The Burning Bridge

4

"S O TELL ME ABOUT THIS N EIL PERSON," SAID W ILL, AS THE three of them settled comfortably by the fire, steaming mugs of herb tea warming their cupped hands.

"MacNeil," Horace corrected him. "He's a legend."

"Oh, he's real enough," said Gilan. "I should know. I practiced under him for five years. I started when I was eleven, then, at fourteen, I was apprenticed to Halt. But he always gave me leave of absence to continue my work with the Swordmaster."

"But why did you continue to learn the sword after you started training as a Ranger?" Horace asked.

Gilan shrugged. "Maybe people thought it was a shame to waste all that early training. I certainly wanted to continue, and my father is Sir David of Caraway Fief, so I suppose I was given some leeway in the matter."

Horace sat up a little straighter at the mention of the name.

"Battlemaster David?" he said, obviously more than a little impressed. "The new supreme commander?"

Gilan nodded, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. "The same," he agreed. Then, seeing that Will was still in the dark, he explained further: "My father has been appointed supreme commander of the King's armies, since Lord Northolt was murdered. He commanded the cavalry at the Battle of Hackham Heath."

Will's eyes widened. "When Morgarath was defeated and driven into the mountains?"

Both Horace and Gilan nodded. Horace continued the explanation enthusiastically.

"Sir Rodney says his coordination of the cavalry with flanking archers in the final stage of the battle is a classic of its kind. He still teaches it as an example of perfect tactics. No wonder your father was chosen to replace Lord Northolt."

Will realized that the conversation had moved away from its original gambit.

"So what did your father have to do with this MacNeil character?" he asked, returning to the subject.

"Well," said Gilan, "my father was a former pupil as well. It was only natural that MacNeil should gravitate to his Battleschool, wasn't it?"

"I suppose so," Will agreed.

"And it was only natural that I should come under his tutelage as soon as I could swing a sword. After all, I was the Battlemaster's son."

"So how was it that you became a Ranger?" Horace asked. "Weren't you accepted as a knight?"

Both Rangers looked at him quizzically, somewhat amused by his assumption that a person only became a Ranger after failing to become a knight or a warrior. In truth, it was only a short time since Will had felt the same way, but now he conveniently overlooked the fact. Horace became aware of the extended lull in the conversation, then of the looks they were giving him. All of a sudden, he realized his gaffe, and tried to recover.

"I mean:you know. Well, most of us want to be knights, don't we?"

Will and Gilan exchanged glances. Gilan raised an eyebrow. Horace blundered on.

"I mean:no offense or anything:but everyone I know wants to be a warrior." His embarrassment lessened as he pointed a forefinger at Will. "You did yourself, Will! I remember when we were kids, you used to always say you were going to Battleschool and you'd become a famous knight!"

Now it was Will's turn to feel uncomfortable. "And you always sneered at me, didn't you, and said I'd be too small?" he said.

"Well, you were!" said Horace, with some heat.

"Is that right?" Will replied angrily. "Well, does it occur to you that maybe Halt had already spoken to Sir Rodney and said he wanted me as an apprentice? And that's the reason why I wasn't selected for Battleschool? Has that ever occurred to you?"

Gilan interrupted at this point, gently stopping the argument before it got any further out of hand.

"I think that's enough of childhood squabbles," he said firmly. Both boys, each ready with another verbal barb, subsided a little awkwardly.

"Oh:yes. Right," mumbled Will. "Sorry."

Horace nodded several times, embarrassed at the petty scene that had just occurred. "Me too," he said. Then, curiosity piqued, he added: "Is that how it happened, Will? Did Halt tell Sir Rodney not to pick you because he wanted you for a Ranger?"

Will dropped his gaze and picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

"Well:not exactly," he said, then admitted, "and you're right. I always did want to be a knight when I was a kid." Then, turning quickly to Gilan, he added, "But I wouldn't change now, not for anything!"

