John Flanagan - The Ruins of Gorlan

Gradually, as they rode, Will became aware of a disquieting sensation. Something was lurking, just outside the range of his conscious perception. Something that made him feel uneasy. He couldn't isolate it, couldn't even tell where it was coming from or what form it took. It was just there, ever present. He shifted in his saddle, standing in the stirrups to scan the featureless horizon in the hopes that he might see the source of it all. Halt noticed the movement. "You've noticed them," he said. "It's the Stones." And now that Halt said it, Will realized that it had been a sound – so faint and so continuous that he couldn't isolate it as such – that had been creating the sense of unease in his mind, and the tight cramping of fear in the pit of his stomach. Or perhaps it was just that as Halt said it, they came into proper earshot of the Stone Flutes. Because now he could isolate it. It was an unmelodic series of musical notes, all being played at once but creating a harsh, discordant sound that jangled the nerves and unsettled the mind. His left hand crept unobtrusively to the hilt of his saxe knife as he rode, and he drew comfort from the solid, dependable touch of the weapon.

They rode on through the afternoon, never seeming to advance across the empty, featureless Plain. With each pace their horses took, the horizons behind and before them seemed to neither recede nor draw closer. It was as if they were marking time in an empty world. The constant keening sound of the Stone Flutes was with them all day, growing gradually stronger as they traveled. It was the only sign that they were making progress. The hours passed and the sound continued and Will found it no easier to bear. It wore at his nerves, keeping him constantly on edge. As the sun began to sink at the western rim, Halt reined Abelard in. "We'll rest for the night," he announced. "It's almost impossible to maintain a constant course in the dark. Without any significant land features to set a course by, we could easily wind up going around in circles." Gratefully, the others dismounted. Fit as they were, the hours spent at forced march pace had left them bone weary. Will began scouting around the few stunted bushes that grew on the Plain, searching for firewood. Halt, realizing what was in his mind, shook his head.

"No fire," he said. "We'd be visible for miles and we have no idea who might be watching." Will paused, letting the small bundle he had gathered fall to the ground. "You mean the Kalkara?" he said. Halt shrugged. "Them, or Plainspeople. We can't be sure that some of them aren't in league with the Kalkara. After all, living cheek by jowl with creatures like that, you might well end up cooperating with them, just to ensure your own safety. And we don't want them getting word that there are strangers on the Plain."

Gilan was unsaddling Blaze, his bay horse. He dropped the saddle to the ground and rubbed the horse down with a handful of the ever-present dry grass.

"You don't think we've been seen already?" he asked. Halt considered the question for a few seconds before answering.

"We might have been. There are just too many unknowns here – like where the Kalkara actually have their lair, whether or not the Plainspeople are their allies, whether or not any of them have seen us and reported our presence. But until I know we have been seen, we'll assume we haven't. So, no fire."

Gilan nodded reluctantly. "You're right, of course," he said. " It's just I'd happily kill someone for a cup of coffee."

"Light a fire to brew it," Halt told him, "and you might end up having to do just that."

IT WAS A COLD, CHEERLESS CAMP. TIRED FROM THE HARD PACE they had been keeping up, the Rangers ate a cold meal-bread, dried fruit and cold meat once more, washed down with cold water from their canteens. Will was beginning to hate the sight of the virtually tasteless hard rations they carried. Then Halt took the first watch as Will and Gilan rolled themselves into their cloaks and slept.

It wasn't the first rough camp that Will had endured since his training period began. But this was the first time there wasn't the slight comfort of a crackling fire, or at least a bed of warm coals, to sleep by. He slept fitfully, uncomfortable dreams chasing through his subconscious-dreams of fearful creatures, strange and terrifying things that stayed just outside his consciousness, but close enough to the surface that he felt their presence, and was unsettled by them.

He was almost glad when Halt shook him gently awake for his watch.

The wind was scudding clouds across the moon. The moaning song of the Stones was stronger than ever. Will felt a weariness of spirit and wondered if the Stones had been designed to wear people down like this. The long grass around them hissed a counterpoint to the far-off keening. Halt pointed to a spot in the heavens, indicating an angle of elevation for Will to remember.

"When the moon reaches that angle," he told the apprentice, "turn over the watch to Gilan." Will nodded, rousing himself and standing to stretch his stiff muscles. He picked up his bow and quiver and walked to the bush Halt had selected as a vantage point. Rangers on watch never stayed in the open by the campsite but always moved away ten or twenty meters, and found a place of concealment. That way, strangers coming upon the campsite would be less likely to see them. It was one of the many skills Will had learned in his months of training.

He took two arrows from the quiver and held them between the fingers of his bow hand. He would hold them thus for the four hours of his watch. If he needed them, there would be no excessive movement as he took an arrow from his quiver-movement that might alert an attacker. Then he flipped the cowl of his cloak over his head so he would merge with the irregular shape of the bush. His head and eyes scanned from side to side as Halt had taught him, changing focus constantly, from close to the campsite and out to the dim horizon around them. That way, his vision would not become fixated on one distance and one area and he'd stand a better chance of seeing movement. From time to time, he turned slowly through a complete circle, scanning the entire ground around them, moving slowly to keep his own movement as imperceptible as possible.

The keening of the Stones and the hissing of wind through the grass formed a constant background. But he began to hear other noises as well – the rustling of small animals in the grass, and other, less explicable, sounds. With each one, his heart raced a little faster, wondering if this might be the Kalkara, creeping in on the sleeping figures of his friends. Once, he was convinced that he could hear the breath of a heavy animal. Fear rose up in him, clutching at his throat, until he realized that, with his senses tuned to the utmost degree, he could actually hear his companions breathing quietly in their sleep.

He knew that, from any more than five meters away, he would be virtually invisible to the human eye, thanks to the cloak, the shadows and the shape of the bush around him. But he wondered if the Kalkara depended on sight alone. Perhaps they had other senses that would tell them that there was an enemy concealed in the bush. Perhaps, even now, they were moving closer, concealed by the long shifting grass, ready to strike…His nerves, already stretched beyond endurance by the Stone Flutes' dismal song, urged him to spin around and identify the source of each new sound as he heard it. But he knew that to do so would be to reveal himself. He forced himself to move slowly, turning carefully until he faced the direction from which he thought the sound had come, assessing each new risk before discarding it.

In the long hours of tense watching, he saw nothing but the racing clouds, the fleeting moon and the undulating sea of grass that surrounded them. By the time the moon reached the preordained elevation, he was physically and mentally drained. He woke Gilan to take over the watch, then rolled back into his cloak again.