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 3

With the stew all gone, Gilan figured it was an excellent time to get a fish from the river. The weather was nice and clear, if pretty cold at this time of the year. He had brought a line with a sinker and a short bit of a stick attached to it, about two inches long. The stick would ensure the hook didn't sink to the bottom, and it would allow him to see if he got a bite. This way, he could practice throwing the knives as he fished. Jogging all the way to the river, both to burn off some energy and in the hope of increasing his stamina. The river bank was the perfect place for fishing, with a fairly steep bank and a few rocks that jutted out over the water. He baited the hook with a fat bug he caught on a bush and secured the line before casting it out. Some people forgot the bit about securing the line, which was not a good way to get a fish, but an excellent way to loose a good hook.

As he threw both throwing knife, saxe knife, and alternated between using his left and right hand to do so he kept an eye on the line.

Once the line sank he pulled it in only to find a completely empty hook. Either the bug had managed to escape, or, a fish had eaten it right off the hook. The smaller fish sometimes did that. It only took him a few minutes to find a new bug though, and he cast the line again. This time after the stick sank and he pulled it in he found a nice fair-sized fish on it. He debated being satisfied with it, but decided to get one more. The one he had would be enough for lunch, but if he got one more, and actually baked a potato or two he would have enough for dinner as well, and leftovers for breakfast. It took a little longer to get the next one, but as he was practicing his throwing skills he did not mind.

Once he had pulled in a second one, slightly bigger, he grinned and worked the hook out of its mouth. Rolling it up neatly and storing it in the small tin he used. Keeping a lose hook in your gear was not a good idea. They were quite painful to work out of your fingers.

He also took another small knife from his belt, a pairing knife well suited for the job of cleaning out the fish. He could have done it back at the cabin, but this way he could toss the entrails and the heads back into the water where other fish would feed on them. Cutting off the end of the tail and the fins as well, washing the cleaned out fish in the river before threading them on a bit of thick cord to make them easier to carry home.

He was licking his lips, already thinking he could taste them as he strode cheerfully down the road. If he had been out camping he wouldn't have cleaned them out the way he did, as he then would have threaded them on a sapling to cook. However, Halt had a really nice piece of grill tool at the cabin. A fine steel mesh that you inserted the fish in, to grill it over the hot coals of the fire. He was a little more comfortable with that method than using the frying pan. Once it was done, and liberally salted, he'd drop a bit of butter on it on the plate. He'd bake the potatoes in their jackets, and eat them with butter. Not only were they delicious that way, but he'd have less of a mess to clean up.

Given how fond Halt was of baked potatoes with heaps of butter, he certainly wouldn't complain about Gilan using up most of the dairy for that.

Having a plan he felt confident he could handle, he was grinning cheerfully as he strode down the road.

He wasn't too far from the clearing with the cabin, just a few hundred meters from where he would duck into the woods when he spotted three young men coming the other way. They all wore swords on their belts, and their clothes were gaudy and expensive. They would be sons of either knights, or someone else of higher standing. He judged the youngest one to be a few years older than him, and the oldest one probably just over twenty. They all shared something of the same characteristics in the face and he assumed them to be brothers.

The way they walked, chest pushed forward, a bit flabby around the waist, and a look of near disgust on their faces when they saw him he judged they were the kind to think themselves better than others.

"You there, peasant, where are you going?" the youngest one demanded and he paused. He had no reason to answer them, not only were they rude, but he was a Ranger's Apprentice, and the son of a knight. Either would put him on more or less equal ground with them.

Most likely their father was visiting with the Baron and his sons had been turned loose. It was not unusual that young men of some small importance wanted to impress themselves on others when visiting another fief. He was not really obliged to answer to them, but he would hate for the Baron to have their father complain. He had the utmost respect for Baron Arald and wouldn't make his work day harder because he enjoyed it.

"Just going home," he shrugged.

"What have you got there?" the same one demanded. "Have you been poaching?"

"No law against fishing in the river," he pointed out dryly.

"I bet you've been poaching, you got that look about you," the young man leered, licking his lips. "Admit it!"

"There is no law against fishing in the river," Gilan shook his head. "It can't be poaching if there's no law against it. It is however my lunch and I'm hungry, so if you wouldn't mind?" he gestured vaguely to the edge of the forest.

"You want to get away with your catch huh, you think we'll let you," the same youth snorted as his brothers flanked him. "And look, he's carrying a sword!" he sounded horrified. "Have you robbed someone?"

"He must have stolen it, peasants don't walk around with swords," the one who looked to be in the middle declared.

