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 25

All but invisible in the shadows Halt peered out from under his hood towards the band's camp. They had debated when the best time to move would be, and decided on after supper as the dusk fell. There was no use in trying to stop them when they were on the move, which meant morning, lunch or night was it. In the morning though they were alert and ready, the same seemed to be true for when they stopped to eat. In the evening though, they tended to eat a very large meal, and then settle down for the night. There was an hour or two before they even seemed to contemplate guards, which meant they would be relaxed and unprepared for the attack.

The day before they had attacked a traveller, a merchant judging by his wagon, and they had killed him. He and Crowley had been too far away then to stop it, there was nothing they could have done, but it did help to strengthen their resolve to get them all. He would not mind having a prisoner or two, but he'd rather kill them all than risk one of them getting away.

He did not need to look for Crowley to know he was in position, it would do him no good even if he tried. His friend had moved to the other side of the camp, and they would catch them between them.

In the camp, men were milling about, not so many of them anymore, it had been a large band, but Gilan had reduced their number, and now there was only nine of them. No doubt they meant to increase their numbers when they could, but until then, it was almost too easy.

Between him and Crowley, they would not know what had hit them.

The arrow was already nocked, and he felt as tense as the bowstring as he peered into the camp. There was no prisoner to be seen. They had eaten, and eaten well, but no bowl had been taken to a corner of the camp, to feed someone there. No guard had been posted to make sure someone did not get away, and it had not escaped Halt's notice.

They had the wagon, which could hide someone, but no one had been there to check the bonds of their captive.

Gilan was gone…if he had not been sure of it before, he was now. The things they had found were just refuse, rubbish tossed away because it had not use. Gilan was gone, but he would not let them get away with what they had done to him.

He wondered which one of them it was who had killed him, one was vaguely familiar to him…

Thomas, Harcourt had said, it rang a bell. It had been a bully who tried to establish himself in the village when Halt was new there. It hadn't taken him long to get the better of him, neither he nor Baron Arald tolerated such, and they had quickly discouraged him and sent him on his way. Back then he had been nothing but a brute, alone, and hated for the way he acted, but it would seem he had found likeminded people and decided to expand.

The worse for him, Halt didn't intend to make it easy on him. It was because of him he had lost Gilan, and he had no problem with making him suffer for it.

He drew the bow slowly, finding the anchor point without conscious thought. They would not get a better time to attack and he knew it. Near half of the men were on Crowley's side of the camp, the other half on his. Nine men, and they all could fire about four arrows before the men would be the wiser to them.

He released the arrow, knowing that it was good and there was no reason to watch it. At this time, nothing could be worse. If he watched the arrow hit, he would give them the advantage they needed to see where the arrows was coming from. Instead he drew a second arrow, already having been held at ready, drew, and released.

Gliding to the left even as a cry of pain rang out, a desperate howl of shock and agony, he drew a third arrow.

On the other side of the camp, a second howl rang out, and the men didn't know where to look, they were staring dumbfounded into the woods as one of them stumbled back, without a word, and an arrow in his chest. Panic ensued, it was in an extent only natural, as the gang weren't Rangers.

A Ranger would have looked to see where the arrow was coming from, but these men were cowards and brutes, they did not think, they allowed their panic to rule them, something Halt was grateful for as two more collapsed screaming to the ground.

Two tried to bolt, one wanted desperately to flee from Crowley's arrows, the other was even more scared of Halt's. The two paid no heed to anything, or anyone in their desperate attempt to flee. They collided in the middle of the camp, the heavier of the two bearing down with a crushing weight on the other one, who sat down on the smouldering embars of the fire.

His howl was louder than anything so far, and it brought a smile to Halt's face as he sent an arrow through his shoulder. Further discouraging him from trying anything. Crowley had already sent a shaft through the calf of the other.

Looking now Halt grinned as only one of them were left, and he stood in the middle of the camp, trembling, a sword clutched in his hand as he spun this way and that. His face was ashen white as if he expected to find they had been attacked by a horde of ghosts.

It might very well have seemed like it to him, and when the shadows flickered, a shape shimmering vaguely as Crowley stepped closer, the man gave a shrill cry and fell to the ground, unconscious from fright.

"That's one I've not really seen before," Crowley mused.

"I thought most people reacted that way seeing your face," Halt snorted. "Most of them are alive, we'd better get them secured."

"I had hoped we would be able to bring them in, I brought plenty of thumb cuffs," Crowley grinned. "I just need to get them from Cropper."

