John Flanagan: The Kings of Clonmel

But Sean was shaking his head. 'That'll take a strong military force,' he said. 'I don't have the men for it, unless I leave Clonmel unprotected. And I'm not prepared to do that.'

Halt nodded approvingly. The young man's answer told him that he'd been right in selecting him as the new King.

'Which is why I'm willing to write to King Duncan in Araluen and request that he send an armed force of, say, one hundred and fifty men to serve under you: knights, men at arms and a company of archers. If you agree.'

Sean considered the offer. 'And when we've got rid of the Outsiders, this force would return to Araluen?' No ruler would be eager to see a powerful foreign force on his own land without such an assurance.

'You have my word on it,' Halt said.

Agreed,' Sean said and they shook hands. He glanced at the group of nobles and they hastened to mumble their agreement. 'I'll be needing levies of troops from all of your estates as well,' he said, and again heads nodded round the half circle.

We can iron out the details later,' Halt said. 'Right now, Horace is waiting for me and, unless I miss my guess, he'll be hungry. Gentlemen, I'll leave you to discuss matters such as the coronation.' He smiled at Sean, one of his rare genuine smiles. 'With your permission, your majesty?'

For a moment, Sean didn't react. Then he realised he was being addressed.

`Eh? Oh, yes. Of course, Halt… Uncle. Carry on… please.'

Halt stepped a little closer so that only Sean could hear him.

'You'd better work on your regal manner,' he said.

Horace was waiting for him in the anteroom. The young warrior's eyesight was nearly fully recovered as the drug worked its way out of his bloodstream. On the surgeon's advice, he was bathing his eyes several times a day in warm salted water. They were a little red-rimmed but he was moving more certainly now.

He rose as Halt exited the throne room and the Ranger studied him briefly, glad to see he was nearly back to normal.

'So, how did it go?' Horace asked cheerfully. 'Should I curtsey to you, Good King Halt?'

'You do and I'll give you a clip over the ear,' Halt growled, suppressing a smile. 'Sean is to be King.'

Horace nodded. 'Good choice,' he said. 'By the way, a rider came in a little while ago, with a message from Will.'

Halt's head snapped up at that. It was the first word they had had from Will since he had ridden out in pursuit of Tennyson.

`He said "Fingle Bay",' Horace continued.

The Ranger pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'It's in the north. A fishing port and a small harbour. Let's collect our gear and get on the road.'

Horace gave him a pained look.

'What about lunch?' he asked. His hopes of a meal sank as he saw that familiar lift of Halt's eyebrow.

'What about lunch?' Halt replied. Horace shook his head despondently.

'I knew I should have told you after we'd eaten,' he said.

In spite of Halt's desire to cover ground as quickly as possible, they made one detour, riding to the crest of a small hill to the west of Dun Kilty.

It was a windswept area, where the trees had been cleared to leave an open meadow. In the place of the trees there was a collection of stone cairns – perhaps fifty of them in all. Some were ancient and crumbling. Others were more recent. -One had been constructed only days before and the stones that formed it were bright and fresh from the quarry.

This was Cairnhill. This was the ancient burial ground where the kings of Clonmel were laid to rest.

As they reached the entrance in the low stone wall that encircled the burial ground, Horace checked Kicker, leaving Halt to ride on alone until Abelard stopped before the cairn of freshly quarried stone. For some time, the Ranger sat, not saying a word, looking at the burial cairn of his brother. After several minutes, he wheeled Abelardaway from the cairn and rode slowly back to where Horace waited for him. Without a word, Horace fell in beside him and they trotted their horses down the hill and back to the main road. They planned to spend the night at Derryton, a coastal village on the road to Fingle Bay.

Horace looked at the sky. It was midafternoon but dark clouds were scudding in from the west and there'd be rain before too long, he thought.

The silence grew between them until Horace finally spoke.

`He wasn't much of a king,' he said, 'but I suppose he was the only one they had.'

It wasn't quite the way he had intended to put it and he realised that he'd phrased the thought clumsily. He glanced anxiously at his companion, hoping that he hadn't offended him.

'Sorry, Halt,' he said awkwardly. Halt looked up at him and gave him a sad smile. He knew there was no malice intended in the young warrior's words.

'That's all right, Horace,' he said. 'He wasn't much of a brother, either. But he was the only one I had.'

The first big drops of rain hit them and Halt pulled the cowl of his cloak further over his head.

We should try to make Derryton before dark,' he said.