"Well, I've been beginning to doubt it," Will said. But for the first time in some weeks, he felt his confidence lift a little.

"Then don't!" Gilan said forcefully. "Self-doubt is a disease. And if it gets out of control, it becomes self-fulfilling. You have to learn from what happened with those Wargals. Use the experience to make you stronger."

Will thought about Gilan's words for a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"All right," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

Gilan studied him for a moment. There was a newfound determination in the boy's stance.

"I'm going to leave you in command," he said. "There's no point now in continuing with the mission, so follow on behind me to Araluen as quickly as you can."

"To Redmont?" Will asked, and Gilan shook his head.

"By now, the army will be on the move to the Plains of Uthal. That's where I'm heading and that's where Halt will be. We'll go over the map before I leave and plan the best route for you."

"What about the girl?" Will asked. "Should I bring her along or leave her somewhere safe once we're back in Araluen?"

Gilan considered the point for a moment. "Bring her. The King and his advisers may want to question her some more. She'll be in the middle of the Araluen army, so she'll be as safe as anywhere else."

He hesitated, then decided to share his suspicions with Will. "There's something else about her, Will," he began.

"You think her story isn't quite right?" Will interrupted. "She keeps hesitating and stopping, as if she's afraid to tell us something." Another thought struck him and he lowered his voice instinctively, even though the campsite was well out of earshot. "You don't think she's a spy, do you?"

Gilan shook his head. "Nothing so dramatic. But remember when she said she saw us and thought, 'Thank G.o.d they're Rangers'? Ordinary people don't think that way about us. Only the n.o.bles are comfortable around Rangers."

Will frowned. "So you think..." He hesitated. He wasn't sure what Gilan thought.

"I think she may be the lady and she's a.s.sumed her maid's ident.i.ty."

"So on the one hand, she sees Rangers and is glad, then she doesn't trust us enough to tell us the truth? It doesn't make sense, Gil!" Will said. Gilan shrugged.

"It may not be that she doesn't trust us. She may have other reasons for not saying who she really is. I don't think it's a problem for you. I just think you should be aware of it."

They turned and began to walk back to the camp.

"I don't like to leave you in the lurch," Gilan said. "But you're not exactly unarmed. You've got your bow and your knives, and of course, there's Horace."

Will glanced across to where the muscular apprentice was sharing a joke with Evanlyn. As she threw back her head and laughed, he felt a small pang of jealousy. Then he realized that he should be glad to have Horace along with him.

"He's not bad with that sword of his, is he?" he said. Gilan shook his head in admiration.

"I'd never tell him, because it doesn't do a swordsman any good to have an inflated opinion of himself, but he's a lot better than not bad." He looked down at Will. "That's not to say you should go looking for trouble. There may still be Wargals between here and the border, so travel by night and hide up in the rocks by day."

"Gil," Will said, as an awkward thought struck him. "What are we going to do about those two?" He jerked a thumb toward the two bandits, still tied back to back, still trying to doze off and still jerking each other awake as they did so.

"That's the question, isn't it?" said the Ranger. "I suppose I could hang them. I do have the authority. After all, they did try to interfere with officers on the King's business. And they're looting in time of war. They're both capital offenses."

He cast his gaze around the rocky hills surrounding them. "The question is whether I can actually do that here," he murmured.

"You mean," said Will, not liking the way his friend was thinking, "you may not have the authority to hang them now that we're not in the kingdom itself?"

Gilan grinned at him. "I hadn't considered that. I was actually thinking that it'd be a bit difficult when there isn't a tree over a meter high within a hundred kilometers."

Will heaved a small inner sigh of relief as he realized Gilan hadn't been serious. Then the Ranger's grin faded and he said warningly: "The one thing I do know is that we don't want them coming after you three again. So make no mention of my plans until we've gotten rid of them, all right?"

In the end, the solution was a simple one. First, Gilan had Horace break the blade of Carney's sword by levering it sharply between two rocks. Then he hurled Bart's cudgel into the ravine by the road's edge. They heard it clattering and bouncing off the rocky slope for several seconds.

Once that was done, Gilan forced the two men to strip to their underwear.

"You needn't watch this," he told Evanlyn. "It won't be a pretty sight."

Smiling to herself, the girl retreated inside the tent while the two men stripped down to their ragged underpants. They were s.h.i.+vering now in the cold mountain air.

"And your boots," Gilan ordered, and the two men sat awkwardly on the stony ground and removed their boots. Gilan nudged the piles of clothing with one toe.

"Now bundle 'em up and tie them in a ball with your belts," he ordered, and watched as Bart and Carney complied. When all was ready, he called Horace over and jerked a thumb at the two bundles of clothes and boots.

"Send 'em after the cudgel, Horace," he ordered. Horace grinned as he began to understand. Bart and Carney understood too and started a chorus of protest. It stopped as Gilan swung an icy stare upon them.

"You' regetting of flightly," he told them in a cold voice. "As I mentioned to Will earlier, I could hang you if I chose to."