"Why'd you leave them there?" Halt looked up with a frown as he prodded the man on the ground. He really was out cold.

"Because I can't carry everything with me," Crowley put two fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. One of the men on the ground whimpered in response and Halt shook his head with disgust. They were all tough and brave when facing defenceless farmers, but with anyone who could defend themselves, they turned out to be of a whole different sort.

Not wanting to risk the man coming awake and scampering off, he used his own pair of thumb cuffs. Wrestling his arms behind his back and putting the handy tool on him. The more he struggled, the more pain he would cause himself, and he had a feeling that he would not have a very high tolerance for it.

"You, I know you!" the leader suddenly hollered. "Halt!"

The Ranger ignored him, knowing it would hurt his ego more than anything he could say.

"I'll kill you for this!" Thomas raged.

"Doing a really good job of it to," Crowley grinned as he fished a bag of thumb cuffs out of his saddle bag. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"We got your apprentice, you should have heard how he cried when we cut his throat," Thomas leered. "Begging for his momma, crying and snivelling. I always thought Ranger's was supposed to be tough, but that one sure wasn't…. Guess you made a mistake with that one, huh? Kinda like the other one, he was sure happy to choose between them, but then everyone knows who's Halt's favourite is, doesn't they?"

As he tried to goad him, Halt hadn't responded, for he knew it was what it was. Thomas wanted to make him angry, to trick him into making a mistake. The problem was that it wouldn't work on Halt, because he knew Gilan too well for that. He knew he would never have done so. Not only because Gilan would never have cried for his mother, the woman who had died giving birth to him. Gilan had always been strong and courageous, possessing true courage. The kind that men like Thomas never knew or understood.

Halt had seen him cry with pain, scared from the nightmares that haunted him after Hackham Heath. He had seen him terrified and with his eyes filled with raw pain Halt could do nothing about no matter how much he wanted to. It broke his heart when he cried out in fever dreams and there was nothing he could do about it. Knowing how the boy had to be suffering for the terrors that haunted him so.

Now, he turned and fixed a glare on the man, one that had sent tougher men scrambling to get out of his way. Thomas, gulped, seemingly realizing he had gone too far. He tried to push back on hands and feet, not able to move much for the arrow in his thigh. "Everyone knows it, everyone knows you'd pick that other one over him. That this one wasn't much good, everyone knows it, wasn't just me. The Ranger choose, he knew it, didn't he?"

Halt didn't say anything, but he leaned down and grabbed his shirt at his throat, twisting so that he partially cut off his air supply.

When the bandit was choking, coughing and sputtering, he leaned down further and punched him across the jaw.

It was a foolish thing to do, something Gilan would have done early in his apprenticeship. Halt had chided him for not using the striker, which Gilan had pointed out he did not have, yet. It was stupid as it risked him breaking fingers, but it was satisfactory to feel the impact in his hand, and whole arm, and know that in a way, he did it for Gilan….

"Halt!"

Crowley's cry caused him to spin around, fearing they had missed one and now Crowley had paid the price for it, such thoughts ran through his mind in the split second it took him to turn. So desperate had Crowley sounded as he cried out, that Halt couldn't picture anything much less than him with a rusty dagger in his chest.

Instead he found Crowley crouched over a bundle of rags on the ground, an awkward looking bundle of rags, and Halt froze, his blood roaring in his ears.

In an instant he was running across the camp, not even realizing he had moved as he threw himself to the ground. The untidy heap had started to take shape under his scrutinizing eye. A naked foot, dirty, blood stained and black with bruises. A knee, poking out of the tangled heap, a hand clutching what was no better than a soiled rag…

"Gilan!" Halt scrambled to gather his apprentice in his arms. Large terrified eyes in a bruised and bloodied face, matted hair that hung in dirty, limp tresses over a gaunt face.

The eyes were open, filled with horror, but aside from whimpers no sound came over his lips.

He had been given no blanket against the chill, his tunic, breaches and cloak were gone. He was dressed only in what remained of his torn small clothes and so covered in dirt and grime he had blended in perfectly with the ground.

"Gilan!" Halt's mind seemed numb, his apprentice was alive, badly hurt, but he was alive. "Gorlog's fangs!"

Crowley was kneeling beside him, and had unslung his cloak that he was trying to settle around the tall Ranger, hindered by Halt's grip on him.

"Halt, we need to tend to him," he tried, but his friend barely heard him. He was clutching his apprentice to him, tears running down his face, and the boy had yet to give a sign he recognized them...

