The Royal Ranger

Four

Halt and Pauline eased their horses to a stop as the road emerged from the trees below Castle Araluen.

Neither had suggested it, nor had they exchanged a glance. It was simply a natural response to the sudden sight of the castle, with its soaring spires and turrets, and banners streaming bravely in the wind from a dozen different vantage points around the walls.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Pauline said softly.

Halt glanced sidelong at her, a half smile on his face. “Always has been,” he agreed. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for Redmont.”

By comparison, Castle Redmont was solid and functional, with none of the grace and beauty that Araluen offered. But it was home. It was where Halt and Pauline had spent the greater part of their lives and where they had finally revealed their life-long love for each other.

Life at Redmont was also far less formal, which was more in line with Halt’s idea of how things should be. He had little time for the strictly ordered routines and occasions of the royal palace, with its rigid adherence to protocol and rank. He thought of such behaviour as useless tomfoolery and scowled whenever he was forced to attend any sort of formal event. Thankfully, the message he had received from Gilan indicated that there would be no formality attached to this visit.

They urged their horses forward in a slow trot, their hooves raising small puffs of dust that hung in the warm air. They were travelling alone, with just a single packhorse and without any escort. Not that they needed any. Even though Halt was now retired, and his hair had turned from pepper-and-salt grey to silver, he was still the most famous Ranger in the Kingdom, and a formidable opponent for any potential highwayman. The massive longbow he carried across his saddle was evidence of the fact.

“Do you find it odd,” Pauline asked, “to be summoned by your former apprentice?”

Halt pursed his lips. “It wasn’t so much a summons,” he corrected her. “More a request.”

It was three years since Crowley had passed away. The Ranger Commandant had died peacefully in his sleep. It was an ironic end for his oldest friend. After a lifetime of battles and intrigue and danger, he had simply stopped breathing one night. He was found with his eyes open and a quizzical smile on his face. At least that was fitting, Halt thought. Crowley had been renowned for his impish sense of humour. He had obviously died thinking of something that amused him and Halt drew comfort from that fact.

With Crowley’s death, most people assumed that Halt would take on the mantle of Corps Commandant. But he had reacted with horror at the suggestion.

“Paperwork, reports, organisation, sitting behind a desk listening to everyone’s complaints and problems. Can you see me doing that?” he had said to Pauline at the time.

His wife had smiled, looking at his severe expression. “I don’t believe I can,” she had agreed.

So the position was offered to Gilan, much to his surprise. He believed he was far too young for the job. But the appointment had been greeted with unanimous approval by his peers. Gilan was, along with Will Treaty, one of the most highly regarded of the younger men in the Corps—and one of the most widely experienced, particularly in terms of international affairs. Gilan had travelled more widely, and seen more action, than most Rangers.

And he was used to being close to the corridors of power. His father was the Kingdom’s Battlemaster and Gilan had a close personal relationship with Princess Cassandra and Sir Horace, the foremost knight of the Kingdom. Even more in his favour, in the eyes of the other Rangers, he had been mentored in his early days by Halt himself.

Will might have been considered for the job, although he was younger than Gilan. But while he and Halt were highly respected, even revered, as individuals, it was widely recognised that they preferred to act independently and had a penchant for bending the rules when they saw fit. Gilan, on the other hand, was more disciplined and organised, and more suited to the task of commanding and controlling an elite and disparate group like the fifty Rangers of Araluen.

“Do you suppose he’s going to ask you to go on another mission?” Pauline asked, after they had ridden for a few minutes in silence. From time to time, even though he was retired, Halt agreed to undertake missions for Gilan.

Halt considered the question now, but shook his head.

“He would have said so in his letter,” he replied. “He wouldn’t ask me to come all this way if there was a chance that I’d say no. Besides, if he wanted me to go on a mission, why would he ask you to come to Castle Araluen? I get the feeling it’s something personal.”

“You don’t suppose Jenny’s finally agreed to marry him?” Pauline said with a smile. It had been another surprise in the past few years when Jenny had decided that she had no wish to uproot herself and her thriving restaurant business from Redmont and follow Gilan to Castle Araluen. She loved him, they all knew. But she wanted to retain her individuality and her career.