Bart and Carney instantly went quiet, then Gilan gestured for Horace to tie them up again. Meekly, they submitted, and in a few minutes they were back to back again, s.h.i.+vering in the keen wind that circled and dipped around the hills. Gilan considered them for a moment or two.

"Throw a blanket over them," he said reluctantly. "A horse blanket."

Will obliged, grinning. He took care not to use Tug's blanket, but used the one belonging to the st.u.r.dy pack pony.

Gilan began to saddle Blaze, speaking to the others over his shoulder. "I'm going to scout around Gwyntaleth. There may be someone there who can shed a little more light on what Morgarath is up to." He looked meaningfully at Will and the apprentice realized that Gilan was saying this to throw the two bandits off. He gave a slight nod.

"I should be back about sunset," Gilan continued loudly. "Try to have something hot waiting for me then."

He swung up into the saddle and beckoned Will closer. Leaning down, he whispered: "Leave those two tied up and head off at sunset. They'll eventually get themselves loose, but then they'll have to retrieve their boots and clothes. They won't go anywhere in these mountains without them. It will give you a day's start over them and that should take you clear."

Will nodded. "I understand. Ride safely, Gilan." The Ranger nodded. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then came to a decision.

"Will," he said quietly. "We're in uncertain times and none of us knows what might be around the corner. It might be a good idea if you told Horace Tug's code word."

Will frowned. The code word was a jealously guarded secret and he was reluctant to let anyone know it, even a trusted comrade like Horace. Seeing his hesitation, Gilan continued.

"You never know what might happen. You could be injured or incapacitated and without the code word, Horace won't be able to make Tug obey him. It's just a precaution," he added. Will saw the sense in the idea and nodded.

"I'll tell him tonight," he said. "Take care, Gilan."

The tall Ranger leaned down and gripped his hand tightly.

"One other thing. You're in command here, and the others will take the lead from you. Don't give them any sign that you're not sure of yourself. Believe in yourself and they'll believe in you too."

He nudged Blaze with his knee and the bay swung around toward the road. Gilan raised a hand in farewell to Horace and Evanlyn and cantered away. The dust of his pa.s.sage was quickly dispersed by the keening wind.

And then Will felt very small. And very alone.

15.

THEY RODE AS HARD AS THEY COULD THAT NIGHT, HELD BACK somewhat by the docile pace that was all the pack pony could manage. The rain came back during the night to make them more miserable. But then, an hour before dawn, it cleared, so that the first streaks of light in the east painted the sky a dull pearl color. With the gathering light, Will began to look for a place to make camp.

Horace noticed him looking around. "Why don't we keep going for a couple more hours?" he suggested. "The horses aren't really tired yet."

Will hesitated. They'd seen no sign of anyone else during the night, and certainly no evidence of any Wargals in the area. But he didn't like to go against Gilan's advice. In the past, he'd found that advice given by senior Rangers usually turned out to be worth following. He hesitated, then came to a decision as they rounded the next bend and saw a thicket of shrubs set back about thirty meters from the road. The bushes, while not more than three meters high at their tallest point, offered a thick screen, providing shelter from both the wind and any unfriendly eyes that might chance to come along.

"We'll camp here," Will said, indicating the bushes. "That's the first decent-looking campsite we've pa.s.sed in hours. Who knows when we'll see another?"

Horace shrugged. He was quite content to let Will make the decisions. He had only been making a suggestion, not trying to usurp the Ranger apprentice's authority in any way. Horace was essentially a simple soul. He reacted well to commands and to other people making decisions. Ride now. Stop here. Fight there. As long as he trusted the person making the decisions, he was happy to abide by them.

And he trusted Will's judgment. He had a hazy idea that Ranger training somehow made people more decisive and intelligent. And of course, in that he was right, to a large degree.

As they dismounted and led their horses through the thick bushes into a clearing beyond, Will gave a small sigh of relief. He was stiffer than he'd realized after a full night in the saddle with only a few brief rests. Several good hours' sleep seemed like a capital idea right now. He helped Evanlyn down from the pack pony-riding on the pack saddle as she had to, it was a little awkward for her to dismount. Then he began unstrapping their packs of food supplies and the rolled canvas length that they used as a weather shelter.

Evanlyn, with barely a word to him, stretched, then walked a few paces away to sit down on a flat rock.

Will, his forehead creased in a frown, tossed one of the food packs onto the sand at her feet.

"You can start getting a meal ready," he said, more abruptly than he'd really intended. He was annoyed that the girl would sit down and make herself comfortable, leaving the work to him and Horace. She glanced down at the pack and flushed angrily.

"I'm not particularly hungry," she told him. Horace started forward from where he was unsaddling his horse.

"I'll do it," he said, keen to avoid any conflict between the other two. But Will held up a hand to stop him.

"No," he said. "I'd like you to rig the shelter. Evanlyn can get the food out."

His eyes locked with hers. They were both angry, but she realized she was in the wrong. She shrugged faintly and reached for the pack. "If it means so much to you," she muttered, then asked: "Is it all right if Horace makes the fire for me? He can do it a lot quicker than I."