"Halt," he hardened his voice a little, getting the attention of his friend. "We need to see how badly he's injured. He's alive, but this is bad. We need to see what we're dealing with. I'll find some blankets, and get some water to heat. But you need to see if you can get him to tell us where he's hurt."

With an effort, Halt pulled himself out of the state of shock he was in from finding his former apprentice that way and nodded. He gently eased the boy down, settling Crowley's cloak around him. His heart breaking at the quiet moan that escaped him.

"Gilan, I got you now, you're safe," he started slowly, finding a dirty and swollen hand, gently rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "Can you tell me where it hurts? What they have done to you?"

"No," the word was quiet, no more than a whimper. Hazy eyes struggled to focus on him though and Halt knew the boy had seen him and recognized him. Then the lad tried to offer a weak smile, and Halt once more found his face wet by tears.

"Easie' to say wha' they didn't," Gilan managed. "Ever'thing 'urts…"

"I know, I know," Halt stroked a hand over a heavily stubbled cheek. "We got you now, we'll take care of you."

With a whimper Gilan gave up the struggle to keep his eyes open and leaned into Halt's touch. "'S Will 'kay?"

"Will is fine," Halt assured him, he was not surprised Gilan would worry about that. "Will is fine, upset about you, but he's fine."

Beside them, Crowley was making a makeshift bed on the ground with pine boughs, leaves and several of the cleanest blankets he had been able to find. Since most of what the gang had was in a deplorable condition, and he knew they would have to stay put at least for the night, he had unsaddled their horses and put the two saddle blankets on top. They were dusty and covered in horse hair, which was still preferable to most of the other options.

"Gil, we're going to have to move you," he told him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I got a nice spot for you here, and we can tend to you better, okay?"

A shudder ran through the thin body, proving he knew what was coming. Carefully Halt lifted him and moved him over, Crowley helping to try and arrange him as comfortable as possible on the makeshift bed, the pained whimper cutting into his heart.

"Water will be warm about now, and we'll start cleaning you off," Crowley stated. He had his saddlebag next to the makeshift bedding and was now digging through it. Finding a small cup and a bottle he poured a measure. "This is brandy wine, it's strong, so you need to take it slow, but I daresay it'll help numb the pain." Brandy wine was strong, it should numb most anything Halt mused.

Gilan knew the same, though he kept his face pressed against Halt's palm, trembling.

"I know Gil, I know lad," he soothed. "It's probably best you do though, it will hurt lad, better the less you feel of it."

Eyes pressed closed, and a weak hand clutched desperately in a fold of Halt's cloak the young man allowed his head to be raised so he could sip the strong brew. Halt always gave him brandy if he was hurt, he was used to gulping it down quickly to keep from coughing and making sure it was effective. This time though it was harder, his throat was raw from screaming and his chest burned. The slightest cough ripped through him, leaving him in agony, but the brandy wine was strong, and after a few swallows he felt the warm numbness spread through him.

He allowed himself to be lowered again, though he kept his three fingered grip on Halt's cloak. One finger didn't really follow the others, though compared to everything else, that hadn't really seemed like much of a problem.

"Hold him," Crowley urged his friend as he settled down with a bowl of steaming water and a rag. "I'll be as careful as I can, but it's still going to hurt."

Halt nodded grimly, the boy was clutching at him so hard he could not have let him go if he wanted. He really wasn't a boy anymore, but looking so small and fragile, it was hard to think of him as anything else.

Crowley started with his face, gently removing dirt and dried blood to reveal black bruising and cuts. He stitched the ones that needed it, and cleaned them out, treating them with the salve all Ranger's carried as he found them. He quickly washed his hair to remove the worst of the dirt, and check the skull for wounds. When he stitched a bad cut behind his ear Gilan whimpered, moaning as he pressed against Halt.

For most part the boy was quiet, only moaning quietly now and again. Halt held him, carefully praying the hand away from his cloak so that Crowley could tend it. Allowing his other hand to be taken, and biting his lip raw when Gilan cried out as a dislocated finger was slipped back into place.

Crowley was mostly silent, only warning Halt when he knew he'd have to inflict more pain, having him sit Gilan up so he could wrap his ribs and strap his arm to his chest to spare the shoulder and support a splinted arm.

Several times he had to get more clean water, more bandages and salve. Feeding him a few sips of the brandy wine between rounds to keep him calm as much as possible. Finally, when the last water sat near black and cold in the bowl he sat back, wiping a hand across his brow. Gilan seemed to be asleep, having faded in and out of it for the last bit as they worked.

