John Flanagan - The sorcerer of the North

"Somebody get on your wrong side, Ranger?" he asked.

Will smiled slightly in reply. "You could say that. He's been making a nuisance of himself around here. It occurred to me that he could be useful to you."

Gundar frowned and wiped grease from his chin with the back of his hand. "Useful?" he said. "I've got all the crew I want, thanks. I don't need any untrained southerners on board Wolfcloud." He hesitated, then added, "No offense meant."

Will shook his head. "None taken. No, actually I didn't mean to offer him as a crew member. I thought you might like to take him as a slave. You do still have slaves in Skandia, don't you?"

Hardstriker regarded the young man with renewed interest. This one was full of twists and turns and no mistake, he thought. It had been a meager voyage for Wolfcloud, as Will had guessed when he first encountered the Skandians. A good healthy slave would be a saleable item when they finally got back to Hallasholm.

"Yes. We still have slaves," he said, stepping closer to the horse and examining the unconscious man more closely. He seized a handful of hair and lifted the man's face to look at it. Aged around thirty. Looked big and strong.

"He healthy?" he asked, and Will nodded.

"Aside from a slight bout of concussion, he's fit as a flea." Will remembered the cruel wound in the dog's side and the rumors that Buttle was responsible for a string of murders in the area. "He'd be good for hours of work on the paddles."

The paddles were a punishment for Skandian slaves. They were large wooden blades that were suspended in the wells during winter. Slaves worked them back and forth and up and down to keep the water moving and stop ice from forming too thickly. In the process, they were invariably splashed until they were soaked to the skin with the freezing cold water. In his time as a Skandian slave, Will had been assigned to the paddles. The assignment had nearly killed him before Erak had taken pity on him and helped him to escape.

Gundar was shaking his head. "The Oberjarl did away with the paddles as a punishment," he said. "Besides, a valuable slave like this would be wasted on them." He considered Buttle's still form once more, then came to a decision. "All right," he said. "How much do you want for him?"

Will reached around and tugged at a knot that held Buttle in place across the horse's back.

"Take him as a gift," he said, heaving on the bandit's collar so that he slid off the horse and fell in a heap on the ground. Buttle moaned softly as he did so, then went quiet. Gundar's eyes widened in surprise.

"A gift?"

Will nodded. "He's made a damn nuisance of himself around here and I don't have time to attend to him. Take him and welcome. You can owe me a favor sometime."

The Skandian captain regarded him thoughtfully. "You're one for surprises, all right, Ranger," he said. Then he called to two of his crewmen who had been standing by, interested spectators. "Get this cargo aboard," he told them. "Stow him in the forepeak."

Grinning, they lifted the unconscious man and carried him away. Gundar held out his hand to Will and the Ranger took it, shaking hands firmly.

"Well, you're right, Ranger. I'll owe you a favor for this. Not only have you fed my men for the winter, you've given us a small profit on the trip as well."

Will shrugged. "You're doing me a service by taking him," he said. "I'll be glad to know he's out of Araluen. Fair winds and strong rowers, Gundar Hardstriker," he added, in the traditional Skandian farewell.

"And an easy road to you, Ranger," Gundar replied.

Will swung back up into Tug's saddle. As he rode away, he pictured Buttle's future as a slave in Skandia. Even without the paddles, his life would be a hard one.

Will reined Tug in and looked around the almost deserted Gathering Ground. It was strange to see it so empty, he thought. There was a melancholy feeling to it.

Normally, the lightly wooded meadow would be filled with the small green tents of the fifty active members of the Ranger Corps as they came together for their annual Gathering. There would be cooking fires, the clank and rattle of weapons practice overlaid by the buzz of a dozen or more conversations and sudden bursts of laughter as old friends called greetings to new arrivals riding in.

Today, the campsites between the trees were bare. There were only two tents pitched, at the far end of the field, where the large command tent was normally placed. Halt and Crowley were already here, he realized.

Another week had passed since Alyss's visit to Seacliff Fief. The elegant Courier had given him his final instructions, telling him to wait for two days after her departure, then to leave quietly, without letting anyone know he was going, and to make his way to the fathering Ground, where Halt and Crowley would explain his assignment. As she was leaving, she placed her hands upon his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. She was taller than Will by half a head and she had always liked the fact that this didn't bother him In truth, most people were taller than Will, so it wasn't an issue with him. In his turn, he admired the way Alyss never tried to stoop or conceal her height. She stood proudly, with a firm, straight carriage that gave grace to all her movements.

As their gazes met, he saw the light of sadness in her eyes. Then she leaned forward and her lips touched his-light as a butterfly's wings and amazingly soft to the touch. They remained so for many seconds, then Alyss finally stepped back. She smiled sadly at him, sorry to be leaving so soon after seeing him again.

"Take care, Will," she said. He nodded. There was a huskiness in his throat and he didn't trust himself to speak immediately. Eventually he managed to reply.

"And you."

He had watched her ride away with her two-man escort until the trees hid her from sight. And he had remained watching for some time after that.

Now, here he was, ready to find out more about this assignment-anxious and uncertain, and just a little saddened by the thought of his last moments with Alyss and the sight of the empty Gathering Ground. Then the uncertainty was dispelled and the melancholy lifted as he saw a familiar stocky figure moving near one of the tents.

"Halt!" he cried out gladly, and a slight pressure with his knees set Tug galloping through the deserted Gathering site. The dog caught by surprise, barked once, then shot in pursuit like an arrow from a bow.

The grim-faced Ranger straightened from the fire at the sound of his former student's voice. He stood, hands on hips and a frown 0n his face as Will and Tug careered toward him. But inside, there was a lightening of his heart that he never failed to feel when in Will's company. Not for the first time, the realization hit Halt that Will was no longer a mere boy. No one wore the Silver Oakleaf if he hadn't proven himself to be worthy. Despite himself, he felt a surge of pride.

Tug, forelegs braced stiffly, leaning back on his hind legs, slid to a halt beside the Ranger, driving a thick cloud of dust into the air. Then Halt felt himself seized in a bear hug as Will threw himself from the saddle and embraced him gleefully.

"Halt! How are you? What have you been doing? Where's Abelard? How's Crowley? What's this all about?"

"I'm glad to see you rate my horse more important than our Corps Commandant," Halt said, one eyebrow rising in the expression that Will knew so well. Early in their relationship, he had thought it was an expression of displeasure. He had learned years ago that it was, for Halt, the equivalent of a smile.

Will finally released his mentor from his embrace and stepped back to study him. It had only been a few months since he had seen Halt, but he was surprised to see that the gray in the older Ranger's beard and hair was thicker than he remembered.