It was Malcolm who solved the problem when Will had tentatively raised the subject with him.

'I'm coming with you,' he said simply.

That possibility hadn't occurred to Will. He stopped, a little surprised. Then he saw several problems with the idea.

'But Malcolm, it's going to be dangerous…'

The healer's lip curled. 'Oh deary, deary me,' he said, in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice. 'I'm so frightened. Perhaps I should throw my apron over my head and burst into tears.'

Will made a placating gesture, realising that his remark could have been taken as insulting. Realising, in fact, that it had been taken as insulting.

'That's not what I meant,' he began and Malcolm seized on his words.

'Oh? So you mean it's not going to be dangerous? Then there's no problem if I come along, is there?'

'No. I meant… I mean, I'm not questioning your courage…'

'I'm glad to hear it,' Malcolm said coldly. 'Exactly what are you questioning then?'

'Look, it's just…' Will paused, aware that he should choose his words carefully. He hadn't seen this acerbic side of Malcolm's nature before. He didn't want to make him angry again. Malcolm gestured for him to continue. 'I mean, we'll probably have to fight them and you're not…' Malcolm's brows drew together. Will had always thought of the little man as bird-like. Now, with those drawn brows, balding head and beaked nose, he looked positively vulturine.

'What, precisely, am I not?' he asked. Will was beginning to wish he had never begun this conversation but it was too late now to go back.

'I mean to say… you're not a warrior, are you?' It was weak, he knew. But Malcolm could hardly dispute the fact.

'So you're worried that I'll be a burden to you?' Malcolm asked. 'You'll have to look after me when the fighting starts?'

'No!' Will said. But he said it too quickly. In fact, that was exactly what he was worried about. Malcolm said nothing for a few seconds, simply raised one eyebrow in disbelief. Will found himself wishing that people would stop using that facial expression. It was becoming overdone.

'May I remind you,' Malcolm said finally, ' that I have been known to reduce a big, brave, famous Ranger to a state of near-gibbering terror?'

'Well, that's a bit rich,' Will said hotly. 'I certainly wasn't gibbering!'

'You weren't far from it,' Malcolm pointed out and Will's mind flashed back to that night in Grimsdell Wood, where voices spoke to him out of the dark, threatening and warning him. And where a gigantic figure suddenly towered over him in the mist. He had to admit Malcolm was right. He hadn't been far from it.

'Look, Will,' Malcolm continued, in a more conciliatory tone, 'I'm not a warrior, that's true. But I've survived in a hostile world for quite a few years. I have methods of my own. And there's another point. There's Halt.'

He saw that got Will's attention. The young Ranger's head came up, a worried look on his face, as if he suddenly feared that Malcolm had been hiding something about Halt's condition.

'Halt? What about him? He's all right now, isn't he?'

Malcolm raised his hand to allay Will's concern.

'He's fine. He's doing very well. But he is weak still. And from what I've seen of him, he's going to want to start out after this Tennyson person much sooner than he should. Am I right?'

Will hesitated. He didn't want to be disloyal to Halt, but he sensed that Malcolm was spot on.

'Yes. Probably,' he admitted.

Malcolm nodded several times. 'Just so. Well, he's a patient of mine. And I feel a sense of responsibility to him. I'm not going to ride off and let him undo all my good work. I need to be with you to keep an eye on him.'

Will considered what he had said for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Finally, he nodded.

'All right,' he said. Then he smiled. 'I'll be glad to have you along.'

Malcolm smiled in return. 'I promise you, Will, I can look after myself. And who knows? I might even surprise you and make myself useful.'

For the past few days, when he wasn't checking on Halt, Malcolm had taken himself away from the camp site and built a small fire. He busied himself mixing and boiling potions and drying them out in the sun and over hot rocks to form a brownish powdery residue. As he worked, an acrid smell rose from the chemicals. Whenever Will asked him what he was doing, the little man had smiled enigmatically.

'Just making myself useful, that's all,' he would reply.

From time to time, the others would be startled by the sound of small explosions from the fireplace where Malcolm worked. The first time this happened, they rushed to see if he was all right. He waved them away cheerfully.

'Nothing to worry about,' he said to them. 'I'm just working with a new compound based on iodine powder. It's a little volatile and I have to get the mixture just right.'

Eventually, they had become used to these interruptions in their day, and the explosions grew less and less frequent as Malcolm apparently refined his formula.

Now, riding back to the camp, Will heard a more familiar sound and he frowned slightly.

It was the deep-throated thrum of a powerful longbow being released. And not just any longbow. He followed the sound, diverting slightly from the path to the copse of trees where they had sited their camp. Again he heard the thrumming sound, followed a few seconds later by a solid SMACK!

There was a slight depression in the ground, lined by alder trees, and the sound seemed to be coming from that direction. He rode towards it and, as he crested the slight rise above the depression, saw Halt. He had his massive longbow in his hand and as Will watched he nocked an arrow, drew and released almost immediately, without even seeming to take aim. Will followed the black streak of the arrow through the air and heard it smack into a small pine log, standing upright, about eighty metres away. There were three other arrows jutting from the soft wood, grouped so closely together that a man's hand could have covered them all.

'You're dropping the bow hand as you release,' he called, although Halt certainly wasn't.

His mentor looked around, saw him and replied pithily, 'I believe your grandmother needs lessons in sucking eggs.'

He turned back to his practice and dispatched another three arrows in the blink of an eye, all of them thudding into that same small section of pine log.

'Not bad,' Will was forced to concede.

Halt raised an eyebrow. 'Not bad? You should do so well.' He gestured at the deer slung behind Tug's saddle. 'Been hunting?'

Will nodded. 'We need meat.'

Halt snorted softly. 'Won't get much off that. Couldn't you find something bigger? It's barely the size of a large squirrel.'

Will frowned and glanced back at the carcass behind him.

'It's big enough,' he said. 'Why shoot anything bigger?'

Halt considered that, leaning on his bow and nodding several times. Then he asked:

'Did you see anything bigger?'

'Well, no. I didn't,' Will admittedly. 'But there's plenty of meat here for four people.'

Halt smiled. 'Three people and Horace?'

Will pursed his lips thoughtfully. Halt had a definite point, he realised. 'I hadn't thought of that.' And, of course, Tug chose that moment to toss his head and shake his mane. I told you so.

Everyone seemed to be conspiring to belittle his efforts, so he decided to change the subject. He nodded towards the pine log, now bristling with arrows.

'Any reason for all this practice?' he asked.

Halt shrugged. 'Wanted to make sure I had the strength to draw my bow,' he said. 'Apparently, I do.'

Halt's bow was one of the heaviest Will had seen. Years of practice had built up the bearded Ranger's arm and back muscles to the point where he could draw it without any seeming effort. Yet Will had seen strong men who, lacking the correct technique and specific muscle development, were unable to bring it past half draw. Seeing the speed and accuracy with which Halt had been sending his shafts thudding into the log, Will realised that Halt was right. His strength was back.