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 1
Gilan had barely even thought about reining in Blaze, before the mare had come to a stop. Pausing on a hilltop overlooking the surrounding land. You always do this… the mare shook her head, the shaggy mane flying.
"It's a good idea to make sure you know what's coming," he shrugged, giving her a good pat on the neck. They had been together for a long time now, ever since one of them had been a long legged awkward thing, and the other an elegant young horse. She hadn't held it against him the times when he seemed to try and outgrow himself, and kept stumbling over everything. Will liked to grumble about how hard it was to be short, but from where Gilan was standing, being tall wasn't always that great either. It was all too easy for Will to hide in a crowd, while it was nearly impossible for Gilan as he tended to stand over it. If it wasn't that, it was just about knocking himself senseless on a low doorway, or a branch. He was pretty sure the stone archway over Pauline's office was still dented from where he had rammed into it. Apparently, while he and Halt had been on a short mission away from Redmont during his apprenticeship, he had gone from being able to pass underneath, to needing to duck. A fact he had neglected to take note off before he was flat on his back counting stars.
Halt still mocked him for that one when he felt like it. Though Gilan rather thought it was because he had been looking forward to seeing Pauline, and the blonde courier had basically ignored the grizzled Ranger, fussing over his apprentice instead. As Gilan recalled the incident, what had annoyed him the most was that he had been feeling too sick with the headache to enjoy it…
After Halt though, Blaze was the one who knew him the best, and he truly loved the shaggy pony. She had longer legs than most of the Ranger ponies, a little more prone to coming up lame. At least it meant he didn't have to feel as if his feet were dragging on the ground…
They had made good time from his own Fief to Hogarth. Gilan having received a message from Crowley that the commandant of the Rangers had a mission for him. Hogarth wasn't a very popular Fief, it was remote, small and hard to get too. It was hard to keep the Ranger there informed, and for the Ranger to keep the commandant informed.
Crowley had been stationed there for a brief period before he and Halt set out on their self appointed task of saving the Prince and the Kingdom. Since then, the Ranger there had been one who was considered a bit of a loner, even compared to Ranger standard. The reason why Crowley wanted Gilan to go there, was because said Ranger, claimed he was starting to suspect the Baron and Battlemaster was not keeping the Battleschool up to standard. It was not unlikely that they had got lax, being so remote, but it was not something King Duncan tolerated.
What more, Crowley had decided that since he was the Rangers most well, acquainted with the workings of a Battleschool, he was the best judge of it. Gilan figured he must have been laughing as he said it, since he knew very well that Gilan had grown up in Battleschool. His father had been the Battlemaster of Caraway back then, and Gilan, with no mother, had spent all his time tottering along behind his father. When he was nine, his father had started his official training, so Crowley certainly had a point. Gilan knew Battleschools very well, and as his father was now the Supreme Battlemaster, he also had a bit of weight to throw around as his son.
Not that he had ever had a habit of throwing about his father's name, he preferred to avoid it if he could. What he was able to, was to make sure that any report was received by his father and acted on much more quickly than some of the other Rangers might have been able to. After all, David could not claim he did not know what he was talking about, without questioning himself at the same time.
There was also the matter of it being much easier for him to actually go directly to Sir David, as he for some reason always seemed more or less pleased to see his son. Sir David had always been somewhat stiff and formal, duty and protocol always came first. This was something Gilan was used to and it did not bother him. The fact remained though, that if he were to actually go to Castle Araluen and knock on the Supreme Battlemaster's door, odds were he would not be turned away.
Of course, as one of Sir David's closest friends, Halt shared the very same privilege he mused as he scanned the land one last time. The castle of Hogarth Fief lay below him. Blaze knew he always wanted to get a good look at where he was going. It was not near as impressive as Castle Redmont, and compared to Castle Araluen it looked more like a tiny stronghold. A square construction, with rough cut stone walls surrounding it. Even at this distance, Gilan could see the parapet, and frowned as he saw no men on it. Even in peace time, there should have been one or two. Certainly, it was far away, but his eyesight had always been good and he was certain he would have been able to see them had they been there.
