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…

The Baron of Martinsyde Fief

Chapter 1

Gilan smiled as he followed the young page boy up the stairs towards Crowley's office at castle Araluen. He knew the way well, and could have made his way there faster, but that would mean leaving his young guide behind. The boy was no more than elven or twelve, and seemed to take his job very seriously. The doublet was somewhat strained over his waist, and he was rather out of breath as they climbed higher. He had declared he was new to the position, and Gilan figured he would grow faster with time.

"I'm working to help mom out," he declared with a puff as they passed another corridor. "It's what a man does, though I'm only doing it until I'm old enough to apply to Battleschool. I'm going to be a knight," he declared, puffing out his chest.

"Better get all the training you can then," Gilan grinned. "They work you pretty hard there."

"You're a Ranger, aren't you?" the boy frowned and he nodded.

"Ranger Gilan," he grinned. "But I guess I know one or two things about Battleschool. It's hard work, but it's all for your own good."

"Ranger's don't carry swords," he frowned, glancing at the sword Gilan carried on his left side, balanced by the double scabbard with the saxe knives on his right.

"We don't," he agreed cheerfully.

"So, why do you have one?" the boy pushed. "Ranger's don't have sword, and I know, because the Ranger commandant is here in the castle."

"I know, you offered to show me to his office, remember," Gilan grinned, grabbing the boy by the collar of his doublet as he started down a corridor. "And I think we have another two levels to go before we're there," he added with a grin.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," he gave a sheepish smile. "There are so many stairs."

"There rather is," he agreed.

"So why do you have the sword?" the boy pushed. "Are you going to go to Battleschool, can you when you're that old?"

"I don't know if I'm that old yet," he mused. "But I have no desire to go to Battleschool either." He saw no reason to tell the boy he already had spent several years there. "I wear a sword because I was trained to use it, and I see no reason not to do so since I have been trained."

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense," making sure he had the right corridor, the boy led the way. It wasn't very long, only past two doors, and they came to Crowley's office. "Here it is, Ranger Gilan," he grinned.

"It sure is, thank you," he knocked on the door, pushing it open at the command from inside.

There was a small outer office where a clerk usually worked, sometimes a Ranger who had been injured and unable to attend to his regular duties, or a retired Ranger who was helping Crowley with the paper work, today, the room was empty though. The door to the inner office was open so Gilan simply stepped through.

"I thought you would have been up here ten minutes ago," Crowley frowned. "If it was Horace, I'd know he had stopped by the kitchens, but you…" he shook his head. "Don't tell me you've finally learned to slow down. I don't think Halt could take the shock."

"It wasn't my fault," he responded to the teasing. "I had help to find the way, to save time… it would have been rude to leave him behind…"

"Oh yes, that would be Roger…" Crowley mused. "Not sure about that boy, but he's not done any harm so far. A little too inquisitive for his job though, keeps putting his nose where it does not belong."

"Some say that's a good trait for a Ranger," Gilan grinned as he sat down in a chair. "But he tells me he's going to be a knight."

"Most likely not," Crowley sighed. "Boy tends to stop whenever he gets bored, or it's too hard. He'll most likely find himself doing what he's doing now ten years from now."

Gilan nodded, not all of them had what it took, not everyone who applied to Battleschool was accepted. "I guess we'll just have to see," he shrugged. It was really not very surprising, they did not want to spend years training someone if it was obvious they would not be able to handle it. Or were not suitable for it. Some showed bullying tendencies and such even as they applied. In his own case, his father had simply decided that it was time he started his training for real, and dropped him in with the recruits to keep him out of trouble. "So what is the trouble you wanted me for?" he asked. "As far as I know, neither Will nor Halt is away." Halt was stationed in Castle Redmont, living there with Pauline, and Will had taken over the Ranger cabin. Together they formed a newly formed Ranger Task Force that Crowley had wanted. A small force that was used when a special, difficult task had presented itself. Things where there was no telling how long they would be away, or exactly what they would need to do. When they were away, to avoid leaving Redmont unattended, Gilan would move in there, and the mostly retired Ranger Alun who was placed in Whitby castle would take temporary charge of Whitby. So far it had worked well, Gilan had already established a reputation for being overly energetic and very competent in his Fief. The local poachers tended to lie low even when he was away.

If there was need, he would also join Halt and Will, or, if the two were already deployed and something more came up he might be sent to attend to it. This time though, he had only recently snatched a free evening to ride to Redmont to see Jenny, so he knew very well both Halt and Will were still at home.