“We’ll do it one day,” Jenny had told Gilan. “But at the moment you’re either completely tied up with Ranger business or away on a mission somewhere. I’ve no wish to be the Commandant’s wife.”

Gilan had been a little stung by her frank words. “What if I meet someone else?” he had said, somewhat archly.

Jenny had shrugged. “Then you’re free to do as you please. But you won’t meet anyone as good as me.”

She had been right. So they maintained their long-distance relationship, with Gilan taking any opportunity he could find to visit Redmont Fief and spend time with her. Each time they saw each other, he renewed his offer of marriage. And she renewed her postponement.

“I don’t think so,” Halt replied now to Pauline’s question. “You know Jenny. If she’d decided to marry him, she would have been bubbling over with excitement.”

“True,” Pauline agreed. She sighed quietly. “D’you think we set them all a bad example, waiting as long as we did?”

“I don’t think it was a bad example,” Halt told her. “Besides, the waiting kept you keen.”

She twisted in her saddle to look at him. It was a long, hard look, and Halt realised that he would pay for that sally. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow. But one day—probably when he least expected it. Still, it would be worth it. He rarely scored a point in verbal battles with his wife. She had a lifetime of practice in the Diplomatic Service.

They were close to the drawbridge now. It was lowered, as was the custom during daylight hours. Two sentries stood guard at the outer end. They came to attention and saluted the pair of riders. There was no need for Halt and Pauline to identify themselves. Their arrival was expected and they were widely recognised throughout the Kingdom, and particularly here in the capital.

“Ranger Halt, Lady Pauline,” said the more senior of the two. “Welcome to Castle Araluen.”

He gestured to them to ride past, stepping aside to accentuate the invitation.

Halt nodded to the two men.

Pauline favoured the senior sentry with a beaming smile.

“Thank you, Corporal.” She leaned forward, looking more closely at the other man. “And is that you, Malcolm Landers? I recall you helped me with my horse last time I visited Araluen.”

The man’s homely face broke into a delighted smile. “True enough, my lady. He cast a shoe, as I remember.”

Halt shook his head slightly. His wife’s ability to remember names and faces, even those of ordinary soldiers and men at arms, was a source of wonder to him. More of that diplomat training, he thought. Then he corrected himself. No, Pauline was genuinely interested in people. She liked people and she never forgot those who did her a good turn. He realised that her simple act of recognition and remembrance had won her a devoted follower. Malcolm Landers would now do anything for her.

Of course, he said silently to his horse, being a stunning beauty helps in these matters as well.

Not something that you’ll ever be accused of, Abelard replied.

“Stop talking to your horse, dear,” Pauline said as they clopped their way across the drawbridge and under the raised portcullis.

He wondered how she knew that’s what he’d been doing.

“I always know,” she said, and he wondered how she knew what he’d been wondering.

They were met in the courtyard by a young apprentice Ranger. Gilan had instituted a system whereby he “borrowed’ apprentices from their masters for two to three months, so they could assist him in his work as Commandant.

“It makes sense to give them a grounding in how the Corps is administered,” he had said to Halt. “Who knows? Some day one of these boys may end up as Commandant.”

Halt had rolled his eyes at the thought. “God help us,” he had said quietly.

“Good morning, Ranger Halt. Good morning, Lady Pauline,” the current Commandant-in-training greeted them. “My name is Kane and I’m assisting the Commandant. The Commandant sends his apologies. He’s addressing the final-year apprentice warriors at the Battleschool.” He looked nervously at the two visitors. “He suggested that I show you to your rooms and he’ll join you as soon as he’s free. He didn’t know exactly when you were due to arrive,” he added apologetically.

Pauline favoured him with a smile. “We understand. Gilan is a busy man, after all.”

Kane gestured to a stable hand who was standing ready nearby, shifting from one foot to another as he waited. “Can I have Murray take care of your horses?” he suggested.