The keep itself was situated inside the walls, and boosted two fairly high towers, but again, nothing like Redmont. He had to admit he was quite fond of Redmont. The Ranger cabin there had after all been his home for five years as he trained with Halt. He had equally fond memories of Castle Caraway from when he was young.
Nudging Blaze to continue towards the castle he made note of several odd items on his way there. The Battleschool just outside the walls lay quiet. There should have been the sound of sword drills he mused.
Wanting to be thorough, and getting part of his duty out of the way he quickly checked the barracks, the armory, and the parade ground. The barrack was empty, aside from a few cadets who were playing dice and did not even look up as he entered.
As they were on their hands and knees, he silently walked over, and with one swift motion he placed his foot in the rear of the closest and straightened his leg. The cadet went flying, dice and coin scattering as he slid across the floor, and, judging by the state of it, Gilan would imagine he picked up both some dirt and splinters as he went.
The others instantly leapt to their feet, hands fumbling for swords and daggers. One of them, managed to draw a dagger, but by then Gilan had already pulled his saxe and easily blocked it. The saxe knife was made by a different method than most weapons, the steel far harder and superior. The dagger the cadet had worn, was no doubt expensive as it was decorated with cheap stones. It was also horribly poor quality and at the impact with the saxe, the blade snapped.
The cadet at first only stared in shock at his broken blade, then made a fist. Before he could fulfill the strike, Gilan grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.
"You have just attacked a King's Ranger. I shouldn't have to tell you what that means," he stated, his voice and his eyes full of cold fury. "I intend to have a talk with your Battlemaster, after which I am going to call a parade. I suggest, if any of you even have one inkling of common sense, you're there, and that your kit is in order. Am I making myself clear?" He waited, watching as they stood slack jawed, then shouted again. "Move!" One thing he had always found delightful about the Battleschools was just that, no matter how horribly ill kept it was, most everyone there seemed to have an ingrained habit of reacting to any barked order.
It was something he had found very useful through the years.
After a brief inspection of the armory, where he found most the weapons to be in very poor shape, and half the equipment for the battle school to be broken he mounted Blaze again and made for the castle itself.
There was a drawbridge leading over the moat, with only one man guarding it, and he was sitting half asleep, leaning against the wall. He didn't even wake up fully to challenge Gilan until he was just about right on top of him.
"Who are you?" he yawned.
"King's Ranger," Gilan's voice was cold as steel as he took the oakleaf out of his shirt. "Is this disgraceful performance what I can expect here?"
"Now look here, I don't have to take this from no Ranger, I answer to the Baron…"
"You answer to the King!" Gilan snapped, watching the man's eyes narrow. He obviously didn't know a good dressing down when he was subjected to one. Which was fine by Gilan. He hadn't grown up a Battlemaster's son without learning how to dress down recruits… "I am the King's Ranger, and that means you answer to me, on my authority!"
"The hell I do," the man started forward, and that was all the incentive that Gilan needed. He allowed the guard to come close to him, slipping his foot out of the stirrup. As the guard tried to grab him, he simply placed his booted foot in his chest, and pushed.
With a cry, that was suddenly cut short, the man went flying off the side of the drawbridge and into the foul moat. Blaze, quickly took a few steps back so that she was well out of way from any stray droplets that splashed up. Waiting until it was calm, Gilan nudged her forward. Watching the guard who was struggling, trying to remove his mail shirt before he was pulled under again by its weight.
"I'm heading up for a talk with the Baron now," he stated, his voice like ice. "After which I'll be ordering a parade so that I can inspect you lot. I suggest, that when I do, you are there, and that you clean yourself and your gear up. Or I imagine any of your friends that are forced to stand next to you, will only be too happy to throw you in again…"
As if to punctuate his statement, Blaze tossed her mane and threw her head into the air. Kicking some imaginary dirt over the man with her back hoof as she continued across the drawbridge.
