Chapter 14

I can't get over the fact that King Ferris is your brother,' Horace said.

It wasn't the first time he'd said it. Since he and the two Rangers had left Redmont and headed for the coast, he kept coming back to the fact, each time with a wondering shake of his head. Usually, it happened when there was a lull in the conversation, Will noted.

`So you keep saying,' Halt said. There was a warning tone in his voice that Will recognised. Horace, however, seemed oblivious to it.

`Well, it's a bit of a surprise, Halt. I'd never have thought of you as… well, being royalty, I suppose.'

Halt's baleful gaze turned to focus on the tall young knight riding beside him.

`Oh, really?' he said. 'I suppose I'm just so un-royal in my bearing, is that it? Too coarse and common altogether?'

Will turned away to hide a smile. Horace seemed to have a real knack for getting under Halt's skin with his attitude of innocence.

`No, no, not at all,' Horace said, realising that he'd annoyed the Ranger but not sure how it had happened. `It's just you don't have the…' He hesitated, not quite sure what it was that Halt didn't have.

`The haircut;' Will put in.

Halt's glare swung towards him. 'The haircut.' It was not a question. It was a statement.

Will nodded easily. 'That's right. Royalty has a certain sense of fashion to it. It has to do with bearing and behaviour and… haircuts.'

`You don't like my haircut?' Halt said. Will spread his hands innocently.

`Halt, I love it! It's just that it's a little Rufus the Roughnut for the brother of a king. It's not what I would call…'

He paused, leaning across in his saddle to study Halt's pepper-and-salt hair more closely, ignoring the drawn-together brows and the dangerous look in Halt's eyes. Then he found the word he was looking for.

`… sleek.'

Horace had been watching this exchange with interest, grateful that Halt's ill temper had been channelled away from him for the time being. Now, however, he couldn't help buying back in.

`Sleek! That's the word. That's it. Your haircut isn't sleek enough. Royalty is sleek, above all other things.'

`Do you find King Duncan… sleek?' Halt asked.

Horace nodded emphatically. 'When he wishes to be. On state occasions. There's a definite sleekness to the man. Wouldn't you agree, Will?'

`Absolutely,' the young Ranger said.

Halt's gaze swivelled back and forth between the two of them. He had a sudden impression of himself as a bull between two dogs as they darted in on alternate sides to nip at his heels. He decided it was time to change the point of his attack.

`Horace, remember when we were in Gallica, when we challenged Deparnieux?'

Horace nodded. A shadow flitted across his face for a moment at the memory of the evil warlord.

`I remember.'

`Well, I said then that I was related to the royal line of Hibernia. Remember?'

`Yes. I seem to recall words to that effect,' Horace said. Now it was Halt's turn to spread his hands out in a perplexed gesture.

`Well then, did you think I was lying?'

Horace opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. There was a long and uncomfortable pause as the three horses trotted along, the only sound being the irregular clopping of their hooves on the road.

`Is that a red hawk?' Will said, pointing to the sky in an attempt to change the subject.

`No, it's not,' Halt said, without bothering to look in the direction Will was pointing. 'And to hell with it if it is. Well?' he said to Horace. 'You haven't answered me. Did you think I was lying?'

Horace cleared his throat nervously. Then in a small voice he said:

`As a matter of fact, yes.'

Halt drew rein on Abelard and the small horse stopped. Will and Horace had to conform to his action, turning their horses so that the three of them faced each other in a rough circle in the centre of the road. Halt regarded Horace with a hurt expression on his face.

`You think I was lying? You challenge my basic honesty? I am deeply, deeply hurt! Tell me, Horace, when have I ever lied?'

Will frowned. Halt was laying it on a little thick, he thought. The indignation, the hurt expression, just didn't ring true somehow. He sensed that his mentor was trying to get the better of Horace in this exchange, working on Horace's basic good nature to make him feel guilty.

`Well…'said Horace uncertainly, and Will thought he saw a small self-satisfied shift to Halt's shoulders. Then the knight continued. 'Remember those girls?'

`Girls? What girls?' Halt asked.

`When we first landed in Gallica. There were some girls at the harbour front in rather short dresses.'

`Oh, those… yes. I think I recall them,' Halt said. There was a wariness to his manner now.

`What girls were these?' Will put in.

`Never mind,' Halt snapped out of the corner of his mouth.

`Well, you said they were couriers. That they had short dresses because they might have to run with urgent messages.'

Will let out a snort of laughter. 'You said what?' he said to Halt. Halt ignored him.

`I might have said something along those lines. It's been a while.'

`You said exactly that,' Horace told him accusingly. `And I believed you.'

`You didn't!' Will said incredulously. He felt like a spectator at a boxing match. Horace nodded solemnly to him.

`I did. Because Halt told me and Halt is a Ranger. And Rangers are honourable men. Rangers never lie.'

Will turned away at that. Now Horace was laying it on a bit thick, he thought. Horace turned accusing eyes on Halt.

`But you did, didn't you, Halt? It was a lie, wasn't it?' Halt hesitated. Then, gruffly, he replied: 'It was for your own good.'

Abruptly, he touched his heels to Abelard and the little horse trotted away, leaving Will and Horace facing each other in the middle of the road. As soon as he felt Halt was out of earshot, Horace allowed a broad grin to spread over his face.

`I've waited years to get him back for that!'

He wheeled Kicker in turn and headed off at a fast trot after Halt. Will stayed where he was for a few moments, pondering. Horace had always been so guileless, so straightforward and sincere, that he'd made an easy target for practical jokes. Now, it seemed, he'd developed a cunning streak of his own.

`Probably been around us too long,' he said, and turned Tug after the other two.

Later that night, wrapped warmly in his blankets, his head pillowed on his saddle, Will looked up at the stars, clear and bright in the night sky, and smiled quietly to himself. He could feel the chill of the night air on his face, but that only served to make the rest of his body, under the blankets, feel warm and comfortable.

It was good to be back on the road, heading for another adventure. It was even better to be doing so in the company of his two closest friends.

For an hour or so after the confrontation on the road, Halt had attempted to maintain a haughty pretence of injured pride. But eventually, he couldn't keep it up any longer and, with a show of great dignity, he announced that he would forgive Horace for his transgression. Horace, for his part, had affected to be grateful to the bearded Ranger. But he spoiled the effect a little by sneaking a covert wink to Will. Once again, Will realised that Horace these days was not the innocent of old. He would bear watching, Will thought. There was a long history of practical jokes between them that Horace might be looking to redress.

As the stars wheeled in the night sky above him, he found he couldn't sleep and his thoughts turned to the morning they had left Redmont. Crowley, Sir Rodney, Baron Arald and all their friends were there to see them off, of course. But Will's memory focused mainly on two of them: Lady Pauline and Alyss.