John Flanagan: The Kings of Clonmel

Will grinned. 'If you're Halt's apprentice, you don't have a choice. You learn to shoot a bow, throw a knife, move silently and put honey in your coffee.'

'He's a fine teacher,' Gilan said, sipping his coffee appreciatively. 'So did Halt say what this new cult are calling themselves? They usually come up with some portentous-sounding name,' he added, in an aside to Will.

'He didn't say,' Crowley said. He seemed to be hesitating over whether to voice his next statement. Then he came to a decision. 'He's worried this might be a new outbreak of the Outsiders.'

The name meant nothing to Will but he saw Gilan's head come up.

'The Outsiders?' Gilan said. 'I remember that name. It must have been in the second year of my apprenticeship. Didn't you and Halt go off together to see them on their way?'

Crowley nodded. 'Along with Berrigan and several other Rangers.'

'That must have been quite a cult,' Will said, surprise in his voice. There was an old Araluan saying about 'One riot, one Ranger'. It meant that it rarely took more than a single Ranger to solve the biggest problems.

'It was,' Crowley agreed. 'They were a very unpleasant bunch of people and their poison had gone deep into the heart of the countryside. It took us some time to get the better of them. That's why Halt is so intent on finding out more about this new group. If they're a recurrence of the Outsiders, we'll have to act quickly.'

He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire and set his cup down.

'But let's not worry about what might be a problem until we know that it is. In the meantime, we have a Gathering to organise. Gil, I was wondering if you'd give our two final-year apprentices some extra tuition in unseen movement?'

'Of course,' Gilan said. If Crowley was an expert at moving without being heard, Gilan was the Corps' past master at moving without being seen. To a large degree, his skill was dependent upon instinct, but there were always practical tips he could pass on to others.

'And as for you, Will,' Crowley said, 'we have three first-years this season. Would you be interested in assessing their progress?'

He saw Will's attention snap back to the present. He could tell that the young man was still nursing his disappointment over the fact that his former teacher would not be coming. Just as well to give him something to take his mind off it, the older Ranger thought.

'Oh, sorry, Crowley! What was that you said?' Will said, a little guiltily.

'Would you care to help out assessing our three first-years?' Crowley repeated and Will nodded hastily.

'Yes, by all means! Sorry about that. I was just thinking about Halt. I've been looking forward to seeing him,' he explained.

'We all have,' Crowley said. 'His grumpy face brings a special light to our day. But there'll be time enough for that later.' He hesitated briefly. 'As a matter of fact… no, never mind. That'll keep.'

'What will keep?' Will's curiosity was aroused now and Crowley smiled to himself. Curiosity was the sign of a good Ranger. But so was discipline.

'Never mind. It's something I'll tell you about when the time is right. For now, I'd appreciate it if you'll coach the boys in archery and oversee a tactical exercise with them.'

'Consider it done.' Will thought for a few seconds then added, 'Do I need to set the tactical exercise?'

Crowley shook his head. 'No. We've done that. Just see them through solving it. It should amuse you,' he added cryptically. He rose and dusted off the seat of his trousers. 'Thanks for the coffee,' he, said. 'See you at the feast tonight.'

'All right,' Will told the three boys, 'let's see you shoot. Ten arrows each at those targets.'

He indicated three large, standard bullseye design targets set up seventy-five metres down range. The three stepped forward to the firing line. A little further down the line, two senior Rangers were practising, shooting at targets no bigger than a large dinner platter, set at the one-hundred-and-fifty-metre mark. For a few moments, the three first-year apprentices watched in awe as the two marksmen slammed arrow after arrow into the almost invisible targets.

'Any time before sunset would be fine,' Will drawled. He had no idea that he was mimicking the dry, mock-weary tone of voice that Halt had used with him when he was first learning the skills of a Ranger.

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,' said the nearest of the three boys. They all looked at him, wide eyed. He sighed.

'Stuart?' he said to the boy who had spoken.

'Yes, sir?'

'You don't call me sir. We're both Rangers.'

'But… ' began one of the other boys. He was stockily built and had a mass of red hair that flopped untidily over his forehead. Will searched his memory for the boy's name: Liam, he remembered.

'Yes, Liam?'

The boy shuffled awkwardly. 'But we're apprentices and you're… ' He stopped. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. It was probably something ridiculous like, 'But we're apprentices and you're you.'

Because although Will didn't know it, he was a subject of awe for these boys. He was the legendary Will Treaty, the Ranger who had rescued the King's daughter from Morgarath's Wargal army, then protected her when they were kidnapped by raiding Skandians. Then he had trained and led a company of archers in the battle against the Temujai riders. And only the previous year, he had repelled a Scotti invasion on the northern frontier of the Kingdom.

These three would look up to any graduate Ranger. But Will Treaty was only a few years older than they were, and so was a subject for hero worship of the highest degree. As a result, they had been somewhat surprised when they met him. They had expected a larger-than-life figure – a hero in classical terms. Instead, they were introduced to a fresh-faced, youthful person, with a ready smile and a slim build, who stood a little less than average height. Had Will realised it, he would have been amused and more than a little embarrassed. It was exactly the sort of reaction he was used to seeing in people who met Halt for the first time. Unknown to him, his own reputation was beginning to rival that of his former teacher.

Will may not have comprehended the hero worship these boys felt for him personally. But he did understand the gulf they felt existed between a Ranger and an apprentice. He had felt the same way, he remembered.

'You're apprentice Rangers,' he said. 'And the important word there is "Rangers".' He tapped the silver oakleaf amulet that hung around his neck. 'As a wearer of the Silver Oakleaf, I might expect obedience and some level of deference from you. But I do not expect you to call me sir. My name is Will and that's what you call me. You'd call my friend Gilan and my former master Halt, if he were here. That's the Rangers' way.'

It was a small point, he knew, but an important one. Rangers were a unique breed and on occasions they needed to assert authority over people who were nominally far senior to them in rank. It was important that these boys knew that they might one day need to call upon the power and trust that the King conferred upon his Rangers. All of them – apprentices and graduates alike. The self-confidence they would need to do so was built initially by their sense of equality with their peers in the Ranger Corps.

The three apprentices exchanged glances as they took in what Will had said. He saw their shoulders straighten a little, their chins come up fractionally.

'Yes… Will,' said Liam. He nodded to himself, as if trying the word out and liking what he heard. The others echoed the sentiment, nodding in their turn. Will gave them a few moments to savour the sense of confidence, then glanced meaningfully at the sun.

'Well, sunset's getting closer all the time,' he said to himself. He hid a smile as three arrows slid out of their quivers. A few seconds later, three bows twanged and he heard the familiar scrape-slither as the shots were on their way to the target.