In an instant, Horace scrambled to his feet, his face dark with rage. He looked around, saw a fallen branch from the apple tree and grabbed it, brandishing it over his head as he rushed at Tug." I'll show you, and your damned horse!" he yelled furiously, swinging the stick wildly at Tug. The pony danced sideways out of harm's way and, before Horace could strike again, Will was on him.

He landed on Horace's back and his weight and the force of his leap drove them both to the ground. They rolled there, grappling with each other, each trying to gain an advantage. Tug, alarmed to see his master in danger, whinnied nervously and reared.

One of Horace's wildly flailing arms caught Will a ringing blow across the ear. Then Will managed to get his right arm free and punched Horace hard in the nose.

Blood ran down the bigger boy's face. Will's arms were hard and well muscled after his three months' training with Halt. But Horace was being taught in a hard school too. He drove a fist into Will's stomach and Will gasped as the air was driven out of him.

Horace scrambled to his feet but Will, in a move that Halt had shown him, swung his own legs in a wide arc, cutting Horace's feet from under him and sending him tumbling again.

Always strike first, Halt had dinned into his brain in the hours they'd spent practicing unarmed combat. Now, as the other boy crashed to the ground again, Will dived upon him, trying to pin his arms beneath his knees.

Then Will felt an iron grip on the back of his collar and he was being hauled in the air, like a fish upon a hook, wriggling and protesting.

"What's going on here, you two hooligans?" said a loud, angry voice in his ear.

Will twisted around and realized that he was being held by Sir Rodney, the Battlemaster. And the big warrior looked extremely angry. Horace scrambled to his feet and stood at attention. Sir Rodney released Will's collar and the Ranger's apprentice dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Then he too stood to attention.

"Two apprentices," said Sir Rodney angrily, "brawling like hooligans and spoiling the holiday! And, to make things worse, one of them is my own apprentice!" Will and Horace shuffled their feet, eyes down, unable to meet the Battlemaster's furious gaze.

"All right, Horace, what's going on here?"

Horace shuffled his feet again and went red. He didn't answer. Sir Rodney looked at Will.

"All right, you, the Ranger's boy! What's this all about?"

Will hesitated. "Just a fight, sir," he mumbled.

"I can see that!" the Battlemaster shouted. "I'm not an idiot, you know!" He paused for a moment, waiting to see if either boy had any thing further to add. They were both silent. Sir Rodney sighed in exasperation. Boys! If they weren't getting under your feet, they were fighting. And if they weren't fighting, they were stealing or breaking something.

"All right," he said finally. "The fight's over. Now shake hands and be done with it."

He paused and, as neither boy made a move to shake hands, roared in his parade-ground voice:

"Get on with it!"

Galvanized into action, Will and Horace reluctantly shook hands. But as Will looked into Horace's eyes, he saw that the matter was far from settled.

We'll finish this another time, the angry look in Horace's eyes said.

Any time you like, the apprentice Ranger's eyes replied.

Chapter 17

SNOW LAY THICK ON THE GROUND AS WILL AND HALT RODE slowly home from the forest.

The situation between Will and Horace remained unresolved as time had passed. There had been little chance for the two boys to resume the argument, as their respective masters kept them busy and their paths seldom crossed.

Will had seen the apprentice warrior occasionally, but always at a distance.

They hadn't spoken or even had the chance to acknowledge each other's presence. But the ill feeling was still there, Will knew, and one day it would come to a head.

Strangely, he found that the prospect didn't disturb him nearly as much as it might have a few months ago. It was not that he looked forward to renewing the fight with Horace, but he found he could face the idea with a certain amount of equanimity. He felt a deep satisfaction when he recalled that good, solid punch he had landed on Horace's nose. He also realized, with a slight sense of surprise, that the memory of the incident was made more enjoyable by the fact that it had happened in the presence of Jenny and-this was where the surprise lay-Alyss. Inconclusive as the event might have been, there was still a lot about it to set Will thinking and remembering.

But not right now, he realized, as Halt's angry tone dragged him back to the present.

"Could we possibly continue with our tracking, or did you have something more important to do?" he inquired. Instantly, Will cast around, trying to see what Halt had pointed out. As they rode through the crisp, white snow, their horses' hooves making only the smallest of sounds, Halt had been pointing to disturbances in the even white cover. They were tracks left by animals and it was Will's task to identify them. He had sharp eyes and a good mind for the task. He normally enjoyed these tracking lessons, but now his attention had wandered and he had no idea where he was supposed to be looking.

"There," Halt said, his tone leaving no doubt that he didn't expect to have to repeat such things, as he pointed to the left. Will stood in his stirrups to see the disturbed snow more clearly. "Rabbit," he said promptly. Halt turned to look sidelong at him.

"Rabbit?" he asked, and Will looked again, correcting himself almost immediately.

"Rabbits," he said, stressing the plural ending. Halt insisted on accuracy.

"I should think so," Halt muttered at him. "After all, if they were Skandian tracks there, you'd need to be sure you knew how many there were."

"I suppose so," said Will, meekly. "You suppose so!" Halt replied sarcastically. "Believe me, Will, there's a big difference between knowing there's one Skandian about and knowing that there are half a dozen."

Will nodded apologetically. One of the changes that had come over their relationship lately was the fact that Halt almost never referred to him as "boy" anymore. These days, it was always "Will." Will liked that. It made him feel that somehow he'd been accepted by the grim-faced Ranger. All the same, he did wish that Halt would smile once or twice when he said it.

Or even once.

Halt's low voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

"So… rabbits. Is that all?" Will looked again. In the disturbed snow, difficult to see, but there now that Halt had pointed it out to him, was another set of tracks.

"A stoat!" he said triumphantly and Halt nodded again.

"A stoat," he agreed. "But you should have known there was something else there, Will. Look at how deep those rabbit tracks are. It's obvious that something had frightened them. When you see a sign like that, it's a hint to look for something extra."

"I see," said Will. But Halt shook his head.

"No. All too often, you don't see, because you don't maintain your concentration. You'll have to work on that."

Will said nothing. He merely accepted the criticism. He'd learned by now that Halt didn't criticize without reason. And when there was reason, no amount of excuses could save him.

They rode on in silence. Will strained his eyes at the ground around them, looking for more tracks, more animal signs. They went another kilometer or so and were starting to see some of the familiar landmarks that told him he was close to their cottage when he saw something.

"Look!" he cried, pointing to a tumbled section of snow just off the path. "What's that?"

Halt turned to look. The tracks, if they were tracks, were like no others that Will had seen so far. The Ranger urged his horse nearer to the edge of the path and looked more closely.