John Flanagan: The Ruins of Gorlan

Halt shoved him again. "Get a move on!" he hissed.

Will turned to him. "Aren't you coming with me?" he asked. Halt shook his head.

"Not invited. Now get going!"

He shoved him once more, then limped, favoring his injured leg, to a seat. Finally, realizing he had no other course to follow, Will began to walk down the long, long aisle. He heard the muttering voices as he went. Heard his name being whispered from one mouth to another.

And then the clapping started. It began with one knight's lady and rapidly spread throughout the entire hall as everyone joined in. It was deafening, a thundering, echoing roar of applause that continued until he reached the foot of the Baron's chair.

As Halt had instructed him, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head forward.

The Baron stood up and raised his hand for silence and the clapping died away to echoes. "Stand up, Will," he said softly, and reached out a hand to help the boy to his feet.

In a daze, Will obeyed. The Baron rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face the huge throng before them. His deep voice carried effortlessly to the farthest corner of the hall when he spoke. "This is Will. Apprentice to the Ranger Halt of this fiefdom. See him now and know him, all of you. He has proven his fidelity, courage and initiative to this fief and to the Kingdom of Araluen," There was a murmur of appreciation from the people watching. Then the clapping began again, this time accompanied by cheering. Will realized the cheers had begun in the section of the crowd where the Battleschool apprentice warriors stood. He could make out Horace's grinning face, leading the chorus.

The Baron held up a hand for silence, wincing as the movement brought pain to his cracked ribs and the carefully bandaged and sutured gashes in his back. The cheering and clapping slowly died away. "Will," he said, in a voice that echoed to the farthest corners of the massive room, "I owe you my life. There can be no thanks adequate for that. However, it is in my power to grant you a wish that you once made of me." Will looked up at him, frowning. "A wish, sir?" he said, more than a little puzzled by the Baron's words.

The Baron nodded. "I made a mistake, Will. You asked me if you could train as a warrior. It was your wish to become one of my knights and I refused you."

"Now, I can rectify that mistake. It would do me honor to have one so brave and resourceful as one of my knights. Say the word now and you have my permission to transfer to the Battleschool as one of Sir Rodney's apprentices."

Will's heart pounded in his ribs. He thought how, all his life, he had yearned to be a knight. He remembered his deep and bitter disappointment on the day of the Choosing, when Sir Rodney and the Baron had refused his request.

Sir Rodney stepped forward, and the Baron gestured for him to speak.

"My lord," said the Battlemaster, "it was I who refused this boy as an apprentice, as you know. Now, I want all here to know that I was wrong to do so. I, my knights and my apprentices all agree that there could be no more worthy member of the Battleschool than Will!"

There was a great roar of approval from the assembled knights and apprentice warriors. With a slithering clash of steel they unsheathed their swords and clashed them together above their heads, shouting Will's name. Again, Horace was one of the first to do so, and the last to stop.

Gradually, the tumult died down and the knights resheathed their swords. At a sign from Baron Arald, two pages stepped forward, bearing with them a sword and a beautifully enameled shield, which they laid at Will's feet. The shield was painted with a representation of a fierce boar's head. "This will be your coat of arms when you graduate, Will," said the Baron gently, "to remind the world of the first time we learned of your courage and loyalty to a comrade." The boy went down on one knee and touched the smooth, enameled surface of the shield. He drew the sword slowly and reverently from its scabbard. It was a beautiful weapon, a masterpiece of the swordsmith's art.

The blade was razor keen, and slightly blued. The hilt and crosspiece were inlaid with gold and the boar's head symbol was repeated on the pommel. The sword itself seemed to have a life of its own. Perfectly balanced, it seemed light as a feather in his grasp. He glanced from the beautiful, jeweled sword to the plain leather grip of his Ranger knife.

"They're a knight's weapons, Will," the Baron urged. "But you've proved over and again that you're worthy of them. Just say the word and they're yours."

Will slid the sword back into its scabbard and stood slowly up. Here was everything he had ever wished for. And yet…

He thought of the long days in the forest with Halt. The fierce satisfaction that he felt when one of his arrows struck home, exactly where he had aimed it, exactly as he had seen it in his mind before releasing it. He thought of the hours spent learning to track animals and men. Learning the art of concealment. He thought of Tug, of the pony's courage and devotion.

And he thought of the sheer pleasure that came when he heard Halt's simple "Well done" as he completed a task to his satisfaction. And suddenly, he knew. He looked up at the Baron and said in a firm voice:

"I am a Ranger, my lord."

There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd.

The Baron stepped closer and said in a low voice, "Are you sure, Will? Don't turn this down just because you think Halt might be offended or disappointed. He insisted that this is up to you. He's already agreed to abide by your decision." Will shook his head. He was more certain than ever now. "I thank you for the honor, my lord." He glanced at the Battlemaster, and saw, to his surprise, that Sir Rodney was smiling and nodding his head in approval. "And I thank the Battlemaster and his knights for their generous offer. But I am a Ranger." He hesitated. "I mean no offense by this, my lord," he finished awkwardly.

A huge smile creased the Baron's features and he gripped Will's hand in his enormous grip."And I take none, Will. None at all! Your loyalty to your craft and your Craftmaster does honor to you and to all of us who know you!" He gave Will's hand one final, firm shake and released him.

Will bowed and turned away to walk down that long, long aisle again. Again, the cheering started and this time, he kept his head high as the cheers rolled around him and echoed to the rafters of the Great Hall. Then, as he neared the massive doors once more, he saw a sight that stopped him in his tracks, stunned with surprise.

For, standing a little aside from the crowd, wrapped in his gray and green mottled cloak, his eyes shadowed by the cowl, was Halt. And he was smiling.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, AFTER ALL THE NOISE AND CELEBRATIONS had died down, Will sat alone on the tiny verandah of Halt's small cottage. In his hand, he held a small bronze amulet, shaped like an oak leaf, with a steel chain threaded through a ring at the top.

"It's our symbol," his teacher had explained as he handed it to him after the events at the castle. "The Rangers' equivalent of a coat of arms." Then he fumbled inside his own collar and produced an identically shaped oak leaf, on a chain around his neck. The shape was identical, but the color was different. The oak leaf Halt wore was made of silver. "Bronze is the apprentice color," Halt told him. "When you finish your learning, you'll receive a silver oak leaf like this one. We all wear them in the Ranger Corps, either silver or bronze." He looked away from the boy for a few minutes, then added, his voice a little husky, "Strictly speaking, you shouldn't receive it until you've passed your first Assessment. But I doubt anyone will argue about it, the way things have turned out."

Now the curiously shaped piece of metal gleamed dully in Will's hand as he thought of the decision he'd made. It seemed so strange to him that he had voluntarily given up the one thing that he had spent most of his life hoping for: the chance to go through Battleschool and take his place as a knight in Castle Redmont's army.