The Ranger cabins were all more or less identical, one combined kitchen and living room, two smaller bedrooms. One a little larger for the Ranger, one a little smaller for the apprentice or a guest. Since Will lived in the cabin, Gilan had made it a point to always take the other bedroom when he was there. Not only did it mean he would not invade Will's space, but it meant he could keep a spare shirt and pants there. There was also the fact that the bed in the smaller room was actually a little longer, since he had rather grown out of the one that was there when he was an apprentice. Halt had not been happy when he did, but had agreed it was not fun to have your feet hanging out of the bed every night, so he had ordered Crowley to fix it. Now, Gilan rather felt that was the more comfortable bed of the two at all accounts. There was a pleasant familiarity with being back in his old apprentice quarters.

He also truly enjoyed seeing more of Jenny and Pauline when he was there, which he was able to do fairly often without shirking his main duties. It allowed him to stay closer to the people he thought of as family, Norgate had been fine, but it had been very lonely. When he was in Whitby, he could manage to snatch a few hours whenever patrolling the northeastern border, and when he was in Redmont covering for Halt and Will, he saw the two women even more often. All in all, he was really enjoying the change, and not only because he felt like it had taken him months to thaw out after all the snow in Norgate.

"Actually, I have a mission I felt was more suitable for you," Crowley admitted. "Halt and Will have proven every bit as valuable as I thought they would, but this demands a bit more subtle manipulation and out of box thinking, and less taking on a foreign nation and leveling a castle to the ground."

"I'm glad you have such confidence in my abilities, but are you sure I'm the one you want?" Gilan raised an eyebrow. He was always told Will was the one who could come up with the plans, not him. "You didn't confuse me with Halt's other apprentice, he is always getting the two of us mixed up after all…"

Crowley chuckled, others had gotten their apprentices mixed up if they had had more than one, but Halt had never done that. To his knowledge, Halt had never got any part of their training mixed up. "It was a close call, but then I remembered you were a little taller," he dead panned. "I'm serious though, I think this happens to be just a little more suitable for you, than for the two of them. Will might be faster than you when it comes down to coming up with something on the spot, but you are just a little bit sneakier and more devious at times."

"Thanks, I think," Gilan mused.

"There has been a lot of rumors coming out of Martinsyde Fief for some time now, enough that we have decided to look into it," Crowley launched into an explanation of what he wanted. "For a little over a year now, no one seems to recall having seen much of the Baron, only glimpses, now, he might have his own reason for not going out in public, and that is really none of our business, however, it tends to make others think that it is a weak Fief…"

"And what does the Ranger stationed there think?" Gilan asked. "Will Hollander, wasn't it?"

"That's right," Crowley nodded, amused that Gilan was able to call that to mind. The taller Ranger had a mind for details, and a good memory for them. "He's not been able to determine anything one way or another, but has given me regular updates on what he knows. Which is very little. He's met the Baron a few times, but not much at all, and he says the man is very avoiding, keeps any meeting as short as possible, usually down to a few minutes. Mostly, he deals with the poachers and then highway men. He has very little dealings with anything else. They seem to be paying their taxes, and there has not been any reason for King Duncan to send a real force there. He, like me, just wants to know what's going on."

"I can understand that," Gilan nodded. It was a good idea to know what was going on in all corners of the Kingdom. Especially regarding such an important person as the Baron. "So, will I be going there in my official duty as a Ranger, or will I be a jongleur?" he asked with a grin, thinking back to Will's cover in Norgate. "I wouldn't want to try getting away with playing the Lute, but I've had some experience in scaling castle walls…"

"And falling down from a good few of them, according to Sir David," Crowley told him dryly. "Actually, neither, but you will be using a cover. How's the leg?"

"Healing well," Gilan wasn't thrown by the switch in conversation, with Crowley, it tended to be less of a switch, and more of a different line in the same one. He flexed the leg that he had injured not too long ago. An arrow had gone into his thigh and lodged in the bone, making it a somewhat slow healing and painful injury if not dangerous. "Get's sore still if I spend a whole day in the saddle, or running up and down these stairs, but I manage really well for the most of it. Hasn't slowed me down for a while now."

"You'll be going as a scribe, a fairly lowly one, but one sent to go through a lot of the old records kept. You won't be able to take your weapons," Crowley gave an apologetic smile. Gilan, like most Rangers tended to get very uncomfortable without his bow and the double scabbard. In his case, there was also the sword that he had worn since long before he was a Ranger.

