John Flanagan: The Burning Bridge

"Well:I suppose so. But I was only a kid then."

"So was I!" replied Horace, with devastating logic.

Gilan grinned at the two of them. They were both still boys. Halt had been right, he thought. It was good for Will to be spending some time in company with someone his own age.

Will turned to the older Ranger. "So did you ask Halt to take you as an apprentice?" he asked. Then, before receiving any answer, continued, "What did he say to that?"

Gilan shook his head. "I didn't ask him anything. I followed him one day when he left our castle and headed into the forest."

"You followed him? A Ranger? You followed a Ranger into the forest?" said Horace. He didn't know whether to be impressed by Gilan's courage or appalled at his foolhardiness. Will sprang to Gilan's defense.

"Gil's one of the best unseen movers in the Ranger Corps," he said quickly. "The best, probably."

"I wasn't then," said Gilan ruefully. "Mind you, I thought I knew a bit about moving without being seen. I found out how little I actually did know when I tried to sneak up on Halt when he stopped for a noon meal. Next thing I knew, his hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me in a stream."

He smiled at the memory of it.

"I suppose he sent you home in disgrace then?" asked Horace, but Gilan shook his head again, a distant smile still on his face as he remembered that day.

"On the contrary, he kept me with him for a week. Said I wasn't too bad at sneaking around the forest and I might have some talent as an unseen mover. He started to teach me about being a Ranger-and by the end of the week, I was his apprentice."

"How did your father take it when you told him?" Will asked. "Surely he wanted you to be a knight like him. I guess he was disappointed."

"Not at all," said Gilan. "The strange thing was, Halt had told him that I'd probably be following him into the forest. My father had already agreed that I could serve as Halt's apprentice, before I even knew I wanted to."

Horace frowned. "How could Halt have known that?"

Gilan shrugged and looked at Will meaningfully. "Halt has a way of knowing things, doesn't he, Will?" he asked, grinning. Will remembered that dark night in the Baron's office, and the hand that had shot out of the darkness to seize his wrist. Halt had been waiting for him that night. Just as he'd obviously waited for Gilan to follow him.

He looked deep into the low embers of the fire before he answered. "Maybe, in his own way, he is a kind of a sorcerer," he said.

The three companions sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, thinking about what had been discussed. Then Gilan stretched and yawned.

"Well, I'm for sleep," he said. "We're on a war footing these days, so we'll set watches. Will, you're first, then Horace, then me. 'Night, you two."

And so saying, he rolled himself into his gray-green cloak and was soon breathing deeply and evenly.

T HEY WERE ON THE ROAD AGAIN BEFORE THE SUN WAS barely clear of the horizon. The clouds had cleared now, blown away by a fresh southerly wind, and the air was crisp and cold as their trail started to wind higher into the rocky foothills leading to the border with Celtica.

The trees grew more stunted and gnarled. The grass was coarse and the thick forest was replaced by short, windblown scrub.

This was a part of the land where the winds blew constantly, and the land itself reflected its constant scouring action. The few houses they saw in the distance were huddled into the side of hills, built of stone walls and rough thatch roofs. It was a cold, hard part of the kingdom and, as Gilan told them, it would become harder as they entered Celtica itself.

That evening, as they relaxed around the campfire, Gilan continued with Horace's instruction in swordsmanship.

"Timing is the essence of the whole thing," he said to the sweating apprentice. "See how you're parrying with your arm locked and rigid?"

Horace looked at his right arm. Sure enough, it was locked, stiff as a board. He looked pained.

"But I have to be ready to stop your stroke," he explained.

Gilan nodded patiently, then demonstrated with his own sword. "Take a swing at me." As Horace did so, Gilan said, "Look:see how I'm doing it? As your stroke is coming, my hand and arm are relaxed. Then, just before your sword reaches the spot where I want to stop it, I make a small counterswing, see?"

He did so, using his hand and wrist to swing the blade of his sword in a small arc. "My grip tightens at the last moment, and the greater part of the energy of your swing is absorbed by the movement of my own blade."

Horace nodded doubtfully. It seemed so easy for Gilan.

"But:what if I mistime it?"

Gilan smiled widely. "Well, in that case, I'll probably just lop your head off your shoulders." He paused. Horace obviously wasn't too pleased with that answer. "The idea is not to mistime it," Gilan added gently.

"But:" the boy began.

"And the way to develop your timing is?" Gilan interrupted. Horace nodded wearily.

"I know. I know. Practice."

Gilan beamed at him again. "That's right. So, ready? One and two and three and four, that's better, and three and four:No! No! Just a small movement of the wrist:and one and two:"

The ring of their blades echoed through the campsite.

Will watched with some interest, heightened by the fact that he wasn't the one who was working up a sweat.

After a few days of this, Gilan noticed that Will seemed a little too relaxed. He was sitting, running a stone down the edge of his sword after a practice session with Horace, when he glanced quizzically at the apprentice Ranger.

"Has Halt shown you the double knife sword defense yet?" he asked suddenly. Will looked up in surprise.

"The double knife:what?" he asked uncertainly. Gilan sighed deeply.

"Sword defense. Damn! I should have realized that there'd be more for me to do. Serves me right for taking two apprentices along with me." He stood up with an exaggerated sigh, and motioned for Will to follow him. Puzzled, the boy did.

Gilan led the way to the clear ground where he and Horace had been practicing their swordsmanship. Horace was still there, making shadow lunges and cuts at an imaginary foe as he counted time to himself under his breath. Sweat ran freely down his face and his shirt was dark with it.

"Right, Horace," called Gilan. "Take a break for a few minutes."

Gratefully, Horace complied. He lowered the sword and sank onto the trunk of a fallen tree.

"I think I'm getting the feel of it," he said. Gilan nodded approvingly.

"Good for you. Another three or four years and you might just have it mastered." He spoke cheerfully, but Horace's face dropped as the prospect of long years of weary practice stretched out in front of him.

"Look on the bright side, Horace," Gilan said. "By that time, there'd be less than a handful of swordsmen in the kingdom who could best you in a duel."

Horace's face brightened somewhat, then sagged again as Gilan added: "The only trick is knowing who those handful are. Be most uncomfortable if you accidentally challenged one of them and then found out, wouldn't it?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but turned to the smaller boy.

"Now, Will," he said. "Let's see those knives of yours."

"Both of them?" Will hesitated and Gilan rolled his eyes to heaven. The expression was remarkably like the one that Halt used when Will asked one question too many.

"Sorry," Will mumbled, unsheathing his two knives and holding them out to Gilan. The older Ranger didn't take them. He quickly inspected their edges and checked to see that the fine layer of rust-proofing oil was on them. He nodded, satisfied, when he saw everything was as it should be.

"Right," he said. "Saxe knife goes in your right hand, because that's the one you use to block a sword cut-"