was saying. The Ranger continued in the same reasoning tone. "This way, nobody gets hurt. You pose as an emissary from the Gallican court, with a dispatch from King Henri. You wear Deparnieux's black armour—it's obviously Gallican in style—and you keep your nose stuck in the air and leave the talking to me, your servant. That's the sort of behavior they'd expect from a self-important Gallican noble. There's no reason for any word to be sent informing Ragnak that two outlanders have crossed the border—after all, we're supposed to be going to see him anyway."

"When you say it like that, it sounds much better than it actually is," muttered Horace.

"That's the point. What good is it if you have an idea and don't have a way to have people follow the idea?" asked Halt with one of his wolfish grins.

"And what's in the dispatch that I'm supposed to be taking?" Horace asked.

Halt couldn't resist a grin. "Sorry, that's confidential. You don't expect me to breach the secrecy of the mail system, do you?"
"Very funny Halt," grumbled Horace.
Horace gave him a pained look and he relented. "All right. It's a simple business matter, actually. King Henri is negotiating for the hire of three wolfships from the Skandians, that's all." Horace looked surprised.

"Isn't that a little unusual?" he asked, and Halt shook his head. "Not a bit. Skandians are mercenaries. They're always hiring out to one side or another. We're just pretending that Henri wants to subcontract a few ships and crews for a raiding expedition against the Arridi."

"The Arridi?" Horace said, frowning uncertainly.

Halt shook his head in mock despair. "You know, it might be more useful if Rodney spent less time teaching you people ethics and a little more time on geography.
"Hey! They are knights, they don't need to know so much about geography but they need to know how to manage themselves and obey the rules that they are supposed to be enforcing. Right?" asked Rodney.
The Arridi are the desert people to the south." He paused and saw that this made no impression on the young man. Horace continued to look at him with a blank expression.
"I really didn't know who you were talking about! I wasn't taught geography!"

"Exactly," stated Halt, "I was making a point."
"On the other side of the Constant Sea?" he added, and now Horace showed signs of recognition.

"Oh, them," he said dismissively.

Alyss looked shocked, "You really didn't think that they would do anything did you?"

"I didn't really know, I wasn't taught that much about them."

"Yes, them," Halt replied, mimicking the tone. "But I wouldn't expect you to think about them too much. There are only millions of them."

"But they never bother us, do they?" Horace said comfortably. Halt gave a short laugh.

"Not so far," he agreed. "And just pray they don't decide to."

Horace could sense that Halt was on the verge of delivering a lecture on international strategy and diplomacy.

"Those are his favourite things to do, especially to his apprentices," said Will and Gilan nodded in agreement.

That sort of thing usually left Horace's head spinning after the first few minutes, while he tried to keep up with who was aligned with whom and who was conspiring against their neighbours and what they hoped to gain from it.

"I think that is everyone's reaction, we aren't the type of people to want to know all about the strategy and diplomacy. I mean some knowledge is good but too much is too much," said Gilan, everyone around him nodding in agreement.

He preferred Sir Rodney's type of lecture: right, wrong, black, white, out swords, hack and bash. He thought it might be expedient to head off Halt's incipient harangue. The best way to do that, he had learned from past experience, was to agree with him.

"Good old Horace! You really learned didn't you!" laughed Cassandra.

"Of course I did, I didn't want to go through all of that over and over again if there was a way to stop it!" complained Horace.

Halt was glaring at them, "So should I be giving you a lecture now?"

"No!"

"Please don't!"

"I don't know if we would survive!" Came three panicked answers.

Halt smiled dangerously at them, "I don't know if you understood…"

"Yes, we did! Sorry Halt!" Crowley, as usual, was laughing at them with Halt glaring at him to try and get him to shut up but of course, Crowley paid no attention to his best friend.

"Well, I suppose you're right about the forgery," he admitted. "After all, it's only the Gallican's seal we're forging, isn't it? It's not as if you're forging a document from King Duncan. Even you wouldn't go as far as that, would you?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, after all, you know Halt, and he is prepared for just about everything. And he doesn't follow a lot of the rules."

"Of course not," Halt replied smoothly. He began to pack away his pens and ink and his other forger's tools. He was glad he'd laid hands on the forged Gallican seal in his pack so easily. It was as well that he hadn't had to tip them all out and risk Horace's seeing the near-perfect copy of King Duncan's seal that he carried, among others.

"I knew it! At least I am glad I didn't know it at that time, I would not have liked it at all!" exclaimed Horace.

"Exactly why I didn't show it to you," said Halt.

"Now may I suggest that you climb into your elegant tin suit and we'll go and sweet-talk the Skandian border guards."

"Sweet talk all right, too bad you didn't get to talk with them. I would have loved to watch that!" laughed Will.

Horace snorted indignantly and turned away. But another thought had occurred to Halt— something that had been on his mind for some time.

"What has been bothering Halt so much?" asked Crowley curiously.

"Horace…" he began, and Horace turned back. The Ranger's voice had lost its former light tone and he sensed that Halt was about to say something important.