"Nothing life threatening, but there are fractures, and some of the cuts are infected. He's lucky none of them has given him gangrene yet," he breathed.

Halt nodded slowly, he knew what he meant, though 'lucky' did not seem to fit how the boy looked.

"We have to decide what to do," Crowley went on.

"He needs medical care, proper medical care," Halt stated.

"He does," Crowley agreed. "Some of those fractures has started to knit wrong I think. They need to be re-fractured and set properly, or it's not just his sword hand and bow arm that will be compromised, he might never walk properly again either. I don't have the skill to do that, and I don't think he could really take it right now either."

"We can't stay here, not with them," Halt nodded to the cowed band that sat huddled together. They would have to tend to their wounds to, and they would, but it could wait.

"We have the wagon," Crowley mused. "It's not what it's built for, but we can fix it up so that he's pretty comfortable. At least until we can get to the castle. We can leave the prisoners there, and either let them treat Gilan, or move on."

"The surgeon at Redmont is one of the best," Halt mused. "The castle, Two Trees Castle, isn't it? Do they have a surgeon?"

"It is, Crowley confirmed. "And they do, but I don't know how good he is. "I would prefer to have either the one at Redmont, or the one at Castle Araluen do it. Both are highly skilled and can do it without risking permanent damage." At least he hoped so, it was hard to be certain. He was no expert and did not know how bad the damage was. He had however seen it done before. There were limits, people who came with badly warped arms and legs, accidents from their childhood that had not been taken care of properly. There was nothing to be done about those, but there had been warriors who came with injuries much like the ones Gilan had. He had seen many of them recovering fully. Some might have a leg that ached in damp weather, or an arm that was a little weaker than the other. He would hate if Gilan had to suffer any of it, but at least he would still be able to function as a Ranger if that was the worst of it. What he was looking at now, a misshapen ankle that clearly showed a poorly knitted fracture, and a wrist that was no better, that would be the end of it.

Under his hand, Gilan whimpered as if he had heard them, twisting fitfully on the bedding.

"Hush, it's alright," Halt soothed softly. "It's alright Gilan, I got you…" It had been too late to stitch the ugly cut under his eye, and it would likely scar. It shouldn't impair his eyesight though. That was one of the worst things that could happen. Even a limp would be easier for him to manage than that.

By the looks of it, they had taken great joy in mistreating him, inflicting pain anytime they felt like it. Most of the damage seemed to be done by fists and kicks, a few cuts were probably done by knives, where they had indulged in their perverse pleasure of hurting him.

It was horrible, and it caused his blood to run cold, but if it hadn't been for that they would probably have killed him. They had enjoyed hurting him enough to keep him alive.

Looking at him, half curled up against him, covered in only what little remained of his small clothes and Crowley's cloak it set Halt's blood boiling. He realized his anger had caused him to tighten his grip when a moan caught his attention and he looked into painfilled eyes. "I could kill them for this…" he growled, glaring at where the few of them that were left cowered. "I'd gladly kill them for what they've done to you, but we should let Duncan see to it."

"They mur'dred those othe' people," Gilan mumbled. "Sho' be hung."

"You can be certain Duncan will feel that way to," Halt agreed. King Duncan considered Gilan to be a friend, and not just because Sir David was his Battlemaster. Duncan was a smart man who'd seen Gilan's talent early, it wasn't every king who would have allowed a twelve year old to help lead the cavalry as Gilan had done. It wasn't every king who'd agree to take a twelve year old boy along with the army in the first place. They were on half rations, and that could be hard for one so young, yet Gilan had never complained back then. He had done his best to make himself useful, had helped where he was able and had been a generally cheerful and enthusiastic young lad. David had spoken highly of his son, and it had been clear it was not empty boosting. The boy had deserved it back then, and he was even more skilful now. His service as a Ranger had early marked him as one of their best, and Duncan knew it. He had been appalled by what had happened, and Crowley had told him, even shaken by the believed loss of Gilan. He would make sure they were punished to the severest letter of the law for what they had done. Something that Halt felt really good about, and probably the only thing he felt good about at the moment.

The boy was alive, that was a relief, but looking at his broken form Halt found it hard to feel any greater joy at that time. Not when he was in so much pain and there was so little Halt could do about it.

"Rest easy, lad, I got you…" he soothed softly, brushing back a tangled mess of hair.

He had the lad back, and yet, there was so little he could do…

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…