"I figured as much, I'll leave it here I suppose," his hand brushed against the scabbard, the sword really had been a part of most of his life.

"You had better," Crowley nodded. "Given that you will probably be doing a fair bit going up and down the stairs, I thought you might want to use this instead," reaching behind his desk, he pulled out a walking stick. A thick, sturdy thing with a good sized handle that he passed to Gilan. He hefted it, noting the weight that was more than he had expected. The handle fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. Carved into it was a delicate pattern of leaves, though the thing was slightly scuffed, as if it had really been used for some time.

"Well, I suppose I could always hit someone over the head with it," he mused.

"Twist the handle," Crowley advised, and holding the stick he did, noting how it came apart, and from the wooden stick came a very thin blade that was attached to the handle. Giving him just enough room to comfortably hold it before the bare blade. It was well balanced, and seemed to have a good edge.

"More a rapier than a sword, but anything is better than nothing in a pinch," he mused. "Not sure if I'd like to go against a knight with full armor with it, but with someone not too well armed, I'd stand a fair chance."

"That was the general idea," Crowley stated dryly, he had the idea Gilan would stand more than a chance. According to Sir David, backed by not only MacNeil but Baron Arald and King Duncan, Gilan was one of the most skilled swordsmen in the country. "You'll have the same kind of collapsible bow that Will had for Norgate, and we got a couple of throwing knives you should be able to hide."

"Sounds reasonable," Gilan nodded.

"Walk up and down, let's see a limp," Crowley grinned.

Shrugging Gilan stood, it wasn't long since he had been able to work out the limp, now it was fairly easy to give in to the remaining twinges he still felt.

"Looks natural," Crowley mused as he watched the way he leaned on the walking stick, his left leg stiff and a little unyielding.

"It's not as far from being natural as I'd like, but I can run if I have to," he sat down on the chair again. "Will I be using my own name?"

"No," Crowley shook his head. "It's a little too recognizable at times. We need a new one for you. Though I haven't come up with one yet." Though Gilan was perhaps not as well known as Halt, or Will, he was still well known and many of the Battlemasters and swordsmasters in the country knew of Sir David. They might just remember he had a son and that son's name.

"Ginny," Gilan offered with a wry smile.

"It should work," Crowly agreed. "Been amusing yourself coming up aliases if you need them?"

"Not exactly, it's a derogatory nickname they gave me in Battleschool to make sure I knew I was smaller and skinnier than they,"

"And you want to use it?" Crowley frowned.

"Why not, I'm used to being referred to as it, and it never bothered me much then, it bothers me even less now," he grinned. "I was smaller and skinnier, but I could still take on any one of them, and I proved it. Several times actually. In the end though they didn't stop using the nickname, they at least stopped using it to try and bully me. Most of them anyway, the ones didn't, I found various ways of getting back at."

"Like I said, you're devious," Crowley grinned. "Ginny it is, that suits a scrawny scribe I imagine. It's a real nuisance sometimes that you're so tall, you know. Makes it a lot more difficult with clothes."

"That's what Halt kept saying," he grinned.

Crowley put another item on his desk, a scribes chest. Made out of thin wood and leather it was designed to fold out to a writing surface, while inside papers, bottles of ink, quills and various items could be stored. "Most of this is what our scribes uses," he mused as he opened it. "Just about all of it actually."

"Which I take to mean not all of it is," Gilan nodded. "Knock out drug in the ink bottles?"

Crowley gave him a disgusted look, proving he was right. "These two smaller ink bottles. The dark one is the knock out drug, the same the couriers use, you'll have to be careful with that, use too much, and you could kill someone you don't mean to kill."

"Five drops for a woman, or a small man, eight drops for a large man," Gilan nodded. "Pauline explained it to me at one time. Whoever you give it to will have a devil of a headache and be nauseous, but if you can slip it to them in their wine, they tend not to suspect anything. What's in the other bottle?"

"Acid," Crowley told him. "Be very careful with that. It's very strong, but a lot of times there are all kinds of locked chests for more important documents in the archives. If you want to open one, a drop or two inside the lock usually does the trick or so I'm told. If you use too much though, you might not leave any documents to read. Not to mention it'll do to your fingers what it does to the metal."

"I'd rather avoid that," Gilan mused. It sounded decidedly unpleasant and he subconsciously flexed his fingers. "Does Will Hollander know I'm coming?"

"He knows we're sending someone, I don't even know if you'll see him, the Baron has isolated himself for many years now, there are all kind of events at the castle, but the Baron himself hasn't attended. Will Hollander has hardly even met him or so he's told me. You won't have to worry about him revealing your cover though. He's usually a sensible man."