"Yes, Halt?"

"When we find Will, don't tell him about the…unpleasantry between me and the King, all right?"

"Yes, that would not be something to talk about lightly."

"I'm sorry about that Halt," apologised Duncan.

"It's fine, I was the one who wanted to get banished in the first place."

"If I had let you go, you wouldn't have had to get yourself banished."

"True, but it's too late now. I don't regret it," said Halt and Duncan allowed himself a smile.

Months ago, denied permission to leave Araluen in search of Will, Halt had devised a desperate plan. He had publicly insulted the King and, as a result, was banished for a period of one year. The subterfuge had caused Halt a great deal of mental anguish in the past months. As a banished person, he was automatically expelled from the Ranger Corps. The loss of his silver oakleaf was possibly the worst punishment of all, yet he bore it willingly for the sake of his missing apprentice.

"Halt really cares for Will doesn't he?" asked Margaret quietly.

Rodney nodded, "He is like a son to Halt."

"Whatever you say, Halt," Horace agreed. But Halt seemed to think, for once, that further explanation was necessary.

"For once! Halt is explaining himself!" said Crowley, pretending to faint in awe. Halt dug his elbow into his friend's side and gave him a withering glare, only to be ignored by Crowley.

"It's just that I'd prefer to find my own way to tell him—and the right time. All right?"

Horace shrugged. "Whatever you say," he repeated. "Now let's go and talk to these Skandians."

But there was to be no talking. The two riders, trailed by their small string of horses, rode through the pass that zigzagged between the high mountains until the border post finally came into sight. Halt expected to be hailed from the small wooden stockade and tower at any moment, as the guards demanded that they dismount and approach on foot. That would have been normal procedure. But there was no sign of life in the small fortified outpost as they drew nearer.

"That is strange, there is usually a lot of people at a border post," said Duncan confused.

"Gate's open," Halt muttered as they came closer and could make out more detail.

"How many men usually garrison a place like this?" Horace asked. The Ranger shrugged.

"Half a dozen. A dozen maybe."

"And that is only if it is a very important place or they think that there might be trouble," said David, deep in thought.

"There don't seem to be any of them around," Horace observed, and Halt glanced sideways at him.

"I'd noticed that part myself," he replied, then added, "What's that?"

There was an indistinct shape apparent now in the shadows just inside the open gate. Acting on the same instinct, they both urged their horses into a canter and closed the distance between them and the fort. Halt already felt certain what the shape was.

Everyone in the room leaned in too see what was going to happen, feeling uneasy with the knowledge that something bad was going to happen in the next sentence.

It was a dead Skandian, lying in a pool of blood that had soaked into the snow.

Inside there were ten others, all of them killed the same way, with multiple wounds to their torsos and limbs. The two travellers dismounted carefully and moved among the bodies, studying the awful scene.

"That is horrible!" exclaimed Sandra, "Why would someone want to kill them so brutally?"

Arald put his arm around his wife, "It is the risk you take when you become a warrior."

"Who could have done this?" said Horace in a horrified voice. "They've been stabbed over and over again."

"Not stabbed," Halt told him. "Shot. These are arrow wounds.

"Arrow wounds look a lot like dagger wounds so don't blame me for mistaking them," said Horace.

"It is a beginner's mistake, especially since you don't use a bow. If you did use a bow, I would be angry that you didn't know your weapon," Halt replied.

And then the killers collected their arrows from the bodies. Except for this one." He held up the broken half of an arrow that had been lying concealed under one of the bodies. The Skandian had probably broken it off in an attempt to remove it from the wound. The other half was still buried deeply in his thigh. Halt studied the fletching style and the identification marks painted at the nock end of the arrow. Archers usually identified their own shafts in such ways.

"Like us, Halt uses black shafted arrows and I use grey. It's how we tell them apart," said Will.

"So whose arrows were these?" asked David curiously.

"Can you tell who did this?" Horace asked quietly, and Halt looked up to meet his gaze. Horace saw an expression of deep concern in the Ranger's eyes.

"That is never a good sign," muttered Gilan, some of the others nodding with him.

That fact alone, more than the carnage around them, sent a wave of uneasiness through him. He knew it took a lot to worry Halt.

"Yes, because he has been through so much and knows so much," said Gilan.

"I'm glad you think so highly of me," Halt said with a small smile.

"I think so," said the Ranger. "And I don't like it. It looks like the Temujai are on the move again."

"That is never good," said Duncan worriedly.

"Who are the Temujai?" asked Margaret.

"They are the riders from the Steppes. Some of the most disciplined warriors in the known world. Not people you want to go against," said Rodney, remembering learning about them.

"Well, let's see what is going to happen in the next chapter. I will read," said Duncan.

Hey everyone, this might be the last chapter we will post for a while. We aren't going to abandon this story. We enjoy it too much! Thank you again!

Reply to Guest: We are planning on working on the seventh book after this one but we will consider doing one for book three. It just happens to be our least favourite book!