'Another thing: the village. How many people in it?' Nick answered immediately, without needing to refer to his notes.

'Two hundred,' he said, wondering what Will was getting at. 'But there are only a few soldiers among them. Most are farmers and field workers.'

'I know that,' Will said. 'But think about what the law says about any village with more than one hundred residents.'

The law required that any village with a population of more than one hundred had the responsibility of training its young men as archers. That was how Araluen maintained a large force of trained archers, ready to be called up into the army if needed. He could see the boys hadn't made that step so far. But he decided he'd given them enough help for one day.

'Think about it,' he said, making a shooing motion for them to leave. He listened to their excited, chattering voices as they faded away and leaned back against the trunk of a large tree behind him. He was exhausted, he realised.

'Nice work,' said Crowley, from a few metres behind him. Will, startled, sat up suddenly.

'Don't do that, Crowley!' he said. 'You frightened the wits out of me!'

The Commandant chuckled as he stepped into the glade and sat on a large log beside Will.

'You handled that well. Teaching isn't easy. You've got to know how much to prod them in the right direction and when to leave them to their own devices. You'll be a good teacher when you get your own apprentice.'

Will looked at him, slightly horrified by the prospect. There was the responsibility, not to mention the constant distraction of having a young person at his heels, asking questions, interrupting, racing off at tangents before thinking through a problem…

He stopped as he realised he was describing his own behaviour as an apprentice. Once more, he felt a sudden twinge of sympathy for Halt.

'Let's not do that for a while yet,' he said and Crowley smiled.

'No. Not just yet. I have other plans for you.'

But when Will pushed him to explain further, the Commandant merely smiled. 'We'll get to that in due time.'

And for the time being, that was all Will could get out of him.

Chapter 5

It was after midnight. Selsey was dark and silent as its inhabitants slept. There was no watchman. In this remote, little-known village there had never been a need for one.

But there was a need tonight, just as Halt had expected.

He was crouched behind one of the fishing boats drawn up on the sand, clear of the high water mark. His first thought had been that the Outsiders would strike at one of the houses. Then he'd realised there was a much better target for them. The fishing boats. – The source of the village's wealth. If a house were burnt, the inhabitants could live under canvas while they rebuilt. Not the most comfortable situation, but life could continue.

If the boats were destroyed, there would be no fishing, no income, while new boats were built.

It would be in keeping with the Outsiders' ruthlessness to attack the boats, he had decided, and now his theory was proving correct. Half a dozen shadowy figures stole from the trees fringing the beach and moved furtively across the sand towards the fishing boats. As he watched them, Halt wondered vaguely why they automatically fell into a crouch as they came. It did nothing to conceal them from view. It simply made them look more suspicious. Yet most people under similar circumstances would do the same thing.

Four of the men stopped by a pile of fishing nets and equipment ten metres away. The 'Other' two continued, heading for the boat next to the one Halt was crouched behind. He peered around the stern as they knelt in the sand, only a few metres away – close enough for him to hear their whispered conversation.

'How many will we do?' asked one.

Farrell says two should be enough to teach them a lesson.' Farrell was the grey-haired man Halt had observed earlier in the day, the leader of this small band of Outsiders. 'I'll do this one. You take care of the one behind me.' The speaker jerked his head towards the boat where Halt was concealed. His companion nodded and began to crawl on hands and knees towards the bow of the boat, staying low to remain out of sight

Quickly Halt drew back and moved away from the stern, angling out towards the third boat in line so that he would be behind the saboteur when he turned his attention to his task. The beach was littered with large patches of seaweed and driftwood, tossed onto the shore by the wind and tide. As he heard the man rounding the bow, Halt dropped motionless to the sand, covered by his cloak. If the man noticed anything, he would have taken the motionless Ranger for yet another clump of debris. As the old Ranger adage went, if a person doesn't expect to see someone, odds are he won't.

Halt heard the scrape of flint on steel and raised his eyes a fraction. The man was hunkered behind the boat, his back to Halt. As the Ranger watched, he heard another scrape and saw the brief blue flash of light from the flint.

On elbows and knees, he slithered forward like a giant, silent snake, rising to a crouch as he reached the unsuspecting man.

The first moment the raider knew he wasn't alone was when an iron bar of an arm clamped across his throat, while a powerful hand forced his head forward to complete the choke hold. He managed one small gasp of surprise before his air supply was cut off.

'What's wrong?' the whispered call came from the other boat. Halt, continuing to apply the choke hold on the rapidly weakening man, replied in a similar whisper.

'Nothing. Dropped the flint.'

He saw the reflection of another flint striking steel from the other boat as he heard the angry whispered reply. 'Well, shut up and get on with it.'

The choke hold had taken full effect now and the man he had surprised slumped unconscious. Halt laid him down in the sand. There had been no further sound of flint striking steel from the far side of the boat, which meant the first raider had succeeded in getting a flame lit. There wasn't any time to waste. The sun-dried timbers of the boat, coated with varnish and paint, and the heavily tarred rigging, would burn quickly. The quickest way to reach the man was over the boat between them. Halt swarmed over the bulwark, crossed to the far side and rolled over onto the sand.

As he came to his feet, he saw the tiny glow of a flame in the tinder held by the man. The raider was looking at the flame as he heard a slight noise behind him. He glanced up, his eyes dazzled by the tiny patch of flame, and saw only a dark figure a few metres away. Logically enough, he assumed it was his companion.

'What are you doing? Have you finished?'

The time for concealment was over, Halt thought. In his normal voice, he replied, 'Not quite.'

Too late, the other man realised this was a stranger. He rose from his crouch. But as he did, Halt slapped the burning pile of tinder out of his hand, scattering it onto the sand. Then he followed through with his other hand, his left, in a hooking palm strike that had all the power of his twisting body and shoulder behind it.

The heel of his hand slammed into the man's chin, snapping his head back and sending him crashing into the hull of the boat with a cry of pain. As the man slid to the sand, half-conscious, Halt yelled at the top of his lungs.

'Fire! Fire in the boats! Fire!'

He heard a chorus of startled exclamations from the other four raiders as they tried to figure out what had happened. There was no plan to start yelling once the fires were lit. Yet as far as they knew, only their two companions were at the boats.

'Fire!' Halt yelled again. 'Get to the boats! Fire!'

His voice was startlingly loud in the peaceful night and already there were lights showing in the houses of the village. The four men realised now that things had gone seriously wrong and they rose, running towards the boats. Halt broke from cover, angling up the beach and away from them. Instinctively, they turned to pursue him, which was what he'd intended. He didn't want them trying to finish the job of setting fire to the boats.