John Flanagan - Oakleaf bearers

Halt made a dismissive gesture. "They were a pragmatic bunch," he said. "Gallica wasn't going to go away. They'd fought their way through there once, they could always do it again. But there was only going to be one chance to get the top job."

"So the western hemisphere was saved by a dish of bad clams?" Evanlyn said. The grizzled Ranger smiled grimly.

"It's surprising how often history is decided by something as trivial as bad shellfish," he told her.

"Where were you while this was all going on, Halt?" Will asked his master.

Halt smiled again at the memory. "I suppose it's one of those moments you never forget," he said. "I was hightailing it for the coast, with a small herd of:" He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Horace. ":fairly purchased horses, and a Temujai fighting patrol was right behind me. They were gaining on me too. Suddenly, one morning, they reined in and watched me gallop away. Then they simply turned around and started trotting back east-all the way to their homeland."

There was a brief silence as he finished the tale. Halt could have wagered that it would be Will who would come up with the next question, and he was not disappointed.

"So who became the Sha'shan?" he asked. "The brother, the nephew or the cousin?"

"None of them," Halt replied. "The election went to a dark horse candidate who had designs on the countries to the east of the Temujai homelands. The other three were executed for abandoning their mission in the west." He stirred the fire again, thinking back to that well-remembered day when the pursuing riders had suddenly given up the chase and left him to escape.

"And now they're back again," he said thoughtfully.

T HEY BROKE CAMP EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING AND started down toward the pass that would take them across the border once more. Horace had offered Evanlyn the black battlehorse that had belonged to Deparnieux. When she had protested that this was a far superior animal to the bay he rode, he smiled shyly.

"Maybe so. But I'm used to Kicker. He knows my ways." And that was the end of the matter. The prisoner rode one of the horses they had taken from the Temujai camp. A second was carrying the packs and supplies that, up until now, had been carried by Tug. Naturally, the little Ranger horse was now the proud bearer of his long-lost master.

As they came closer to the treeline at the bottom of the hill, Tug showed his happiness once more, tossing his head and whinnying. Halt turned in the saddle and smiled.

"I'm glad he's happy," he said. "But I do hope he's not planning on keeping that up all the way home."

Will grinned in reply and leaned forward to pat the little horse's shaggy neck.

"He'll settle down soon enough," he said. At the touch, Tug danced a few paces and tossed his head again. Surprisingly, Abelard copied the actions.

"Now he's got my horse doing it too," Halt said, more than a little surprised. He calmed Abelard with a quiet word, then turned to Will again. "You seem to be popular among the horses of this world, anyway. I thought:" His voice trailed away and he didn't finish the sentence. Will saw his body stiffen to attention and the gray-cloaked Ranger twisted in his saddle, peering into the trees, which were now close on either side.

"Damn!" he muttered quietly. He turned to Horace and Evanlyn, riding behind them and leading the prisoner's horse, but before he could speak, there was a scuffle of movement in the trees and a party of armed warriors stepped out into the open behind them, blocking their retreat.

Halt swung quickly to the front once more, as a second group emerged from the trees, fanning out to the sides and moving to cut them off in all directions.

"Skandians!" exclaimed Will, as he recognized the horned helmets and round wooden shields carried by the silent warriors. Halt's shoulder slumped in a gesture of disgust with himself.

"Yes. The horses have been trying to warn us, only I didn't realize it."

A burly figure, wearing an enormous horned helmet and with a double-bladed battle-ax laid negligently over his right shoulder, stepped forward. Behind them, Halt heard the sinister whisper of steel on leather as Horace drew his sword. Without turning, he said:

"Put it away, Horace. I think there are too many of them, even for you."

As Horace had moved, the huge ax had risen instantly to the ready position. The Skandian wielded it as if it were a toy. Now he spoke, and Will started at the familiar voice.

"I think we'll have you down from those horses, if you don't mind."

Unable to stop himself, Will blurted out: "Erak!" and the man took a pace closer, peering at the second cloaked figure in front of him. The cowl had obscured Will's face so that the jarl hadn't recognized him. Now he could make out the boy's features and he frowned as he realized that there was something familiar about another of the riders. He hadn't recognized Evanlyn, swathed in a cloak against the cold. Now, however, he was sure that it must be she. He cursed quietly under his breath, then recovered.

"Down!" he commanded. "All of you."

He motioned the circle of men back as the four riders dismounted. The fifth, he noticed with some interest, was tied to his horse and couldn't comply. He gestured for two of his men to get the prisoner down from his saddle.

Halt threw back the hood on his cloak and Erak studied the grim, bearded face. Now that he was dismounted, the man looked surprisingly small, particularly measured against Erak's own burly form. Will went to throw back his own cowl, but Erak stopped him with a hand gesture.

"Leave it for the moment," he said in a lowered voice. He didn't know how many of his men might recognize the former slave who had escaped from Hallasholm months ago, but for now, something told him that the fewer who made the connection, the better it would be. He looked warningly at Evanlyn.

"You too," he ordered, and she inclined her head in agreement. Erak turned his gaze back to Halt.

"I've seen you before," he said. Halt nodded.

"If you're Jarl Erak, we saw each other briefly on the beach by the fens," he said, and recognition dawned in the jarl's eyes. It wasn't the man's face that had struck a chord of memory, rather his bearing-the way he held himself and the massive longbow that he carried still. Halt continued: "There was quite a distance between us, as I recall."

Erak grunted. "I seem to remember that we were well within bowshot," he said. Halt nodded, acknowledging the point. The Skandian's face darkened with anger as he looked once more at the bow and the quiver of arrows slung at Halt's belt.

"And now you've been up to the same foul business," he said. "Although what these two have to do with it is beyond me." He added the last in a puzzled tone, jerking a thumb at Will and Evanlyn.

Now it was Halt's turn to look puzzled. "What foul business?"

Erak gave a disgusted snort. "I've seen you with that bow, remember? I know what you can do. And I've just seen more of your handiwork at Serpent Pass."

Understanding dawned on Halt. He remembered the forlorn sight of the bodies at the small fort on the border. That must be the pass this Skandian was referring to. Since the garrison had been killed by archers and Erak knew Halt's skill with a bow, he had jumped to a rapid, if not too logical, conclusion.

"Not our work," he said, shaking his head. Erak stepped closer to him.

"No? I saw them there. All shot. And we followed your tracks from there."

"So you may have," Halt said calmly, "but if you're any sort of tracker, you'd know that there were only two of us. We found the garrison at the pass dead. And we followed the tracks of a larger party-the ones who killed them."

Erak hesitated. He wasn't a tracker. He was a sea captain. But one of the men who had come with him was an occasional hunter. While he didn't have the uncanny skills that the Rangers had developed in interpreting tracks, Erak now remembered that his man had said something about the possibility of there being two groups.