John Flanagan: The Ruins of Gorlan

Will nodded. Halt was right, of course. Life as a ward had been difficult enough. It would have been far more so if people had known he was somehow connected to Halt.

"So you took me as your apprentice because of my father?" said Will. But this time Halt shook his head.

"No. I made sure you were looked after because of your father. I chose you because you showed you had the abilities and the skills that were needed. And you also seem to have inherited some of your father's courage. " There was a long, long silence between them as Will absorbed the story of his father's amazing battle. Somehow, the truth was more stirring, more inspiring than any fantasy he could have made up over the years to sustain himself. Eventually, Halt stood up to go and he smiled gratefully up at the grizzled figure, now silhouetted against the sky as the last light of day died. "I think my father would be glad I chose the way I did," he said, slipping the bronze oak leaf on its chain over his head. Halt merely nodded once, then turned away and went inside the cottage, leaving his apprentice to his own thoughts.

Will sat quietly for some minutes. Almost unthinkingly, his hand went to touch the bronze oakleaf symbol hanging at his throat. Faintly, the evening breeze carried the sounds of the Battleschool drill yard to him, and the nonstop hammering and clanking from the armory that had been going on, night and day, for the past week. They were the sounds of Castle Redmont preparing for the coming war.

Yet strangely, for the first time in his life, he felt at peace.