John Flanagan: The Burning Bridge

Halt rubbed his chin thoughtfully, an idea forming. "I think we might have just the person you need," he said. He turned to Will. "Perhaps you'd better get some sleep. I'll give Gilan a hand with the horses and then we'll go up to the castle."

Will nodded. Now that Halt mentioned sleep, he felt an irresistible urge to yawn. He rose and headed for his small room.

"See you in the morning, Gilan."

"Bright and early." Gilan smiled, and Will rolled his eyes in mock horror.

"I knew you'd say that," he replied.

Halt and Gilan bedded the two horses down and strolled through the fields toward Castle Redmont in companionable silence. Gilan, attuned to his old teacher's ways, sensed that Halt had something he wanted to discuss, and before too long, the older Ranger broke the silence.

"This embassy to Celtica could be just what Will needs," he said. "I'm a little worried about him."

Gilan frowned. He liked the irrepressible young apprentice. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"He had a bad time of it when we ran into those Wargals last week," Halt said. "He thinks he's lost his nerve."

"And has he?"

Halt shook his head decisively. "Of course not. He's got more courage than most grown men. But when the Wargals charged us, he rushed his shot and missed."

Gilan shrugged. "No shame in that, is there? After all, he's not yet sixteen. He didn't run, I take it?"

"No. Not at all. He stood his ground. Even got another shot away. Then Tug took a hand and backed the Wargal off so I could finish it. He's a good horse, that one."

"He has a good master," Gilan said, and Halt nodded.

"That's true. Still, I think a few weeks away from all of these war preparations will be good for the boy. It might get his mind off his troubles if he spends some time with you and Horace."

"Horace?" Gilan asked.

"He's the third member I'm suggesting. One of the Battleschool apprentices and a friend of Will's." Halt thought for a few moments, then nodded to himself. "Yes. A few weeks with people closer to his own age will do him good. After all, folk do say I can be a little grim from time to time."

"You, Halt? Grim? Who could say such a thing?" Gilan said. Halt glanced at him suspiciously. Gilan was, all too obviously, just managing to keep a straight face.

"You know, Gilan," he said, "sarcasm isn't the lowest form of wit. It's not even wit at all."

Even though it was after midnight, the lights were still burning in Baron Arald's office when Halt and Gilan reached the castle. The Baron and Sir Rodney, Redmont's Battlemaster, had a lot of planning to do, preparing for the march to the Plains of Uthal, where they would join the rest of the kingdom's army. When Halt explained Gilan's need, Sir Rodney was quick to see where the Ranger's thinking was headed.

"Horace?" he said to Halt.

The small, bearded Ranger nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, it's not a bad idea at all," the Battlemaster continued, pacing the room as he thought it over. "He has the sort of status you need for the task-he's a Battleschool member, even if he is only a trainee. We can spare him from the force leaving here at the end of the week and:"

At this he paused and looked meaningfully at Gilan. "You might even find he's a useful person to have along."

The younger Ranger looked at him curiously and Sir Rodney elaborated: "He's one of my best trainees-a real natural with a sword. He's already better than most members of the Battleschool. But he does tend to be a bit formal and inflexible in his approach to life. Perhaps an assignment with two undisciplined Rangers might teach him to loosen up a little."

He smiled briefly to show that he meant no offense by the joke, then glanced at the sword Gilan wore at his hip. It was an unusual weapon for a Ranger. "You're the one who studied with MacNeil, is that right?"

Gilan nodded. "The Swordmaster. Yes, that was me."

"Hmmm," muttered Sir Rodney, regarding the tall young Ranger with new interest. "Well, you might see your way clear to giving Horace a few pointers while you're on the road. I'd take it as a favor and you'll find he's a quick learner."

"I'd be glad to," Gilan replied. He thought that he'd like to see this apprentice warrior. He knew from his time at Redmont as Halt's apprentice that Sir Rodney wasn't given to overstating praise for any of the students in the Battleschool.

"Well, that's settled then," Baron Arald said, anxious to get back to planning the thousand and one details of the march to Uthal. "What time will you be leaving, Gilan?"

"As soon after sunup as I can, sir," Gilan replied.

"I'll have Horace report to you before first light," Rodney told him and Gilan nodded, sensing that the meeting was over. The Baron's next words confirmed it for him.

"Now, if you two will excuse us, we'll get back to the relatively simple business of planning a war," he said.

T HE SKY WAS HEAVY WITH SULLEN RAIN CLOUDS. S OMEWHERE the sun may have been rising, but here there was no sign of it, just a dull gray light that filtered through the overcast and gradually, reluctantly, filled the sky.

As the little party crested the last ridge, leaving the massive shape of Castle Redmont behind them, the new day finally gave in to the clouds and it began to rain-a cold spring rain. It was light and misting, but persistent. At first, it ran off the riders' treated woolen cloaks. But, eventually, it began to soak into the fibers. After twenty minutes or so, all three were hunched in their saddles, trying to retain as much body warmth as they could.

Gilan turned to his two companions as they plodded along, eyes down, hunched over their horses' necks. He smiled to himself, then addressed Horace, who was keeping a position slightly to the rear, alongside the pack pony Gilan was leading.

"Well then, Horace," he said, "are we giving you enough adventure for the moment?"

Horace wiped the misting rain from his face, and grimaced ruefully.

"Less than I'd expected, sir," he replied. "But it's still better than close-order drill."

Gilan nodded and grinned at him.

"I imagine it is at that," he said. Then he added kindly: "There's no need to ride back there, you know. We Rangers don't stand on ceremony too much. Come and join us."

He nudged Blaze with his knee and the bay mare stepped out to open a gap for him. Horace eagerly urged his horse forward, to ride level with the two Rangers.

"Thank you, sir," he said gratefully. Gilan cocked an eyebrow at Will.

"Polite, isn't he?" he mused. "Obviously manners are well taught in the Battleschool these days. Nice to be called 'sir' all the time."

Will grinned at the kindly meant jibe. Then the smile faded from his face as Gilan continued thoughtfully.

"Not a bad idea to have a bit of respect shown. Perhaps you could call me 'sir' as well," he said, turning his face away to study the tree line to one side so that Will couldn't see the faint trace of a grin that insisted on breaking through.

Aghast, Will choked over his answer. He couldn't believe his ears.

"Sir?" he said finally. "You really want me to call you 'sir,' Gilan?" Then, as Gilan frowned slightly at him, he amended hurriedly and in great confusion: "I mean, sir! You want me to call you 'sir':sir?"

Gilan shook his head. "No. I don't think 'Sir-Sir' is suitable. Nor 'Sir Gilan.' I think just the one 'sir' would do nicely, don't you?"

Will couldn't think of a polite way of phrasing what was in his mind, and gestured helplessly with his hands. Gilan continued.

"After all, it'll do nicely to keep us all remembering who's in charge of this party, won't it?"

Finally, Will found his voice. "Well, I suppose it will, Gil:I mean, sir." He shook his head, surprised at this sudden demand for formality from his friend. He rode in silence for a few minutes, then heard an explosive sneezing sound from beside him as Horace tried, unsuccessfully, to smother his giggling. Will glared at him, then turned suspiciously to Gilan.