Halt hesitated. Pauline knew he preferred to look after Abelard himself. But she also knew that the young stable hand would boast for years to come about the fact that he had tended to Halt’s horse.

“Let Murray do it, dear,” she said quietly.

Abelard tossed his head. I agree. He’ll do a better job than you. He’ll show me extra respect.

He’ll show you extra apples is what you mean.

“Don’t talk to your horse, dear. People are watching,” Pauline said quietly.

Halt turned a perplexed look towards her. “How do you know when I’m doing that?”

She smiled at him. “Your nose twitches,” she said.

A little bewildered, Halt allowed the stable boy to take Abelard’s bridle in one hand. He led Pauline’s horse with the other and headed for the stables. Halt and Pauline followed Kane to an upper floor of the keep tower, where a comfortable suite of rooms had been prepared for them. On the way, Kane kept glancing surreptitiously at the famous Ranger, fascinated by the fact that he kept staring down his nose and tweaking its tip between his forefinger and thumb.

Once they reached the suite of rooms set aside for them, Pauline declared that she would take a bath, and sent servants to fetch hot water.

“I’ll pay my respects to King Duncan while you’re bathing,” Halt said. Pauline nodded as she unpacked several gowns and hung them in the wardrobe.

“I’ll see him later, when he’s had time to prepare.”

Duncan had been bedridden now for many months, following a leg injury that wouldn’t heal. Formerly powerfully built and full of energy, he was a shadow of his former self. He had lost weight and muscle tone, and Pauline, conscious of the King’s sense of dignity, felt that he would want time to prepare himself to look his best before greeting a female visitor. Halt nodded sombrely.

“Good idea,” he said. “I’ll give him your regards.”

Prepared as he was, it was still something of a shock when Halt was ushered into the King’s bedroom. It had been some months since he had last visited the King and he was depressed to see how far Duncan had degenerated. His cheeks were hollow and waxy, his eyes overbright and feverish. And his body was gaunt, the skin seeming to hang off it. The injured leg was propped out before him, under a mound of blankets.

They chatted about inconsequential matters for a few minutes. Halt realised that, although Duncan was delighted to see him—one of his oldest friends and staunchest supporters—the King was weak and tired quickly as they talked. Halt cut short his visit and made his farewells, but Duncan beckoned him closer to the bed. The King seized Halt’s wrist in a claw-like hand and leaned forward.

“Halt, keep watch over Cassandra. It’s not easy for her—running the Kingdom with me laid up in bed.”

Halt forced a laugh. “I will, my lord, but you’ll be up and about before too long and you can take charge again.”

Before he had finished, Duncan was shaking his head. “Let’s not fool ourselves, Halt. I don’t have long. And when I’m gone, she’ll need friends.” He paused, breathing with difficulty, his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then he opened them again. “Thank god for Horace. She couldn’t have chosen a better husband.”

The old Ranger smiled fondly at the thought of the honest young knight who was so utterly devoted to the princess. “You couldn’t say a truer word,” he replied. Ironic, he thought. Horace had been an orphan, born of unremarkable peasant stock. Soon he would become the most powerful and influential man in the Kingdom, sitting at Cassandra’s right hand as she ruled.

“She’ll need him,” the King said. “It’s not easy for a woman to rule. There’ll be those who resent her and try to test her. She’ll need all the help she can get. From Horace. From you. And from Will.”

Halt nodded assurance at the King. “We’ll give it to her,” he said. Then he couldn’t help smiling. “But don’t underestimate your daughter, my lord. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.”

A tired smile crossed Duncan’s face. “And from what I hear, her daughter is taking after her,” he said. He released his grip on Halt’s wrist and, as if the effort had been too much for him, slumped back in the pillows, waving a weak hand in dismissal.

Halt crossed quietly to the door, deep in thought. As he laid his hand on the latch, he turned back to look at the King he had served for so many years. Duncan was already asleep, his chest rising and falling fitfully under the covers.

Sadly, Halt let himself out.

“None of us are getting younger,” he said, to no one in particular. Then he smiled. Abelard would have had a tart rejoinder to that, he thought.