John Flanagan: The Ruins of Gorlan

At the foot of the hill, and on the other side of the Tarbus River, lay Wensley Village, a cheerfully haphazard cluster of houses, with an inn and those craft shops necessary to meet the demands of day-to-day country life-a cooper, wheelwright, smithy and harness maker. The land around had been cleared for some distance, both to provide farmlands for the villagers to tend and to prevent enemies from being able to approach unseen. In times of danger, the villagers would drive their flocks across the wooden bridge that spanned the Tarbus, removing the center span behind them, and seek shelter behind the massive ironstone walls of the castle, protected by the Baron's soldiers and the knights trained in Redmont's Battleschool.

Halt's cottage lay some distance away from both castle and village, nestling under the shelter of the trees at the edge of the forest. The sun was just rising over the trees as Will made his way to the log cabin. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney, so Will reasoned that Halt was already up and about. He stepped up onto the verandah that ran the length of one side of the house, hesitated for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the door.

"Come in," said a voice from inside. Will opened the door and went into the cottage.

It was small but surprisingly neat and comfortable-looking inside. He found himself in the main room, a combined living and dining area, with a small kitchen at one end, separated from the main area by a pine bench. There were comfortable chairs ranged around a fire, a well-scrubbed wooden table and pots and pans that gleamed from much polishing. There was even a vase of brightly colored wildflowers on the mantel shelf, and the early morning sun streamed cheerfully through a large window. Two other rooms led off the main room.

Halt sat in one of the chairs, his booted feet resting on the table. "At least you're on time," he said gruffly. "Have you had your breakfast yet?"

"Yes, sir," said Will, staring in fascination at the Ranger. This was the first time he had ever seen Halt without his gray-green cloak and hood. The Ranger was wearing simple brown and gray woolen clothes and soft-looking leather boots. He was older than Will had realized. His hair and beard were short and dark, but peppered with steel gray flecks. They were both roughly trimmed and Will thought they looked as if Halt had cut them himself with his hunting knife.

The Ranger stood up. He was surprisingly small in build. That was something else that Will had never realized. The gray cloak had concealed a lot about Halt. He was slim and not at all tall. In fact he was considerably shorter than average height. But there was a sense of power and whipcord strength about him so that his lack of height and bulk didn't make him any less daunting a figure.

"Finished staring?" asked the Ranger suddenly.

Will jumped nervously. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" he said.

Halt grunted. He pointed to one of the small rooms Will had noticed as he entered.

"That'll be your room. You can put your things in there." He moved away to the woodstove in the kitchen area and Will hesitantly entered the room he had indicated. It was small but, like the rest of the cottage, it was also clean and comfortable-looking. A small bed lay alongside one wall. There was a wardrobe for clothes and a rough table with a washing basin and jug on it. There was also, Will noticed, another vase of freshly picked wildflowers adding a bright spot of color to the room. He put his small bundle of clothes and belongings on the bed and went back into the main room.

Halt was still busy by the stove, his back to Will. Will coughed apologetically to attract his attention. Halt continued to stir coffee into a pot on the stove.

Will coughed again.

"Got a cold, boy?" asked the Ranger, without turning around. "Er… no, sir."

"Then why are you coughing?" asked Halt, turning around to face him.

Will hesitated. "Well, sir," he began uncertainly, "I just wanted to ask you… what does a Ranger actually do?"

"He doesn't ask pointless questions, boy!" said Halt. "He keeps his eyes and ears open and he looks and listens and eventually, if he hasn't got too much cotton wool between his ears, he learns!"

"Oh," said Will. "I see." He didn't, and even though he realized that this was probably no time to ask more questions, he couldn't help himself, repeating, a little rebelliously, "I just wondered what Rangers do, is all."

Halt caught the tone in his voice and turned to him, a strange gleam in his eye.

"Well then, I suppose I'd better tell you," he said. "What Rangers do, or more correctly, what Rangers' apprentices do, is the housework." Will had a sinking feeling as the suspicion struck him that he'd made a tactical error. "The… housework?" he repeated. Halt nodded, looking distinctly pleased with himself.

"That's right. Take a look around." He paused, gesturing around the interior of the cabin for Will to do as he suggested, then continued, "See any servants?"

"No, sir," Will said slowly.

"No sir indeed!" Halt said. "Because this isn't a mighty castle with a staff of servants. This is a lowly cabin. And it has water to be fetched and firewood to be chopped and floors to be swept and rugs to be beaten. And who do you suppose might do all those things, boy?"

Will tried to think of some answer other than the one which now seemed inevitable. Nothing came to mind, so he finally said, in a defeated tone, "Would that be me, sir?"

"I believe it would be," the Ranger told him, then rattled off a list of instructions crisply. "Bucket there. Barrel outside the door. Water in the river. Ax in the lean-to, firewood behind the cabin. Broom by the door and I believe you can probably see where the floor might be?"

"Yes, sir," said Will, beginning to roll up his sleeves. He'd noticed the water barrel as he approached, obviously holding the day's water supply for the cabin. He estimated that it would hold twenty or thirty buckets full. With a sigh, he realized he was going to have a busy morning.

As he walked outside, the empty bucket in one hand, he heard the Ranger say contentedly as he poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down again: "I'd forgotten how much fun having an apprentice can be."

Will couldn't believe that such a small and seemingly neat cottage could generate so much cleaning and general maintenance. After he had filled the water barrel with fresh river water (thirty-one buckets full), he chopped wood from a stack of logs behind the cabin, piling the split firewood into a neat stack. He swept out the cabin, then, after Halt decided that the rug on the living room floor needed beating, he rolled it up, carried it outside and draped it over a rope slung between two trees, beating it savagely so that clouds of dust flew from it. From time to time, Halt leaned out the window to give him encouragement, which usually consisted of curt comments such as "You've missed a bit on the left side" or "Put some energy into it, boy."

When the rug had been replaced on the floor, Halt decided that several of his cooking pots didn't gleam with sufficient intensity.

"We'll have to give them a bit of a scouring," he said, more or less to himself. Will knew by now that this translated to:

"You'll have to give them a bit of a scouring." So, without a word, he took the pots to the river's edge and half filled them with water and fine sand, scouring and polishing the metal until it gleamed.

Halt, meanwhile, had moved to a canvas chair on the verandah, where he sat reading through a tall pile of what looked to be official communications. Passing by once or twice, Will noticed that several of the papers bore crests and coats of arms, while the vast majority were headed with a simple oakleaf design.

When Will returned from the riverbank, he held the pots up for Halt's inspection. The Ranger grimaced at his distorted reflection in the bright copper surface.