Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, made possible by the Ranger's Apprentice by John Flanagan. I have only borrowed his creation and I make no money. For this story I have used several other Rangers from the books, though I've also added my own. I do this only in the hope to entertain…

Author's Note: No harm shall come to the characters that can't be fixed with enough coffee…

Chapter 6

As it turned out, Gilan was right in his estimation of where the next attack would come. They arrived in a small village, no more than twenty or so houses, only to hear about how one of the neighbouring farms had been attacked.

Instantly heading there they found the scene much the same. The house had been burned down, smoke was still curling softly upwards from the timber in places. Dark pools on the muddy ground showed where bodies had lain and bled. The carcass of a cow had been hacked to pieces, an old run down plough horse lay staring ahead with unseeing eyes.

This time as he took in the destruction Will could not help it, he had to turn away to retch. Gilan was walking around, grim faced to study the crumbled remains of a family's home.

He heaved what was left of a charred roof beam out of the way and entered the ruins. Once he came back out, he tried to clean his soot stained hands on the damp grass, wincing as they were still smeared with black.

Watching him, Will studied the ground, there were plenty of tracks, but he found it hard to tell which ones belonged to the farmers who had lived there.

Turning his head to look at Gilan he saw how he studied the footprints that could only have belonged to a small child. Judging by the space between them, as Gilan measured them out against his own stride, the child would have been running.

Then the tiny footprints stopped in one of the dark puddles.

"They're heading towards the north," Will decided finally when they gathered around the point. The younger Ranger grateful that it was not too close to the child's foot prints. Gilan was grim faced, and Harcourt stood quiet. "I think about fifteen of them." He wasn't as good at reading tracks as Halt was, but he figured he was good enough for an estimation.

"I think they'll swing towards the north-east later, but they're heading north for now," Gilan agreed. "They should be easily to follow."

Will nodded, giving a low whistle to call Tug over to him. Blaze following him, though Harcourt's pony seemed not to quite trust them enough yet for that. He had to call her himself while Gilan petted Blaze's neck.

"We'll track them," Gilan stated. "Right now, we have a clear trial to follow, I don't want to lose that."

Nodding grimly Will tightened the girth. They had loosened the saddle girth while they examined the farm, so the horses could be more comfortable and yet ready in but a moment. He swung himself in the saddle, noting how Gilan still had his jaw clenched. It made him unease, really uneasy. Seeing Gilan look so grim felt as it would to see Halt laugh and smile at the world. It just wasn't natural and it set the hair on his neck prickling.

An hour later he could not take it any longer, Gilan wasn't supposed to look so sad and angry, he just wasn't, and it was making Will decidedly uncomfortable. Sitting back just a little in his seat he smiled as Tug instantly took the cue and held back until Blaze came up level with him. The two ponies knew each other as well as their riders, and got along well.

Gilan gave him a curious look as he fell in step beside him, but though he smiled he did not say anything.

Will, not quite certain what he wanted to say either reached into his pocket, finding a piece of jerky that he handed to the taller Ranger. With a raised eyebrow, just the same as Halt, Gilan accepted it, giving a small nod of thanks in turn.

"You know, you're as annoying as Halt when you do that," at least the eye brow raising gave him an opening he could use.

"Eat?" Gilan graciously took the bait, though Will knew it was for his sake more than his own.

"Raise your eyebrow like that, like you know exactly what I want and what I'm doing, even when I'm not certain of it myself. I used to hate when he did that, because it always meant he knew what I was doing better than I did, and usually that he was right and I was wrong."

"Who do you think taught me how to do that?" Gilan queried, one eyebrow arched in a perfect mimic of Halt.

"I can't do that," Will tried raising his eyebrow, but he could tell even without a looking glass that he wasn't pulling it off.

"Just wait until you have an apprentice, it comes with the territory," Gilan shrugged.

"But you've never had an apprentice, have you?" he frowned. As far as he knew, Gilan had never had an apprentice, though it was hard to tell sometimes. The two of them tended to be annoyingly close mouthed about things.