"Nice touch," Gilan stroked her neck.
You'd be lost without me…
"You're sure right about that," he stated. "I don't know if they have any apples here, and even if they did, I don't know if I would trust them to be safe for pigs. Once we get back though, I'll make it up to you, okay?"
Only because I'm in a good mood, she tossed her head again and Gilan chuckled. Rangers and their horses were said to have a special connection, which was why he always felt he knew what she wanted to say.
"You know I'm good for it, I've always kept my word, haven't I?" he teased the mare gently.
I've always made sure you did…
He laughed easily as she tossed her head once more. Reining in outside of the main tower he dismounted, and loosened the saddle girth a few notches so that she would be able to rest more comfortable. He wasn't certain how long he would be inside, and he wasn't certain what condition the stable was in. He was not leaving Blaze in it if he didn't like the look of it, and so far, he didn't like the look of anything he had seen. If he had to stay long, he might just take her to the inn in the village and stable her there. Petting her neck one last time he shifted his belt a little before he strode towards the door.
Like all Rangers, he wore the double scabbard with the heavy saxe and the throwing knife, like none of the others he wore a sword on his other side. He had trained with the sword since he was little, so when he became Halt's apprentice, Crowley had instantly given his permission for him to continue his training. He was glad for it as it was one part of his former life, as the son of a knight, he had truly enjoyed.
His father was one of the countries foremost knights, and it was not for anything but his skill and his loyalty that he had been appointed the Supreme Battlemaster by the King. It was also that same loyalty to his duty that had made him always put duty first. Gilan had grown up watching him, and he had learned several fine points of how to handle some of the men. The knights, lower ranks and sergeants. What he had not learned from his father, he had learned from Halt… A usually more direct and brusque approach.
Normally, when entering another Fief's castle he would have used some measure of politeness, but now he simply strode up to the first man in servants livre he found.
"King's Ranger, where is the Baron's office?" he showed his oakleaf so the man would know he was who he said he was. Judging by the way his face instantly went several shades paler, he would judge the man knew it very well indeed.
"T,take the stairs… t,tenth floor…" he stuttered.
Giving him a disdainful look, Gilan started for the stairs. He was not always sure what he disliked the most, the honestly bad people. The ones who were criminal and didn't mind if you knew that they were, or the sniveling cowards who were ready to turn on anyone for anything. Taking the stairs, three steps at a time he automatically counted off the floors.
It was not his habit to ascend or descend stairs one step at a time, to Halt's never-ending regret. The older Ranger never seemed to tire of lecturing him on the subject. Granted, it was a habit that had given him many a headache when something unforeseen came up. Such as a wall, a drop, or the occasional heavily built and well armored knight. Gilan had acquiesced to mostly limit himself to two steps at a time, unless he was in a hurry, or was very annoyed, or, desperately needed to burn off some energy…
Right now, he was annoyed more than anything else, and he really didn't feel Halt had much to complain about since what else Gilan had done, he had mostly confined himself to the inside of the tower. In Caraway, and even later after his father was moved, he had quite often those times he really felt like he would explode if he did not get to exert some energy, used the outside of the tower as his preferred means of getting around.
His father had at one point started to include this in the list of activities Gilan was not allowed to do, though King Duncan had claimed that there was no need to do so in Castle Araluen as it was not possible to free climb the smooth stone.
He had been quite surprised when Gilan entered through the window to his study, and for a moment Gilan had thought he had gone too far. As it turned out, Duncan really didn't have a good head for heights, and seeing someone outside the window of a very high tower was all it took to give him quite a bad start.
On the other hand, as Gilan pointed out, believing that a task couldn't be done, is all good and well until someone does it. Better he, than an assassin or someone else with ill will towards the crown. The fact that he was right, and that Duncan readily agreed he was right was probably the only thing that had kept his father from wringing his neck he mused, for he had rarely seen sir David so angry.
