John Flanagan - Halts peril

'We might camp for the night,' he said. 'The horses could break a leg in these conditions and then we'd be in real trouble.'

Will was peering around the heavily shadowed walls. 'Don't see any of those warm, dry caves you mentioned,' he said.

Halt clicked his tongue in annoyance. 'The notes on the map say they should be here.' Then he pointed. 'That overhang will have to do us.'

A large, flat spur of rock jutted out from the wall of the pass, providing an area of shelter underneath. There was plenty of headroom. In the absence of a cave, it would serve the purpose, Will thought.

'At least it'll keep the rain off,' he said.

They set up camp. Will and Horace had carried a supply of firewood from the previous camp site and Halt decided they could risk a fire. They were cold and low-spirited, he realised, and all too ready to snap at one another. A fire, some hot food and hot coffee would go a long way to restoring their spirits. There was a slight risk that it might be seen, he thought, but the twists and turns of the pass should conceal it pretty effectively. Besides, so far they'd seen no sign that anyone was following them. And moving in the dark over the uneven, rock-strewn, sloping ground of the pass would be risky for any pursuer. Doing so quietly would be well nigh impossible. All in all, he thought, the potential gains outweighed the dangers.

They settled into their blankets and cloaks early, covering the fire with sand before they did so. It was one matter to heat food and water for a few minutes, another altogether to leave the fire burning to signal their presence while they slept. Horace offered to take the first watch and Will and Halt accepted gratefully.

Horace's hand on his shoulder roused Will from a deep, dreamless sleep. For a second, he wondered where he was, and why there was a pebble pressing painfully into his hip through his blankets. Then he remembered.

'Is it my watch?' he mumbled. But Horace crouched over him, his finger to his lips for silence.

'Listen,' he whispered. He turned away to face down the pass. Will, sniffing and yawning, sat up in his blankets, propped on one elbow.

A long, rasping cry echoed down the pass, bouncing from one wall to the other and back again so that the echoes continued long after the original noise had ceased. Will felt his skin goosebump at the sound. It was a sound of sorrow, a wavering, croaking cry of pain.

'What the devil is that?' he whispered.

Horace shook his head. Then he leaned forward again to listen, his head cocked slightly to one side.

'It's the third time I've heard it,' he said. 'The first two were so quiet I wasn't really sure I heard them. But now it's closer.'

The cry came again, but this time from a different direction. The first had been from down the pass, Will thought. This one was definitely behind them, issuing from somewhere back the way they had come.

Suddenly, he recognised the sound.

'It's a raven,' he said. 'The raven of One Raven Pass.'

'But that one was from up there,' Horace began, pointing back along the pass, then turning uncertainly towards the direction from which they'd heard the first cry. 'There must be two of them.'

'Or one of them flying around,' Will put in.

'You think so?' Horace asked. He would face any enemy unflinchingly. But to sit here in this shadowy cleft in the mountains listening to that mournful sound set his nerves on edge.

A long-suffering voice came from the pile of blankets that covered Halt. 'I've heard ravens do tend to fly around,' he said. 'Now will you two kindly shut up and let me sleep?'

'Sorry, Halt,' Horace said, abashed. He patted Will on the shoulder. 'You go back to sleep too. I've got another hour to go.'

Will settled down again. The croaking call came again, from a third direction.

'Yes,' said Horace to himself. 'It's definitely one raven, flying to different positions. Definitely. That's what it is, all right.'

'I'm not going to warn you again,' came Halt's muffled voice. Horace opened his mouth to apologise, thought better of it and remained silent.

The raven continued its mournful croaking throughout the night. Will took over the watch from Horace, then handed over to Halt a few hours before dawn. As light began to touch the higher edges of the rock walls around them, the raven gradually became silent.

'Now that he's gone,' Horace said, as he extinguished the breakfast cooking fire, 'I almost miss him.'

'That's not how you felt last night,' Will said, grinning. He made his eyes wide and staring and waved his hands in mock fright. 'Ooooh, Will! Help! There's a big bad raven come to carry me away.'

Horace shook his head, somewhat shamefaced. 'Well, I suppose I was a little startled,' he said. 'But it took me by surprise, that's all.'

'I'm glad I was here to protect you,' Will said, with a slightly superior tone.

Halt, watching them as he rolled his pack, thought his former apprentice was pushing it too far. 'You know,' he said quietly, 'just after you first heard the raven, Will, I actually heard a strange crackling noise as well.'

Will regarded him curiously. 'You did? I didn't notice it. What do you think it was?'

'I couldn't be sure,' the Ranger said thoughtfully, 'but I suspect it was the sound of your hair standing on end in fright.'

Horace gave a short bark of laughter and Halt allowed him one of his brief smiles. Will turned to roll his own pack, feeling his cheeks redden.

'Oh yes. Very amusing, Halt. Very amusing,' he said. But he did wonder how the bearded Ranger had known that his hair had done just that.

They continued along the pass, still moving slightly uphill. After a while, the path became level, then sloped gradually down again. An hour or so after they had left the camp site, Halt pointed out a small, flat-topped cairn of rocks set by the eastern wall of the pass.

'That's what our friend the raven was crying about,' he said.

They rode closer to study the pile, which resembled a small, rough altar. The stones were very old and their edges worn smooth. On the rock wall beside them, there were faint carvings visible, weathered by years of wind and rain.

'It's a memorial to the men who died here,' Halt told them.

Will leaned forward a little to study the carvings. 'What do they say?'

Halt shrugged. 'They're pretty hard to make out, worn as they are. And I can't read Scotti runes anyway. I suspect they tell the story of the battle.' He indicated the steep walls. At this point, the pass had narrowed again so that it was barely twenty metres wide. 'There are ledges up there where the enemy stationed their archers,' he said. 'They fired down into the ranks of the Scotti as they were packed together down here. They fired arrows, rolled rocks, threw spears. The Scotti soldiers got in their own way trying to retreat. When they were hopelessly tangled together and confused, the enemy cavalry came round the next bend there and hit them.'

His two young companions followed his account of the ancient battle, looking from one point to another as he described it. Young as they were, they were both experienced in battle and they could picture the terrible slaughter that must have taken place in this crowded, shadowy cleft in the rocks.

'Who were they, Halt?' Horace asked. He kept his voice lowered in an unconscious mark of respect for the warriors who had died here. Halt looked at him, not understanding the question, so he elaborated.

'Who were the enemy?'

'We were,' Halt told him. 'The Araluans. This antagonism between the two nations isn't something recent, you know. It goes back for centuries. That's why I'm keen to get out of Picta and back onto Araluan soil.'

It was an obvious hint and the two young men urged their horses after him as he rode south, heading for the exit from the pass. Horace glanced back at the small memorial once or twice, but soon a twist in the pass hid it from sight.