Alda was the best swordsman of the three bullies, and at least he gave Horace some competition for a few minutes. But as they felt each other out with stroke and counterstroke, thrust and parry, he quickly realized that Horace was his master. His only chance, he felt, was to try something unexpected.
He disengaged, then changed his grip on the cane, holding it in both hands like a quarterstaff and launching a series of rapid left and right hooking blows with it.
For a second, Horace was caught by surprise and he fell back. But he recovered with catlike speed and aimed an overhead blow at Alda. The second-year student attempted the standard quarterstaff parry, holding the staff at either end, to block the sword stroke with the middle section. In theory, it was the right tactic. In practice, the hardened hickory drill sword simply sheared through the cane, leaving Alda holding two useless, shortened sticks. Totally unnerved, he let them drop and stood defenseless before Horace.
Horace looked at his long-time tormentor, then at the sword in his hand. "I don't need this," he muttered, and let the sword drop.
The right-hand punch that he threw traveled no more than twenty centimeters to the point of Alda's jaw. But it had his shoulder and body weight and months of suffering and loneliness behind it – the loneliness that only a victim of bullying can know.
Will's eyes widened slightly as Alda came off his feet and hurtled backward, to come crashing down in the cold snow beside his two friends. He thought about the times in the past when he had fought with Horace. If he'd known the other boy was capable of throwing a punch like that, he never would have done so.
Alda didn't move. Odds were, he wouldn't move for some time, Will thought. Horace stepped back, shaking his bruised knuckles and heaving a sigh of satisfaction.
"You have no idea how good that felt," he said. "Thank you, Ranger."
Halt nodded acknowledgment. " Thank you for taking a hand when they attacked Will. And by the way, my friends call me Halt."
Chapter 23
IN THE WEEKS FOLLOWING HIS FINAL ENCOUNTER WITH THE three bullies, Horace noticed a definite change in life at the Battleschool.
The most important factor in the change was that Alda, Bryn and Jerome were all expelled from the school – and from the castle and its neighboring village. Sir Rodney had been suspicious for some time that there had been a problem among the ranks of his junior students. A quiet visit from Halt alerted him as to where it lay and the resultant investigation soon brought to light the full story of the way Horace had been victimized. Sir Rodney's judgment was swift and uncompromising. The three second-year students were given a half day to prepare and pack. They were supplied with a small amount of money and a week's supplies and were transported to the fief's boundaries, where they were told, in no uncertain terms, not to return.
Once they were gone, Horace's lot improved considerably. The daily routine of the Battleschool was still as harsh and challenging as ever. But without the added burden that Alda, Bryn and Jerome had laid upon him, Horace found he could easily cope with the drills, the discipline and the studies. He rapidly began to achieve the potential that Sir Rodney had seen in him. In addition, his roommates, without the fear of incurring the bullies' vengeance, began to be more welcoming and friendly.
In short, Horace felt that things were definitely looking up. His only regret was that he hadn't been able to thank Halt properly for the improvement in his life. After the events in the meadow, Horace had been placed in the infirmary for several days while his bruises and contusions were attended to. By the time he was released, he found that Halt and Will had already left for the Rangers' Gathering.
"Are we nearly there?" Will asked, for perhaps the tenth time that morning.
Halt gave vent to a small sigh of exasperation. Other than that, he made no reply. They had been on the road now for three days and it seemed to Will that they must be close to the Gathering Ground. Several times in the past hour, he had noticed an unfamiliar scent on the air. He mentioned it to Halt, who said briefly, "It's salt. We're getting close to the sea," then refused to elaborate any further. Will glanced sidelong at his teacher, hoping that perhaps Halt might deign to share a little more information with him, but the Ranger's keen eyes were scanning the ground in front of them. From time to time, Will noticed, he looked up into the trees that flanked the road. "Are you looking for something?" Will asked, and Halt turned in his saddle."Finally, a useful question," he said. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. The Chief Ranger will have sentries out around the Gathering Ground. I always like to try to fool them as I'm approaching."
"Why?" asked Will, and Halt allowed himself a tight little grin.
"It keeps them on their toes," he explained. "They'll try to slip behind us and follow us in, just so they can say they've ambushed me. It's a silly game they like to play."
"Why is it silly?" asked Will. It sounded exactly like the sort of skill exercises that he and Halt practiced regularly. The grizzled Ranger turned in his saddle and fixed Will with an unblinking stare.
"Because they never succeed," he said. "And this year they'll be trying even harder because they know I'm bringing an apprentice. They'll want to see how good you are."
"Is this part of the testing?" Will asked, and Halt nodded. "It's the start of it. Do you remember what I told you last night?" Will nodded. For the past two nights, around the campfire, Halt's soft voice had given Will advice and instructions on how to conduct himself at the Gathering. Last night, they'd devised tactics for use in case of an ambush just the sort of thing that Halt had mentioned now. "When will we…" he began, but suddenly Halt was alert. He held up a warning finger for silence and Will stopped speaking instantly. The Ranger's head was turned slightly to listen. The two horses continued without hesitation. "Hear it?" Halt asked.
Will craned his head too. He thought that, just maybe, he could hear soft hoofbeats behind them. But he wasn't sure. The gait of their own horses masked any real sound from the trail behind. If there was someone there, his horse was moving in step with their own. "Change gait," Halt whispered. "On three. One, two, three." Simultaneously, they both nudged their left toes into the horses' shoulders. It was just one of many signals to which Tug and Abelard were trained to respond.
Instantly, both horses hesitated in their stride. They seemed to skip a pace, then continued in their even gait.
But the hesitation had changed the pattern of their hoofbeats, and for an instant, Will could hear another set of horse's hooves behind them, like a slightly delayed echo. Then the other horse changed gait as well to match their own and the sound was gone. "Ranger horse," Halt said softly. "It'll be Gilan, for sure."
"How can you tell?" Will asked.
"Only a Ranger horse could change his pace as quickly as that. And it'll be Gilan because it's always Gilan. He loves trying to catch me out."
"Why?" asked Will, and Halt looked sternly at him. "Because he was my last apprentice," he explained. "And for some reason, former apprentices just love to catch their former masters with their breeches down." He looked accusingly at his current apprentice. Will was about to protest that he would never behave in such a fashion after he graduated, then realized that he probably would, and at the very first opportunity. The protest died unspoken.
Halt signaled for silence, and scanned the trail ahead of them. Then he pointed. "That's the spot there," he said. "Ready?" There was a large tree close to the side of the trail, with branches hanging out just above head height. Will studied it for a moment, then nodded. Tug and Abelard continued their even pacing toward the tree. As they came closer, Will kicked his feet from the stirrups and rose to stand, crouching, on Tug's back. The horse didn't vary his pace as his master shifted position.