John Flanagan - The Ruins of Gorlan

"It's the cloak, sir," Will said. "Halt calls it camouflage." The Baron nodded, obviously familiar with the term, which had been a new concept to Will.

"Just make sure you don't use it to steal more cakes," he said with mock severity, and Will shook his head hurriedly.

"Oh, no, sir!" he said immediately. "Halt told me that if I did anything like that, he'd tan the skin off my backsi-" He stopped awkwardly. He wasn't sure if backside was the sort of word you used in the presence of someone as exalted as a Baron.

The Baron nodded again, trying not to let a wide grin break through.

"I'm sure he did," he said. "And how are you getting on with Halt, Will? Are you enjoying learning to be a Ranger?"

Will paused. To be honest, he hadn't had time to think if he was enjoying himself or not. His days were too busy learning new skills, practicing with bow and knives and working with Tug. This was the first time in three months he'd had a moment to actually think about it.

"I suppose so," he said hesitantly. "Only…" His voice trailed off and the Baron looked at him more closely.

"Only what?" he prompted.

Will shifted from one foot to the other, wishing that his mouth didn't continually get him into these situations by talking too much. Words had a way of emerging before he'd really had time to consider whether he wanted to say them or not.

"Only… Halt never smiles at all," he went on awkwardly. "He's always so serious about things." He had the impression that the Baron was suppressing another grin.

"Well," said Baron Arald, "being a Ranger is a serious business, you know. I'm sure Halt has impressed that on you."

"All the time," Will said ruefully and, this time, the Baron couldn't help smiling.

"Just pay attention to what he tells you, youngster," he said. "You're learning a very important job there."

"Yes, sir." Will was a little surprised to realize that he did agree with the Baron. Baron Arald reached forward to gather up his reins.

On an impulse, before the nobleman could ride away, Will stepped forward.

"Excuse me, sir," he said hesitantly, and the Baron turned back to him.

"Yes, Will?" he asked.

Will shuffled his feet again, then went on. "Sir, remember when our armies fought Morgarath?"

Baron Arald's cheerful face was clouded by a thoughtful frown. "I'll not forget that in a hurry, boy," he said. "What about it?"

"Sir, Halt tells me that a Ranger showed the cavalry a secret way across the Slipsunder, so they were able to attack the enemy's rear…"

"That's true," said Arald.

"I've been wondering, sir, what was the Ranger's name?" Will finished, feeling himself flush with his boldness.

"Didn't Halt tell you?" the Baron asked. Will shrugged his shoulders.

"He said names weren't important. He said supper was important, but not names."

"But you think names are important, in spite of what your master has told you?" said the Baron, seeming to frown again. Will gulped and went on.

"I think it was Halt himself, sir," he said. "And I wondered why he hadn't been decorated or honored for his skill." The Baron thought for a moment, then spoke again.

"Well, you're right, Will," he said. "It was Halt. And I wanted to honor him for it, but he wouldn't allow me. He said that wasn't the Rangers' way."

"But…" Will began in a perplexed tone, but the Baron's upraised hand stopped him from speaking any further.

"You Rangers have your own ways, Will, as I'm sure you're learning. Sometimes other people don't understand them. Just listen to Halt and do as he does and I'm sure you'll have an honorable life ahead of you."

"Yes, sir." Will saluted again as the Baron slapped his reins lightly on his horse's neck and turned him away toward the fairground. "Now, enough of this," said the Baron. "We can't chatter all day. I'm off to the fair. Maybe this year I'll get a hoop over one of those damned squares!" The Baron started to ride away. Then a thought seemed to strike him and he reined in for a second.

"Will," he called back. "Yes, sir?"

"Don't tell Halt that I told you he led the cavalry. I don't want him angry at me."

Jenny, Alyss and George arrived shortly after. As she had promised, Jenny was carrying a batch of fresh pies wrapped in a red cloth. She laid them carefully on the ground under the apple tree as the others crowded around. Even Alyss, usually so poised and dignified, seemed anxious to get her hands on one of Jenny's masterpieces.

"Come on!" George said. "I'm starving!" Jenny shook her head. "We should wait for Horace," she said, looking around for him but not seeing him in the passing crowds of people.

"Oh, come on," George pleaded. "I've been slaving over a hot petition to the Baron all morning!"

Alyss rolled her eyes to heaven. "Perhaps we should start," she said. "Otherwise he'll begin a legal argument and we'll be here all day. We can always put a couple aside for Horace."

Will grinned. George was a different kettle of fish now to the shy, stammering boy at the Choosing. Scribeschool obviously had caused him to bloom. Jenny served out two pies each, setting two aside for Horace.

"That'll do for starters," she said. The others eagerly tucked in and soon began to chorus their praise for the pies. Jenny's reputation was well founded.

"This," said George, standing above them and spreading his arms wide as he addressed an imaginary court, "cannot be described as a mere pie, your honor. To describe this as a pie would be a gross miscarriage of justice, the like of which this court has never seen before!"

Will turned to Alyss. "How long has he been like this?" he asked.

She smiled. "They all get this way with a few months' legal training. These days, the main problem with George is getting him to shut up."

"Oh, sit down, George," said Jenny, blushing at his praise but delighted nonetheless. "You are a complete idiot."

"Perhaps, my fair miss. But it is the sheer magic of these works of art that has turned my brain. These are not pies, these are symphonies!" He raised his remaining half pie to the others in a mock toast.

"I give you… Miss Jenny's symphony of pies!"

Alyss and Will, grinning at each other and at George, raised their own pies in response, and echoed the toast. Then all four apprentices burst out laughing.

It was a pity that Horace chose that precise moment to arrive. Alone among them, he was miserable in his new situation. The work was hard and unremitting and the discipline was unwavering. He had expected that, of course, and under normal circumstances he could have handled it. But being the focus for Bryn, Alda and Jerome's spite was making his life a nightmare-literally. The three second-year cadets would rouse him from his bed at all hours of the night, dragging him out to perform the most humiliating and exhausting tasks.

The lack of sleep and the worry of never knowing when they might appear to torment him further was causing him to fall be hind in his classroom work. His roommates, sensing that if they showed any sympathy for him they might become targets along with him, had cast him adrift, so that he felt totally alone in his misery. The one thing he had always aspired to was rapidly becoming ashes in his mouth. He hated Battleschool, but he could see no way out of his predicament without embarrassing and humiliating himself even further.

Now, on the one day when he could escape from the restrictions and the tensions of Battleschool, he arrived to find his former wardmates already busy at their feast, and he was angry and hurt that they hadn't bothered to wait for him. He had no idea that Jenny had set some of the pies aside for him. He assumed that she had divided them up already and that hurt more than anything. Of all of his former wardmates, she was the one he felt closest to. Jenny was always cheerful, always friendly, always willing to listen to another's troubles. He realized that he had been looking forward to seeing her again today and now he felt that she had let him down.