"I've got you, it's close enough," Gilan grinned, and at least now he was smiling again which made Will feel worlds better about the whole thing.

"I'm not your apprentice, it can't count. I'm Halt's apprentice, and I'm not even that anymore."

"You're Halt's apprentice," Gilan confirmed with a nod. "Which, basically make you half mine as well, since he keeps letting me deal with the things he doesn't want to."

"That still don't make me yours, and, as I said, I'm not even an apprentice anymore," Will shook his head.

"True, but you come with Horace as part of the package, which adds another half to it, since he's not really an apprentice at all, and I still keep winding up having to deal with him, that makes it at least three quarters between the two of you." Tearing the jerky in half he chewed slowly, taking a small pouch of nuts from his own pocket that he passed Will together with the rest of the jerky.

"Three quarters are still less than one whole," Will objected.

"You want me to start cutting the two of you into parts?" Gilan grinned. "Or round it off upwards, like a baker's dozen?"

"A baker's dozen isn't rounded," Will frowned. "It's kind of odd actually. Twelve is rounded, thirteen is an odd number. Why do they call it that anyway? It's not a dozen, why should the bakers have thirteen to a dozen when everyone else has twelve?"

"If a bread is one copper each, and you buy twelve bread rolls how much is that?" Gilan grinned, giving him that arched eyebrow again.

"Easy, twelve coppers," Will made a try for the eyebrow, but he could tell he didn't quite pull it off.

"So, if you paid for twelve rolls, and paid twelve coppers, you can't really be cheated can you?"

"No," Will shook his head. "It's not like they can give you eleven, you'd notice."

"I'd hope so," Gilan agreed. "But say the baker was to take a pinch of dough from each roll before he baked them?"

"To what use?" Will snorted. "They'd still be a one bread roll."

"They would, but take a decent pinch, and for each twelve, you'd have maybe two or four more, wouldn't that kind of be cheating?" Gilan challenged.

"I suppose it might," pondering the matter Will had to admit it might be. "Do they do that?"

"I've no doubt some would, but then I've known carpenters who'd hammer it together without nails to save the money," Gilan snorted. "The main point is, sometimes they did, sometimes some scrouge would accuse them of it. So they started throwing in an extra bread roll to the dozen. If they do that, they wouldn't profit from making them smaller, would they? Whatever they could possibly save, they would just lose again. Instead, you have the baker's dozen, which is also a form of goodwill. You take an old house wife and give her a baker's dozen, and she's likely to come back and not to the other baker in the village, isn't she?"

"How do you know all this?" Will frowned. "I've never heard of it before."

"Simple, I asked the baker," Gilan grinned.

Nodding slowly, Will thought it made sense as he chewed the last of the nuts. Gilan was inquisitive and might very well have asked a baker about it if he wanted to know. What more, the reason made sense. No doubt most bakers would prefer to be thought of as generous, rather than stingy. "Only now I'm hungry," he sighed. "It's no good talking about food."

"I'm not the one that started it, and I can't say I'm all that hungry either," Gilan shrugged. "And you just had the jerky, and my nuts."

"At least I'm not as bad as Horace," Will shrugged. "And you really ought to be hungry. Halt's right, you keep getting lankier. You really should try and put on a bit of meat for once."

"Don't have to, you and Halt have more than enough for all three of us." It was an old subject that was familiar to them since they Halt's two apprentices had first met. The bantering however served to lift their spirits. While Will felt there was certainly some truth in it, the Gilan being too lanky, not he and Halt starting to get too wide part, naturally, it was comfortable friendly ribbing.

"Even if it worked that way, which it doesn't, what do you plan on doing when we're not along?"

"The same as I've always done," Gilan shrugged. "Feel sorry for poor old Abelard and Tug…"

"At least they don't get bruises from carrying around a tall bag of bones like you," Will found himself giving a laugh as Gilan smiled back at him. It really had worked, he felt much better for it. Knowing by this point that it wouldn't really matter how much Gilan ate, he wasn't likely to put on all that much weight anyway, he still felt he sometimes didn't eat enough.