"Even if I was a peasant, which I'm not, it would not be illegal for me to have a sword," Gilan fixed them with a firm look. He was well used to people reacting to the sword. He'd been met with prejudice for it since his father gave him his first real sword when he was nine. Mostly it was because they thought someone that young could have no idea of how to use it. Sometimes, like now, they did not think he had the standing he should have to suit them. Which was ironic since he had probably better standing than them in that regard. Not just because of who his father was, but because of what he himself had done.

After he had helped Halt and the cavalry find the way to the ford at Hackham Heath, King Duncan had been more than grateful. As he had been no more than a child of twelve he had thought being officially acknowledged by the King had been great.

Now, as a Ranger's Apprentice he understood the importance of being inconspicuous, which meant he had put all those aspects aside. Except the sword, he was keeping his sword and he would not have some wet nosed spoiled brat of a man of minor standing's son telling him he could not.

"He can't have stolen it from someone rich, it's not much of a sword," the oldest one wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Just look at that thing, I bet it's all dull and rusty, now, this is a sword…" He drew his own, and Gilan snorted in distaste. He could tell just looking at it that the balance was off, but it was a gaudy thing, inlaid with gold and silver and even a gem in the hilt.

"I am a Ranger's Apprentice, and I don't care how many glittering stones you've got on that toothpick, I advise you let me pass and try that bullying on someone else," Gilan glowered at him. The bare blade made a difference. It meant the idiot would like as not get the idea to use it. Up to that point, he had been annoying, now he was dangerous.

"You're no Ranger, you're no older than I am!" the youngest blurted out.

"I said Ranger's Apprentice, didn't I?" Gilan shook his head. "Now stop this and let me past," he made a move to step off the road. If he could get into the trees they would never find him.

"Not so fast," the oldest waved his sword in front of him and Gilan paused. The other two had drawn their own swords. Looking at the swords and the way they held themselves, unbalanced and uncoordinated he knew he could defeat them. The eldest had his sword nearly at his neck, but his weight was on his back foot, and he held the sword awkwardly. It had a slightly dull look to the edge, which meant all Gilan would have to do was sweep up an arm and push the sword out of his way as he drew his own. Pivoting, he could deliver a hard kick and get him to fall on his behind as he tried to regain his balance.

The middle one would be next, he looked eager, he would rush forward without thought, and start with an overhand stroke. It would be easy to block, and Gilan could plant a hard fist in his belly as it was exposed.

The youngest one should be getting nervous about then, all it would take would be either his throwing knife flying close by his ear, or, since he would hate to have to search for it in the bushes, a few quick strokes with the sword. He could send them all three of them running without barely breaking a sweat.

Except….he did not know if they would panic too badly. If they did, no matter how careful he was not to hurt them he might. As annoying as they were, he could not risk maiming one of them for nothing but two fishes.

Seething he glared at them with gritted teeth, and it seemed to make them nervous.

"Look, he's scared," the youngest of the three leered, and Gilan had to clench his fist not to punch him in the face.

"Give us the fish, and we'll let you off with a warning this time," the one holding the sword decided.

"No," it wasn't just the fact that it was his food, he wasn't scared of bullies. He had dealt with them all his life, and one of the things that seemed to confuse them the most seemed to be calmly standing up to them. "I will however let you go back to wherever you came from."

"I said, give us the fish," stepping closer, he laid the sword right against his neck, and no matter how unskilled he seemed, it was a dangerous situation. Actually, the fact that he seemed so unskilled was what scared Gilan the most. If the bully had actually seemed like he knew how to use it, Gilan would have known he might have stayed in control. Now, anything could make the blade slip. Leaning forward, he took the fish, and Gilan had no option but let him. Grinning, he tossed them to his brother, withdrawing the sword just enough for the middle brother to step in, and punch Gilan square in the face.

He was not a very skilled fighter, but he was large and heavy, and Gilan felt himself thrown back. Before he could recover his balance he found himself on the ground after a second punch. He might have drawn his sword then, but he still couldn't fight them without risking serious injury.

He could report the incident to the Baron he mused, he probably should, though he did not like to run to others with his problems. The fact remained though, that they might harass someone else. If they were willing to hold him at sword point, what might they do with someone else? Someone who could not defend himself at all?

Sighing, he started making his way towards the castle. At the very least he suspected the Baron might take pity on him and make sure he got something to eat. Or Pauline would, it was too late to go back fishing again and he was hungry.

Wiping blood from his face he made his way towards the castle.

TBC

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