"I don't know if I've ever really spoken to him, but I've never heard anything bad about him," Gilan shrugged. Will Hollander was one of the older Rangers, somewhat quiet, not overly energetic when he did not need to be. Gilan had simply never felt he had anything in common with him and hadn't really gone out of his way to befriend him. With fifty Rangers, no one knew everyone personally even if most of them recognized one another. He knew from some of the others that he himself had a reputation of being a little too hyperactive for everyone's comfort. Those who preferred things to be easy and quiet were not always eager to seek him out. He had always found that rather amusing to be honest.

"I don't think you'll get any trouble from him," Crowley confirmed. "He's a firm believer in not stirring up trouble if there isn't any, but he's never shied away from his duty so far."

"Sounds good," he nodded. "I should be able to approach him if I need to then."

"You should, but avoid it if possible," Crowley decided.

"When do you want me to leave?" Gilan grinned, now that he knew what he was supposed to do, he had to admit he was eager to get going.

"Can you manage tomorrow?" Crowley teased, well aware that if he said so, Gilan would be out the door and on his way as soon as he had all his equipment.

"I could manage in an hour if you wanted me to," Gilan grinned, proving him right.

"Tomorrow morning is soon enough, you can take Blaze, but she needs another saddle," Crowley shook his head. "And we need to make sure the clothes we got you fit, no scribe wears a cloak like that."

"They don't, do they?" he mused, fingering the fabric, he would feel strange in a regular cloak, and other clothes. He did know the value of remaining inconspicuous though, and a scribe wearing the leather jerkin and wrist cuff of a Ranger would draw a lot of attention.

"They don't," Crowley confirmed. "You can go down to the tailor, you know where he is, don't you? He has all you need and can make any alteration needed, if there is one," he added at Gilan's nod of confirmation. "Good, when you're done there, you can come back up here and I'll give you the rest of the briefing." He grinned, knowing it meant he'd have the Ranger walking up and down the stairs. Not that Gilan would complain about it, even if it did leave him with a sore leg. He still seemed to enjoy any activity where he got to expunge some of that boundless energy. "I don't think it will take too long," he decided. "You should have enough time to drop by and see Sir David."

"That would be nice," Gilan admitted, he did not see his father very often, and didn't mind being able to do so every now and again. "I'll be right back," standing he headed for the door and the tailor.

Crowley had to agree he was fast, and when he returned he had his old clothes under his arm and was dressed more accordingly for the profession of a scribe. Low shoes instead of the soft soled boots the Rangers wore. Simple woolen pants, a shirt, with the sleeve covers that would protect the shirt from the ink, and a plain, simple jacket. All of it looked to be fairly worn already, as in truth it was. Not many were as tall as Gilan, which made finding something difficult, but most of the fabric used was on the worn and old side, a scribe appearing in brand new clothes would have attracted a lot of attention. As it was now, he looked no different than any of the scribes attached to the castle.

"Very good," Crowley admitted. "I would have taken you for a scribe if I did not know you."

"I've been advised to put some ink stains on my fingers," he mused. "Supposedly, scribes finds it very hard to avoid that."

"I believe I've been told so, yes," Crowley nodded. He watched amused as Gilan dipped his quill in the inkhorn, and put a few drops on his fingers that he rubbed in. One reason why he had chosen scribe as a cover for him was because there was little chance of anyone questioning it. Gilan unlike many Rangers had a very neat and orderly hand. A fact he no doubt owed to his upbringing. All children had the opportunity of schooling in Araluen. A few families who lived in very remote areas didn't send their children to school, but most could read and write. In the villages and castles, schools were quite easily accessible. As the son of a knight though, and the Battlemaster of the Fief no less, Gilan would have been granted even better schooling than the village school could provide. The main question as Crowley saw it was how anyone had managed to get the boy to sit still long enough to teach him anything.

No doubt the process of it had been as painful for the teacher as it had been for the boy, knowing Gilan's hyper active and overly energetic nature. Truth remained, he had one of the neatest handwriting of all the Rangers.

Going over the rest of his assignment didn't take long, Gilan was very attentive and careful to make note of what he needed to know, and Crowley sent him off to enjoy a late dinner with his father. It was a rare thing for the two of them to see each other, and he knew David would appreciate it. The two really didn't get to see each other often outside their official duties…

TBC

The caffeine addicted Cricket wants to thank everyone for reading and reviewing,