Even though he felt quite certain that if Sir David had arrived at Hogarth Fief, and seen what he had already, he would have been far more furious with the Battlemaster there, than he had ever been with his son.
Arriving at the desired floor, he found an open door, and a very nervous clerk sitting at a desk as he entered through it. "Is that the Baron's office?"
"Yes, Ranger?" the man hesitated. He was clutching a sheaf of paper in his trembling hands as if his life depended on it. "But, but you can't go in there. The Baron is in a meeting with the Battlemaster. You can't go in, I, I need to ask the Baron if he might see you."
"Oh, he will see me, and that now," Gilan growled, and had to bite back a smile as the man jumped, the paper in his hands tearing in two. Striding to the door he pushed it open, and found three men inside. He felt fairly confident in assuming that the man behind the desk was Baron, and that one of the men with him was the Battlemaster. Which of the two, he was not certain. He had made his assumption of who was the Baron only by the horribly brightly colored doublet, and the fact that he was the one behind the desk. There was no way to make such a distinction between the other two. Neither one wore a sword, nor any form of weapon he could see. The desk between them held a virtual feast of chicken, potatoes, pies, wine, and other dishes.
"How dare you enter here without being announced?" the Baron leapt to his feet, red in the face.
"King's Ranger, Gilan," he declared icily. Taking his oakleaf out of his shirt once more. "And I should like to hear your explanation for what I've seen here. One guard for the entire castle, and that one of no use whatsoever. Which one of you is the Battlemaster?"
"I am the Battlemaster here," one of the two stood, the one who was marginally fatter than the other Gilan noted.
"Judging by what I've seen, you're a disgrace," Gilan snorted. "Why is there no training in the Battleschool? I should hope because you've got the cadets busy somewhere else, but then I'd like to know why you're up here, stuffing yourself. I want a parade, in a half hour, so that I can inspect the cadets."
"Who do you think you are?" the Battlemaster raged. "And what does a Ranger know of a Battleschool?"
"You have no authority to order a parade," the Baron, leaning on his desk, waved a chicken leg at him. "You have no authority to come here and question how we run things!"
"I have the authority of the King, which is all the authority I need." He might not have the bulk his father had, but he had every bit of his height, with perhaps an extra inch or so, and he had certainly learned a lot about how to be intimidating from Halt. The grizzled Ranger might be short, but he certainly knew a lot about how to make people quake in their boots, and Gilan was an apt student. "You might have forgotten a thing or two here, such as your obligation to keep up the quality of the Battleschool, have no fear, I shall be certain to say as much when I make my report. But before I leave here, I shall make certain that things are improved. Now, will you call the parade, or do I place you under arrest?" he let the fury show on his face, though he kept his tone low.
It wasn't always the biggest, or the loudest who was the scariest, and he was pleased to note that the Baron was swallowing hard, seeming to find it very difficult to choke the chicken down. As the two men hesitated, Gilan slammed his hand down on the desk so that a goblet of wine overturned, the chicken flew, and several dishes rattled.
"Now!" he roared, and yes, sometimes loud was very, very satisfactory…
The Baron threw himself backwards so fast his chair overturned, the Battlemaster seemed to lose all color and the third man was pushing back. It seemed to do the trick though, for as Gilan stalked to the doorway and made for the stairs, they followed him.
He had just passed the first floor on the way down, when he realized he had made a very crucial mistake by leading the way. It struck him all of a sudden, as he felt a hard impact between his shoulder blades, that he should have made the three go down first…
Unable to withstand the force, already unbalanced with one foot in the air for the next step, he missed it entirely, and though he tried to catch himself on the wall, his scrambling fingers found no purchase. His foot came down on a step, much further down than intended, and the ankle turned as he pitched forward, the stone steps seemingly rushing up to meet him. He tried to get a hand up, to brace himself, but he was unable to and his whole world seemed engulfed in one large explosion of black, then nothing.
TBC
The caffeinated Cricket wants to thank you all for reading...