Gilan smiled at the two of them. "I was the opposite," he said. "Remember, I grew up in the Battleschool. I may have started my training with MacNeil when I was eleven, but I began my basic training at around nine."

"That must have been wonderful," Horace said with a sigh. Surprisingly, Gilan shook his head.

"Not to me. You know what they say about distant pastures always looking greener?"

Both boys looked puzzled by this.

"It means you always want what you haven't got," he said, and they both nodded their understanding. "Well, that's the way I was. By the time I was twelve, I was sick to death of the discipline and drills and parades." He glanced sidelong at Horace. "There's a bit of that goes on in Battleschool, you know."

The heavyset boy sighed. "You're telling me," he agreed. "Still, the horsemanship and practice combats are fun."

"Maybe," said Gilan. "But I was more interested in the life the Rangers led. After Hackham Heath, my father and Halt had become good friends and Halt used to come visiting. I'd see him come and go. So mysterious. So adventurous. I started to think what it might be like to come and go as you please. To live in the forests. People know so little about Rangers, it seemed like the most exciting thing in the world to me."

Horace looked doubtful. "I've always been a little scared of Halt," he said. "I used to think he was some kind of sorcerer."

Will snorted in disbelief. "Halt? A sorcerer?" he said. "He's nothing of the kind!"

Horace looked at him, pained once again. "But you used to think the same thing!" he said.

"Well:I suppose so. But I was only a kid then."

"So was I!" replied Horace, with devastating logic.

Gilan grinned at the two of them. They were both still boys. Halt had been right, he thought. It was good for Will to be spending some time in company with someone his own age.

Will turned to the older Ranger. "So did you ask Halt to take you as an apprentice?" he asked. Then, before receiving any answer, continued, "What did he say to that?"

Gilan shook his head. "I didn't ask him anything. I followed him one day when he left our castle and headed into the forest."

"You followed him? A Ranger? You followed a Ranger into the forest?" said Horace. He didn't know whether to be impressed by Gilan's courage or appalled at his foolhardiness. Will sprang to Gilan's defense.

"Gil's one of the best unseen movers in the Ranger Corps," he said quickly. "The best, probably."

"I wasn't then," said Gilan ruefully. "Mind you, I thought I knew a bit about moving without being seen. I found out how little I actually did know when I tried to sneak up on Halt when he stopped for a noon meal. Next thing I knew, his hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me in a stream."

He smiled at the memory of it.

"I suppose he sent you home in disgrace then?" asked Horace, but Gilan shook his head again, a distant smile still on his face as he remembered that day.

"On the contrary, he kept me with him for a week. Said I wasn't too bad at sneaking around the forest and I might have some talent as an unseen mover. He started to teach me about being a Ranger-and by the end of the week, I was his apprentice."

"How did your father take it when you told him?" Will asked. "Surely he wanted you to be a knight like him. I guess he was disappointed."

"Not at all," said Gilan. "The strange thing was, Halt had told him that I'd probably be following him into the forest. My father had already agreed that I could serve as Halt's apprentice, before I even knew I wanted to."

Horace frowned. "How could Halt have known that?"

Gilan shrugged and looked at Will meaningfully. "Halt has a way of knowing things, doesn't he, Will?" he asked, grinning. Will remembered that dark night in the Baron's office, and the hand that had shot out of the darkness to seize his wrist. Halt had been waiting for him that night. Just as he'd obviously waited for Gilan to follow him.

He looked deep into the low embers of the fire before he answered. "Maybe, in his own way, he is a kind of a sorcerer," he said.

The three companions sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, thinking about what had been discussed. Then Gilan stretched and yawned.

"Well, I'm for sleep," he said. "We're on a war footing these days, so we'll set watches. Will, you're first, then Horace, then me. 'Night, you two."

And so saying, he rolled himself into his gray-green cloak and was soon breathing deeply and evenly.