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 28
Even if most of what he was given to eat was thin stew and bread soaked in broth to soften it, Gilan quickly recovered enough to be more lucid. He remained awake for longer stretches of time, laying in the wagon beside Halt. The occasional moan would escape him when the wheels hit a rock or a hole Crowley was not able to avoid. He didn't say much, except for crying out for Halt and occasionally Crowley when he was startled from a nightmare, or when he was in so much pain he was unable to be silent and begged for relief.
Mostly, he tucked himself against Halt's side, desperately clutching at a fold of his cloak or shirt, whatever he could reach with his good hand. Taking the food easier, but not very willingly and Halt usually had to coax him gently to eat any of the hot stew.
Unable to move far at all at any day they were soon low on food, and cut the prisoners share to first half rations, then a third rations. They had to keep their own share down as well, though not with as much. Gilan didn't eat much as it was, and they wanted to make sure there was as much for him as he was able to handle.
By the time the castle came into view though they were both hungry with their stomachs grumbling.
"What I wouldn't give for Master Chubb's turkey pie," Crowley mused. "Or a leg of mutton."
"Quiet," Halt growled at him.
"Gilan's sleeping?" he had thought the young Ranger was awake, but if he wasn't, Halt wouldn't want him to wake him he knew.
"No, but I'm hungry to, and having you talk about food is making it worse," Halt threw a glare over his shoulder at his friend.
"That's alright then," Crowley grinned cheerfully. "We'll get the Baron to lock those miscreants up, and then see if we can't get him to treat us to a real good meal. How does that sound to you, Gil?" He hadn't really expected him to say anything, but to his surprise there was a quiet reply from the wagon bed.
"Not hungry…"
Crowley glanced over his shoulder, feeling relieved. At least he was speaking easier now, even if he wasn't very talkative at all and mostly kept it to as few words as possible. The swelling around his jaw and under his eye had gone down some. It was no surprise he wasn't in a talkative mood, but he was at least responding to them when they talked to him. At the moment, Crowley would gladly take anything he could get.
"I'm sure they can find something for you, perhaps not a mutton leg or a whole turkey pie," he mused. "But maybe a bit of soup, how does potato and leek soup sound to you?"
"Not much," Gilan closed his eyes, obviously not wanting to be drawn into any form of conversation. He shifted restlessly, Crowley would even say he seemed somewhat distressed if he was to venture a guess.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently, a small headshake being his reply.
"It's alright Gilan, it won't be much further," Halt placed a hand on his shoulder. "As soon as we get there, we'll let the Baron lock that scum up, and we'll make sure you're taken proper care off. Properly tended to, clean and fed. You can't say that doesn't sound good?"
"Questions," Gilan kept his eyes closed, tucked against his mentor's side. He couldn't really picture what a world without pain would be like, but there were things he felt would be worse still.
"What's that?" Halt frowned, looking down at the young man. Gilan however didn't seem minded to repeat himself. He stayed where he was, quiet, and mostly still. Only as the wagon wheel hit a rock did he give a moan and press himself harder against Halt.
The grizzled Ranger shrugged, there was no use pushing him, if Gilan didn't want to elaborate he wouldn't. Either way, Halt felt he could venture a guess at what the problem was. "That isn't very likely to happen," he mused. "Crowley and I will deal with the Baron, all he needs to know is who that scum are, why we have them and what he needs to do with them. The rest is going to be up to King Duncan, and we're not there yet. We're stopping by here to get you properly looked after before we continue, and to get rid of that lot," he jerked a thumb towards the footsore men who were trudging along behind the wagon.
After their last attempt at escape, Crowley had forced them to remove their boots and leave them behind. Now none of them seemed to want to do anything but stop walking. They certainly didn't seem so brave anymore.
"I think it's another two hours or so before we reach the castle, if we don't stop," Crowley decided after a glance to the sky. "Horses will make it, even if it'll be good for them with a proper rest when we get there."
"Then we move on, I don't really care what that lot feels about it," Halt decided.
"Didn't think you did," Crowley replied cheerfully.
Nodding, Halt uncorked his water skin, with two hours left there was no need at all to go easy on it. "Gilan, have some water," he urged.
"Not thirsty," his former apprentice muttered, much like most his statements seemed to go.
"Didn't ask if you were," Halt chided. "You need it, you're still dehydrated. Come on, a few swallows."
Reluctantly Gilan allowed his head to be raised so that Halt could give him some of the water. More seemed to trickle down his chin than down his throat though. He clearly wasn't overly enthusiastic about it, and Halt soon lowered the waterskin. With a corner of his tunic he mopped at the water that had run down his chin, knowing it wouldn't be comfortable. Gilan though, seemed to try to shift away from the touch. Sighing he sat back, there was nothing worse than seeing your loved ones in pain, unable to do anything about it.
"There it is," just over two hours later Crowley called his attention and he looked to see the castle in the distance. It wasn't a big castle, but then it wasn't a very big or very important Fief either. Two Trees Castle was an average castle in an average Fief. A middle aged, not very good and not very bad Baron controlled the local area fairly well. The castle had four stone walls for defence. A moat around it consisted more of various forms of weeds and stinking mud than of water, but it was not something Halt would want to cross to invade the castle, that much was for certain. There were four towers, one in each corner of the walls, and a main building with its own tower in the middle. The courtyard had one large oak growing in it. Apparently, two had been planted by the wife of the first Baron. One had not survived, but apparently people had felt that 'One Tree Castle' didn't have the same ring to it.
"Baron Vahron," Crowley supplied though Halt hadn't even asked what the Baron's name was.
As they approached, and made to move across the drawbridge they were stopped by two knights standing on guard.
"King's Ranger," Crowley pulled the silver oakleaf out of his shirt. "I'm Crowley, Commandant of the Ranger corps, we have prisoners that needs to be taken under guard, and a wounded Ranger that needs to be taken into care."
"You'll have to see the Baron about that," the knight decided. "If you keep on in, one of the servants can fetch him for you."
Not very efficient, but that did not really surprise Crowley all that much. A lot of the smaller Fiefs that didn't see so much official business were like that. They tended to think their Baron was as mighty as they could get, and they tended to be very careful of Rangers. He simply shrugged and took the wagon through, it was easy to see where the stable was, and he pulled up in front of it. Grinning as their prisoners instantly crumbled into dirty heaps where they had been standing. Except for one of them who was slow on the pickup, and kept stumbling forward until he bumped into the back of the wagon. Falling over to land on his behind with a startled, and very confused look on his face.
"We had better get someone to tidy up that lot," he mused as he scrambled over the back of the seat and into the wagon bed. "They make the place look rather shabby."
Halt grunted in reply, intent on the more important things the way he saw it. "Would you stop yapping for a moment and actually get someone here who can give us a hand?"
"Shouldn't be too hard," looking around Crowley spotted a man in a servants livre and motioned for him to approach. "Could you run up and get Baron Vahron for us?" he asked, once more holding up his silver oakleaf. "Official Ranger business. We've prisoners that need to be taken under guard as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir Ranger," bowing, he ducked away and disappeared into a low doorway.
"They do like to do that," Crowley mused. "They don't seem to realize we're not sir's…"
"As long as he actually gets the man down here," Halt grumbled. He wasn't much in the mood to be pleasant, or jovial. Gilan had made no sign he knew where they were, nor shown any interest in finding it out.
He had to be aware they had stopped, but he lay quiet and still as if he thought they would forget about him.
There was no chance of that happening, but Halt wouldn't be surprised if it was what he was hoping for.
TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…