Halt had at one time said much the same thing, though it had been more a strong hint than an outright statement.

They both made sure to keep a close eye on the tracks they were following. While the gang had taken some effort to hide them, they hadn't managed to hide them all. There was plenty enough to follow if one was a good tracker. What the Rangers wanted to be certain of was that no one suddenly broke off from the main group. Either to fall back and lay a trap, or take off somewhere else to cause mayhem and destruction. Either one would be just as bad as the other.

Several times they dismounted to have a closer look at one mark or another that was left on the ground.

Squatting on his haunches, Gilan studied the track with his brow furrowed. Deep in thought, though it seemed he wasn't sure himself what he was thinking about.

He was driving himself too hard, Will thought. He felt he was responsible for the deaths at the farm stead. No doubt he was telling himself if they had not stopped for the night, perhaps those people would still be alive.

Only, no matter how much Will wished it to be so, he knew it wasn't true. They could never have known which farm. If they had been in place when it happened, it would have been through sheer luck.

Gilan always told him not to dwell on his mistakes, to simply learn from them and move on. He said it was only really a mistake if you did it again. It was good reasoning, but Gilan didn't quite seem to do it himself. He never repeated his mistakes, and he never allowed them to take over, but he never really seemed able to put them behind him. Will had pointed that out to Halt, who told him Gilan was very well aware of it, and wanted better for Will. That was why he told him that it was so important. He wanted Will to fare better than he himself did.

In a way, he was aware of his own error, and wanted for Will to avoid it.

Running his hand over his neat beard, Will contemplated what he could do. Not a lot, Gilan was his senior, if not in rank, so in experience. He knew what he was doing and was damn good at it. While Will though he was quite good himself, still tended to defer to Halt.

"You know, you never conceded my point before," he started softly as Gilan stood. He couldn't do a lot, and he knew it. However, perhaps he could draw another smile out of him, if only for a minute.

"Which one would that be?" Gilan raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not an apprentice anymore, regardless if you lump me together with Horace, I got this," he fished the silver oakleaf out of his shirt.

"That does sparkle nicely," Gilan touched his own oakleaf, slightly more dull from wear. "But you know that when it comes to Halt, that doesn't mean a thing. You're never going to stop being his apprentice, and anything else you tell yourself is just wishful thinking."

"I know," he admitted with a wry smile. It was just what he had been thinking, he still looked to Halt to call the shots and give all the answers. "It's not just him, I don't think I'll ever feel quite equal next to him."

"And you never will, I sure don't," Gilan shrugged as he swung himself back in the saddle. "But it's not so bad you know. Sure, he can be a real mother hen sometimes, even if he won't ever admit it, but it's nice knowing you'll always have that."

"It is," Will agreed. "And now we kind of got Pauline as well."

"We always had Pauline," Gilan snorted. "She's doing the same things now she's always done. You're the one who only just figured it out."

"Huh," frowning, Will pursed his lips. He could remember Pauline from when he was still in the ward. She had always been kind to him, generous, always greeted him when she saw him. Knew his name, laughed and might hand him a sweet from the kitchen before she went on her way. "Oh…"

"Yes, oh," Gilan laughed. "Don't worry, took me a little bit to figure it out as well. Ever since I became Halt's apprentice she was doing that. More than anyone else, and I couldn't figure out why she'd care so much about me. Then I realized, she and Halt were always kind of dancing around it, waiting for the right time. She obviously figured that when she finally got him, she'd be saddled with his apprentices as well, so she cared about us."

"I never realized that before," he shook his head, he never had, but now that Gilan had pointed it out, he could see it so clearly.

"You know, as lucky as we are to have Halt, you don't know how lucky you are to have Pauline," Gilan mused as he nudged Blaze into a trot. The trail they were following was quite clear, and he was eager to make up some time.

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…