Will considered the idea, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face thoughtfully. He was reluctant to light a fire while they were still in Celtica. It hardly seemed logical to travel by night to avoid being seen, then light a fire whose smoke might be visible in daylight. Besides, there was another consideration that Gilan had pointed out to him the previous day.

"No fire," he said decisively, and Evanlyn tossed the food pack down sulkily.

"Not cold food again!" she snapped. Will regarded her evenly.

"Not so long ago, you would have happily eaten anything-hot or cold-as long as it was food," he reminded her, and she dropped her eyes from his. "Look," he added, in a more reasoning tone, "Gilan knows more about these things than any of us and he told us to make sure we aren't spotted. All right?"

She muttered something. Horace was watching the two of them, his honest face troubled by the conflict between them. He offered a compromise.

"I could just make a small fire for cooking," he suggested. "If we built it in under these bushes, the smoke should be pretty hard to see by the time it filters through."

"It's not just that," Will explained, slinging their water bags over one shoulder and taking his bow from the saddle scabbard. "The Wargals have an amazingly keen sense of smell. If we did light a fire, the smell of the smoke would hang around for hours after we'd put it out."

Horace nodded, conceding the point. Before anyone could raise any more objections, Will headed toward the jumble of rocks behind the campsite.

"I'm going to scout around," he announced. "I'll see if there's any water in the area. And I'll just make sure we're alone."

Ignoring the girl's "Not that we've seen anyone all day," which was muttered just loud enough for him to hear it, he began to scramble up the rocks. He made a careful circuit of the area, staying low and out of sight, moving from cover to scant cover as carefully as he could. Whenever you're scouting, Halt had once said to him, move as if there's somebody there to see you. Never a.s.sume that you're on your own.

He found no sign of Wargals or of Celts. But he did come across a small, clear stream that sluiced cold water over a bed of rocks. It was running fast enough to look safe for drinking, so he tested it and, satisfied that it wasn't polluted, filled their water bags to the brim. The cold, fresh water tasted particularly good after the leathery-tasting supply from the bags. Once water had been in a water bag for more than a few hours, it began to taste more like the bag and less like water.

Back at the campsite, Horace and Evanlyn were waiting for his return. Evanlyn had set out a plate of dried meat and the hard biscuit they had been eating in place of bread for some time now. He was grateful that she'd also put a small amount of pickle on the meat. Any addition to the tasteless meal was welcome. He noticed as they were eating that there was none on her plate.

"Don't you like pickles?" he asked, through a mouthful of meat and biscuit. She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

"Not really," she replied. But Horace wasn't prepared to let it rest at that.

"She gave you the last of them," he told Will.

For a moment, Will hesitated, embarra.s.sed. He'd just mopped up the last small mouthful of the tangy yellow pickles on a corner of biscuit, and popped it into his mouth. There was no way now he could offer to share it.

"Oh," he mumbled, realizing this was her way of making the peace between them. "Um...well, thanks, Evanlyn."

She tossed her head. With her close-cropped hair, the effect was a little wasted and the thought struck him that she was probably used to making that gesture with long blond locks that would accentuate the movement.

"I told you," she said. "I don't like pickles." But now there was a hint of a grin in her voice, and the earlier bad humor was gone. He looked up at her and grinned in reply.

"I'll take the first watch," he finally said. It seemed as good a way as any of letting her know that he didn't hold a grudge.

"If you take the second watch as well, you can have my pickles too," offered Horace, and they all laughed. The atmosphere in the little campsite lightened considerably as Horace and Evanlyn busied themselves shaking out blankets and cloaks and gathering some of the leafier branches from the bushes around them to shape into beds.

For his part, Will took one of the water bottles and his cloak and climbed up onto one of the larger rocks surrounding their camp. He settled himself as comfortably as possible, with a clear view of the rocky hills behind them in one direction, and over the bushes that screened them from the road in the other. Mindful as ever of Halt's teaching, he settled himself among a jumble of rocks that formed a more or less natural nest, allowing him to peer between them on either side, without raising his head above the horizon level. He wriggled himself around for a few minutes, wis.h.i.+ng there were not so many sharp stones to dig into him. Then he shrugged, deciding that at least they'd stop him from dozing off during his watch.

He donned his cloak and raised the hood. As he sat there, unmoving among the gray rocks, he seemed to blend into the background until he was almost invisible.

It was the sound that first alerted him. It came and went vaguely with the breeze. As the breeze grew stronger, so did the sound. Then, as the breeze faded, he could no longer hear anything, so that at first he thought he was imagining things.

Then it came again. A deep, rhythmic sound. Voices, perhaps, but not like any he'd heard. It could have been singing, he thought, then, as the breeze blew a little harder, he heard it again. Not singing. There was no melody to it. Just a rhythm. A constant, unvarying rhythm.

Again the breeze died and the sound with it. Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. There was something unhealthy about that sound. Something dangerous. He sensed it in every fiber of his body.

There it was again! And this time, he had it. Chanting. Deep voices chanting in unison. A tuneless chanting that had an unmistakable menace to it.