John Flanagan - The Ruins of Gorlan

He was predisposed to think badly of the others. Alyss had always seemed to hold herself aloof from him, as if he weren't good enough for her, and Will had spent his time playing tricks on him, then running away and climbing into that immense tree where Horace couldn't follow. At least, that was how Horace saw things in his current vulnerable state. He conveniently forgot the times he had cuffed Will over the ear, or held him in a headlock until the smaller boy was forced to cry," Yield!" As for George, Horace had never taken much notice of him. The thin boy was studious and devoted to his books and Horace had always considered him a pallid, uninteresting person. Now here he was performing for them while they laughed and ate the pies and left nothing for him and suddenly he hated them all." Well, this is very nice, isn't it?" he said bitterly, and they turned to him, the laughter dying on their faces. As was inevitable, Jenny was the first one to recover.

"Horace! You're here at last!" she said. She started toward him, but the cold look on his face stopped her. "At last?" he said. "I'm a few minutes late and suddenly I'm here 'at last?' And just too late because you've already pigged out on all the pies." Which was hardly fair to poor Jenny. Like most cooks, once she had prepared a meal, she had little interest in eating it. Her real pleasure lay in watching others enjoy the results of her work-and listening to their praise. Consequently, she hadn't had any of the pies. She turned back now to the two that she had covered in a napkin to keep for him. "No, no," she said quickly. "There are still some left! Look!" But Horace's pent-up anger prevented him from acting or speaking rationally. "Well," he said, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, "maybe I ought to come back later and give you time to finish them as well."

"Horace!" Tears sprang to Jenny's eyes. She had no idea what was wrong with Horace. All she knew was that her plan for a pleasant reunion with her old wardmates was falling in ruins.

George stepped forward now, peering curiously at Horace. The tall, thin boy cocked his head to one side, to study the apprentice warrior more closely-as if he were an exhibit or a piece of evidence in a law court. "There's no call to be so unpleasant," he said reasonably. But reason wasn't what Horace wanted to hear. He shoved the other boy aside angrily.

"Get away from me," he said. "And mind how you talk to a warrior."

"You're not a warrior yet," Will told him scornfully. "You're still only an apprentice like the rest of us."

Jenny made a small gesture with her hands, urging Will to drop the matter. Horace, who was in the act of helping himself to the remaining pies, looked up slowly. He measured Will up and down for a second or two.

"Oho!" he said. "I see the apprentice spy is with us today!" He looked to see if the others were laughing at his wit. They weren't and it only served to make him more unpleasant. "I suppose Halt is teaching you to slink around, spying on everyone, is he?" Horace stepped forward, without waiting for an answer, and fingered Will's mottled cloak sarcastically. "What's this? Didn't you have enough dye to make it all one color?"

"It's a Ranger cloak," Will said quietly, holding down the anger that was building inside him.

Horace snorted scornfully, cramming half of one of the pies into his mouth and spraying crumbs as he did so. "Don't be so unpleasant," George said. Horace rounded on the apprentice scribe, his face red." Watch your tongue, boy!" he snapped. "You're talking to a warrior, you know!"

"An apprentice warrior," Will repeated firmly, laying stress on the word apprentice .

Horace went redder and looked angrily between the two of them. Will tensed himself, sensing that the bigger boy was about to launch an attack. But there was something in Will's eyes and his ready stance that made Horace think twice about it. He had never seen that look of defiance before. In the past, if he'd threatened Will, he had always seen fear. This newfound confidence unsettled him a little.

Instead, he turned back to George and gave him a heavy shove in the chest.

"How's that for unpleasant?" he said as the tall, thin boy staggered back. George's arms windmilled as he tried to save himself from falling. Accidentally, he struck Tug a glancing blow on the side. The little pony, grazing peacefully, reared suddenly against his bridle.

"Steady, Tug," Will said, and Tug quieted immediately. But now Horace had noticed him for the first time. He stepped forward and looked more closely at the shaggy pony. "What's this?" he asked in mock disbelief. "Has someone brought a big ugly dog to the party?" Will clenched his fists. "He's my horse," he said quietly. He could put up with Horace sneering at him, but he wasn't going to stand by and see his horse insulted.

Horace let out a braying laugh. "A horse?" he said. "That's not a horse! In the Battleschool we ride real horses! Not shaggy dogs! Looks like he needs a good bath to me too!" He wrinkled his nose and pretended to sniff closer to Tug.

The pony glanced sideways at Will. Who is this unpleasant clod? his eyes seemed to say. Then Will, carefully hiding the wicked grin that was trying to show on his face, said casually:

"He's a Ranger horse. Only a Ranger can ride him."

Horace laughed again. "My grandmother could ride that shaggy dog!"

"Maybe she could," said Will, "but I'll bet you can't." Before he'd even finished the challenge, Horace was untying the bridle. Tug looked at Will and the boy could have sworn the horse nodded slightly.

Horace swung himself easily up onto Tug's back. The pony stood, unmoving.

"Nothing to it!" Horace crowed. Then he dug his heels into Tug's sides. "Come on, doggy! Let's have a run."

Will saw the familiar, preparatory bunching of muscles in Tug's legs and body. Then the pony sprang into the air off all four feet, twisted violently, came down on his front legs and shot his hindquarters high into the air.

Horace flew like a bird for several seconds. Then he crashed flat on his back in the dust. George and Alyss looked on in delighted disbelief as the bully lay there for a second or two, stunned and winded. Jenny went to step forward to see if he was all right. Then her mouth set in a determined line and she stopped. Horace had asked for it, she thought.

There was a chance then, just a chance, that the whole incident might end there. But Will couldn't resist the temptation to have one last word. "Maybe you'd better ask your grandmother if she'll teach you to ride," he said, straight-faced. George and Alyss managed to hide their smiles but, unfortunately, it was Jenny who couldn't stop the small giggle that escaped her.

In an instant, Horace scrambled to his feet, his face dark with rage. He looked around, saw a fallen branch from the apple tree and grabbed it, brandishing it over his head as he rushed at Tug." I'll show you, and your damned horse!" he yelled furiously, swinging the stick wildly at Tug. The pony danced sideways out of harm's way and, before Horace could strike again, Will was on him.

He landed on Horace's back and his weight and the force of his leap drove them both to the ground. They rolled there, grappling with each other, each trying to gain an advantage. Tug, alarmed to see his master in danger, whinnied nervously and reared.

One of Horace's wildly flailing arms caught Will a ringing blow across the ear. Then Will managed to get his right arm free and punched Horace hard in the nose.

Blood ran down the bigger boy's face. Will's arms were hard and well muscled after his three months' training with Halt. But Horace was being taught in a hard school too. He drove a fist into Will's stomach and Will gasped as the air was driven out of him.

Horace scrambled to his feet but Will, in a move that Halt had shown him, swung his own legs in a wide arc, cutting Horace's feet from under him and sending him tumbling again.